The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,45

I make justice first.”

Now here is where the tale becomes a trifle cloudy. I remember the feel of Pío’s calloused hands, one pressing down on my chest, the other covering my nose and mouth. Struggling against him was useless, quite literally, because I could not feel my appendages, much less use them. I realized now, and not without a little sadness that I was about to die. Twenty-five, and still a virgin. The imminent end of one’s brief stay on this earth will bring clarity to the mind even while poison still works on the body. What a miserable thread the Fates had sewn for me; was I so undeserving of a full and productive life? Or was I just a random accident of happenstance from beginning to end. One thing was certain: if these were indeed my last moments, Pío’s misshapen, straining countenance was the last image I wanted to take with me to Elysium. I closed my eyes, sending two tears down either cheek.

I felt a slight release of pressure against my face. Nestor was cursing and straining against his fetters. Here I need to rely on Sabina’s recounting of what transpired next, together with my own feathery impressions. As had been her wont ever since Livia had been returned to her, she had arrived with a fresh bouquet for my room, hardly expecting to encounter this murderous spectacle. The fresh flowers fell from her hands; screaming Pío’s name she demanded to know what he was doing. Frankly, I should have thought that was obvious. Pío returned to his work, ignoring her next assault: pounding on his back and head with her fists. This he found as annoying as a gentle Aprilis mist, so she leapt upon his back, pulling at the arm attached to the hand affixed to my face.

My mind stretched thin, a taut, plucked string whose vibrations created a tone both pure and celestial. I was beginning to lose consciousness.

Pío’s right arm swung backward, knocking Sabina onto the floor against Nestor’s pallet. He strained to reach for her hair, grabbed a handful and pulled with all his might, and thus awoke an infuriated, incandescent healer. The tigress now reached behind her and clawed at Nestor’s arm till it bled. He cried out, released his grip and before he could scramble backwards found her straddling his chest, a scalpel pressing against his throat.

“Release him, Pío,” she screamed, “or I swear by the Seven Sisters I will cut so deep the arc of his blood will reach your thigh.”

Pío laughed, but he also took his hand away. The string snapped; the music fled; and rather curiously I found myself longing for the sound. I gasped, my lungs pumping like bellows, and without any conscious effort on my part. The effect of the drug was already fading.

“You not kill Nestor,” Pío said. He was right – Sabina would not kill an innocent man. I wanted to remind her that Nestor was not innocent. Perhaps another time.

A look of terrible realization came over her: Pío was going to kill her if he could. Something inside him had been squeezed until it had ruptured like a burst appendix; the only antidote for this poison was for the atriensis to free Nestor or die in the attempt. She dug into the bag slung over her shoulder and withdrew a second scalpel, moved a safe distance from Nestor and prepared to grapple with her own dubious fate. His plan might have hatched successfully, she knew, but its one fatal flaw, discovery, had just smashed its fragile shell, thanks to her. Now there was only one hope for Pío and Nestor – leave no witnesses.

Pío had come to same conclusion and went for the most immediate threat. Sabina screamed for help, expecting none, for this time of day none but the four of us would be found in the servants’ wing. There was little room to maneuver. She could not wait for him to strike first; if he caught her she was doomed. She leapt across the short space between them - desperation, fear and finally, a vision of Livia flooding her muscles with godlike strength. It burst from her body in a warrior’s cry and continued even when she realized she was going to survive. Pío caught her shoulder in his left hand and inched his thumb toward her throat. Before he could crush her windpipe, she struck with both scalpels. With the right, she stabbed up into the tendons of the