KISS OF THE INFINITE

by
Jasmine Giacomo

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2009 Jasmine Giacomo

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  

~~~

Kiss of the Infinite

Early in the morning, while the summer air was still crisp, Commander Cente Vitallio arrived at the scene of a theft in Il Bascio del Infinitti--the Kiss of the Infinite. It was by far the largest temple in the canal-riven city, and the priests dedicated to the Infinites of Battle, Games, Love and Death were in an uproar. 
Now, the stocky, fair-haired Commander of the City Legionares stood deep in the maze of glittering, mysterious magical relics within the temple‘s vast museum-crypt, with one arm crossed, the other propping his chin. Some of these relics were sacred, others profane, and many of the rest were merely war booty from during the Sacuerra, the thinly-disguised landgrab Callana’s city-islands had embarked on a generation ago.
The Infinite of Death hovered smugly in the air, invisible to the eyes of mortals. “I believe I won last night. Why are we even here?” he rumbled, eyes only a shade brighter than his grin.
“This isn’t over,” the Infinite of Games said. “Battle and I both have love for Taracchio, and Love and I are endeared to Gratalia. And Battle and Love need two to tarantella, though Death dances alone.” He swirled through a few steps of the dance, black cloak trailing in the air.
Love and Battle eyed him; the trickster had pitted himself against Death, but no one else was sure whether he was coming down on Love’s side or on Battle’s. Or if those two were on the same side this time. Only time would tell.
The invisible sancti barriers that protected these fabulous objects from being touched or activated repetitively bloomed green from incidental brushes on their elastic surfaces, as the priests around Vitallio worried and demanded, flinging sash tassels and desperate hands. 
Only half-listening to the yellow-robed men despair and rage around him, Vitallio contemplated the scene before him. 
One dead perpetrator, a dark-haired male about thirty years of age, wearing pale blue ballroom attire, lay stiffening on the ancient floor. Presumably, he’d been stabbed in the heart, from the way his fine shirt was soaked with blood.  Normally this wouldn’t concern him so much--murder was an unfortunate side effect of civilization, ironic though that was--but in this case, he knew he needed to bring in his Legio Magi.
The man was dead inside temple’s sancti barrier. And the item he’d apparently been after was nowhere to be found.

***

Last Night

Fireblooms of violet, white and silver burst in the sky at choreographed intervals over the swirling dancers in the open-air ballroom along the humid canal. The blossoms of light gleamed along the jewels edging their half-masks and shone through gossamer sleeves before fading and splashing harmlessly into one of the innumerable water-roads of Gratalia. 
The invited guests spun and stepped in pairs, marking circles, lines and infinities upon the polished black floor. Around the edges, scarlet-liveried servants bore trays of sweetmeats and bubbling drinks. 
As the third song of the evening drew to a close, the fireblooms ceased as well, awaiting the magical cue of the next tune.
A slender man of middle height, dressed in powder-blue dancing spats and knee pants that matched his voluminous short cape, plucked a pair of goblets from a tray. “How are you enjoying yourself thus far, my lady?” Conte Bersallio asked of his dance partner, Lady Sarninia something-or-other, as he handed her a drink that breathed a pale pink mist over its lip.
The short, plump young woman giggled behind her begemmed half-mask, a high-pitched trill of simpering noise that threatened to pierce the Conte’s eardrums. He kept his smile in place, though; she was exactly what he needed for this evening’s conquest. His eyes roamed over her mounded tower of red-gold hair and her rounded figure, barely trapped within her tangerine gown of fashionably wrinkled silk. However, the vacuous look in her eyes was her best feature.
Battle slapped a hand to his forehead. “Tell me she wasn’t your idea, Love.”
Love blinked. “I‘d be happy to claim her charm as my doing, but I can‘t.”
“You can claim Bersallio’s susceptibility to it, though,” Death pointed out. Love made a saucy moue.
“I am well, my lord,” Sarninia replied, her voice high and thin with the current cultural affectation. “Duce Maraldi offers the most fabulous parties, does he not?” she asked.
Bersallio put on a pensive look, his eyes playing over the sculpted columns that ringed the room, the bountiful flower garlands that decorated the stairs down to the canal, and the artfully lit painted ceiling of the hallway that led to the rest of Maraldi’s palatial home. His eyes returned to his stunning dance partner, and he pursed his lips, eyes smiling. “Surely, there are even more fabulous things Gratalia has to offer.”
“My lord?” Sarninia, tilting her head.
His lips spread into a genuine smile. “How would you like to escape with me?” When her eyes widened behind her mask, he added in a confiding voice, “You could dazzle me with some of the wonders of your city. I’ve been here but four days, and all I’ve seen are the insides of noble houses.” He looked up at the yellow and green moons hovering in the velvety, star-spangled sky. “Though this one does have the distinct advantage of possessing the best ceiling I’ve ever seen. So lifelike!”
Sarninia blinked at him for a moment, then giggled loudly, squeezing her eyes shut and slopping her drink onto her wrist. Bersallio laughed with her; surely she was a gift of the Infinites, a sign of success in his endeavor. No cohort of his could fake that sort of idiocy so well.
“That wasn’t you, Love?” Death rumbled. “Surely no mortal is born with that amount of natural vapidity.”
“It wasn’t me,” Love insisted. “It was probably Games. You know how he gets.”
Death and Battle silently glared at Games, whose bright eyes opened wide with innocence. “What?” he asked.
Before the next song started up, the pair had made their way through the interior of the mansion and vanished out a side door. Holding hands, they crossed ramps and narrow foot bridges that spanned small side canals, laughing and giggling in the warm summer air. 
Soon, they found themselves at the Plaza Sinchira, which afforded the best view of the city due to its raised height and placement in between the Distretto Palazzo and the Distretto Tempio. 
He held her hand as she stepped up beside him on a wide stone bench at the water’s edge. Wavelets lapped against the stone retaining wall below. “Such glory,” he murmured, casting his gaze across the numerous buildings in his view. “Now I can tell my father that I have seen the treasures of the most beautiful Jewel of Callana.” He paused, wistful.
Sarninia frowned at him for a moment, the tilted her head and smiled. “You wish to look closer, my lord Conte? Gratalia has a thousand buildings of glorious beauty.”
Bersallio stepped down from the bench. “Which should I see first? You choose, my lovely guide.” He took her hands and walked around the bench, turning her in a slow circle. “Pick for me the loveliest of the lovelies, and I will trust your infinite wisdom.” 
He stopped turning her, and after an eternity of seconds, her eyes lit on a massive spire, veined with glowing green tendrils, a few canals ahead of her. It was the tallest structure in Gratalia; the top of the pinnacle had deliberately been left incomplete, in case any other structure ever threatened its dominance.
“Well,” Sarninia said, “there’s Il Bascio del Infinitti. But no one goes there, unless they’re a priest, an outlander, or a desperate fool.” She gave a dismissive toss of her head, and the loose curls in her hairdo shivered in superiority. “The temple’s more of a museum, anyway. Just dusty relics and old men chanting in Talic.”
Bersallio stepped back up on the bench, leaning close to her ear. “I find it deliciously inspirational. Doesn’t it remind you of anything?” When her brows lowered in confusion, he raised his in innuendo, and she burst out in irreverent, squeaky laughter, eyes dallying on the phallic structure.
Death held his head as if it ached. Battle and Games glared at Love. 
She smirked. “Now that was me.”

***

A leisurely gondola ride let them revel in each other under the privacy of the fumapola, an arching barrier of gray mist that shielded them from view, while the gondolier crooned a love tune, hoping for a hefty tip.
He received it as his customers debarked the narrow boat onto the steps of the Bascio. “The Infinite of Love bless you and your lady,” he said, bowing, then poled off into the dimness, humming in gratitude.
An enormous patio sprawled at the top of the steps, lined with pairs of columns. Each was carved with scenes from the lives of mythology’s heroes, showing the guidance of the black-cloaked, blaze-eyed Infinites as they countered each other‘s attempts at crafting mortals’ destiny. 
“The Four Infinites had their hands in every heroic deed of the past. I pray they guide me tonight,” Bersallio murmured, eyeing the art.
“I think shopping should be a fifth Infinite, don’t you?” Sarninia asked, and he winced.
“She‘s yours, isn’t she, Battle?” Love accused. “You and Death are trying to get someone to kill her and make the world a smarter place.”
The tall Infinite gave her a flat stare. “That‘s not me. I’m not that desperate.”
Arm in arm, they crossed the patio and entered the main foyer, open day and night for all who wished to bask in the atmosphere of the infinite. They made their way past the four main shrines directly beneath the temple’s spire and headed through the maze of ancient buildings and dusty tapestries, until they stood at the doorway to the vast museum room.
Within, one last sleepy priest ambled across a perpendicular walkway overhead, nodding and murmuring a blessing in their general direction before vanishing through an arch in the marble wall. The ceiling overhead was high and slightly peaked, and only dim light exuded from the numerous fae-lights suspended from its stone surface. 
“Where are we going?” Sarninia asked, her voice shrill in the quiet expanse as Bersallio took her hand and headed forth into the maze of relics. 
“Shh. You’ll see.”
He led her past enormous wooden coffins and totems, as well as tiny, glittering objects on stands. They passed swords and suits of armor. Sarninia turned to stare at a certain black mask that seemed to suck the light from around itself. Headdresses and tapestries flitted past, swirling with color. The Deathless Macaw squawked from his perch, eyeing a chalice of water beside him.
“I’ve heard that these objects are all protected from damage and theft by a sancti barrier,” Bersallio murmured, eyes searching among the priceless items.
“Oh yes,” his companion said, reaching out her fingers toward a tall plant whose long-stemmed yellow pods twitched of their own volition. Before she could touch it, the air around her hand turned green and bent around her fingers, as if she grasped toward the plant through a sheet of cloth. Pulling her hand back, she added, “Push all you like if you’re into working up a sweat.”
“Please, one of you kill me,” begged Death. “I can’t stand her anymore.” 
Love tittered. 
Bersallio clucked his tongue. “Naughty girl. But,” he added, as he came to a halt before a large bluish egg on a plush pillow atop a marble stand, “what if we could slip through, you and I?” The corner of his mouth crooked into a grin. “What if we could slide on over? Would you come with me?”
Sarninia looked at him, and then at the egg. Her eyes flicked past it, to a pocket of darkness between an enormous urn and a white sarcophagus. “How could we? Are you a magus?”
“No, but I play one on the stage,” Bersallio grinned, showing her the fingers of his left hand. “This ring here,” he pointed to a large oblong stone of clear hue, “creates passage through a sancti barrier. I’ll not bore you with the trials I endured to lay hands on it. Suffice it to say, my lady, that you and I can experience the infinite where no one has experienced it before.”
Sarninia squinted through her mask. “I don’t believe you. You’re just teasing me.”
He raised his chin and smiled. His hand brushed the barrier, tilting the ring against it. As the sancti flared green, its color bled into the gem until it matched the barrier‘s hue, and the resistance of the sancti suddenly fled. His hand stretched across to the other side, and he stepped through.
As he took a moment to look around in triumph, Sarninia asked, “But what about me?”
“Dear lady, here is where I must trust my life to your hands. If I hold my hand within the barrier, and you take my hand there, you’ll be able to walk through as well. If you should betray me, take the ring and run, I’ll be trapped in here for the priests to find, and they’ll have me executed for blasphemy. Can I trust my life to you, dolcita?”
“At least until we’ve had our fun,” she said, smiling and reaching out her hand for his. 
He grasped it amid the green glow of the barrier, and she slid through and joined him inside.
“So deliciously wrong,” she giggled, edging toward him.
He slid back behind the egg’s base and eyed it, gnawing the edge of a lip. “You know what this is?” he asked.
“No.” She gave it a cautious glance. “What is it?”
“This egg is the Prometta della Sangrilia. Sangrilia’s Promise. You know what that is?”
Her eyes veiled. “Can’t say that I do.” 
With his prize in hand, Bersallio did not notice the subtle, martial change in Sarninia’s voice and demeanor. “A gift from the goddess of fertility to the ruler of Taracchio, land of my family for the last millennium.” He lifted the heavy egg from its pillow, unable to tear his eyes from its sky-hued surface. “Stolen away a generation ago, during the Sacuerra, Callana’s last crusade. Your quest for dominance failed in Taracchio, and our lands made peace, letting you keep your stolen treasures.
“But our land has suffered without the Promise. Our sheep do not lamb well, nor our crops grow in bounty. Our people starve, even though fewer children are born every year.” His dark brows lowered. “Taracchio needs the Promise again. And I’ve come to take it home.”
“Your noble heart demands it, I suppose? Risking your life for your people?” 
“You’ve heard of the legendary Guildthief, the Magpie?” he asked, watching his reflection distort in the egg’s polished surface. “That’s me. I steal for the sheer joy of it. I steal a lot; ’m not a good person. But my people are dying. I chose to act for them. My one good deed, I suppose.”
Sarninia chuckled. “Then I’d best kill you now, since it’s not likely you’ll ever do another.”
Belatedly, his senses registered the difference in his companion, and the hair on his neck rose. Her voice was much lower and richer, its breathiness gone, and it sounded--Infinites help him--familiar.
“Oracle?” blurted, stunned. 
“Games!” the other Infinites accused. 
Games guffawed helplessly.
“What are you doing here?” Bersallio’s lips stuttered silently for a moment as his brain scrambled for relevance. “I nearly had you on the roof of Faustio’s Palazzo in Rema, after you beat me to Zorona’s Chalice. I slipped the Tablet of Wisdom right out of your fingers in Trinta. I...I thought you were a blonde,” he finished lamely, slipping the egg into a pouch.
Sarninia smiled, a vulpine leer. “I am. This hair just goes with the outfit. Now give me that egg.”
“No.” He rested a hand on the handle of his jeweled dagger, but the action spurred Sarninia to draw a slender blade she’d concealed in her golden belt, and he jerked his own free of its scabbard.
“You can take anything you want in here, Oracle, but leave me the egg. I‘m not taking it for myself, and it won‘t do you any good.”
Sarninia slid her mask up onto her forehead and advanced around the egg’s stand, blade forward. “The Infinite of Battle seems upon you, Magpie.” The expression on her face was a mix of determination and regret.
“Oh, fotta,” he swore. “You set me up from the start. You approached me at the dance apurpose.”
She nodded assent.
“Did you know what I was after?” He backed around a ticking contraption in a tall pine box. 
She shook her head, skirt rustling as she passed the enormous urn. “Just that I was to stop you from taking whatever you were here for.”
He squinted. “You’re not out for yourself either. Who’s paying you?”
“Collara.”
He bared his teeth. “Don’t you see, Oracle? The Sacuerra’s leaders knew what would happen if they removed the Promise from Taracchio. This is Collara’s long-term plan to reduce my people to beggars, so they may waltz in and claim what they failed to take before. We Guildthieves are supposed to be independent, but you’re just a pawn.” He smirked. “You should let me keep the Promise in atonement.”
A glint of desperation entered her eyes. “I can’t. The Sacuerra Masters will start killing my townspeople if I don’t kill you.”
Love hissed. “Games!” 
“That wasn’t me! I don‘t like the bleeding these mortals do.”
“Battle, then,” she said. “You set this whole thing up!”
“Not all of it,” Battle protested. “Just the entire backstory. No need to thank me.”
Bersallio sighed. “I fight for my people, you fight for yours. All while supposedly independent of such ties. The fifth Infinite isn‘t shopping; it‘s Irony.” 
“Blasphemer,” the Four Infinites muttered, briefly united.
Together the Guildthieves lowered their daggers. A moment passed while they considered their options. 
“I don’t believe our solutions are wide enough in scope,” Sarninia said, her eyes scanning the vast room around them.
“I’m listening.”
With a tilt of her head reminiscent of her performance earlier in the evening, she asked him, “Will you trust a fellow Guildthief?”
His eyes flicked to her blade, then up to her face. “Only as long as I can still catch the loot she tosses me,” he replied, using the Guild’s usual response.
“Good enough.” She outlined her plan.
Bersallio stared into her eyes, seeking the lie and coming up empty. He nodded, and gave her his ring.
Sarninia glanced around the room; there was no one in sight. Her dagger lunged for his heart.
“Yes!” Death roared. “One more for me! I win, Games! I always win!”
But Games had a glint in his eye.

***

Later in the morning, Vitallio turned from consulting his lead magus and said to the priest, “Goodfather, we will be out of your hair very soon. My magus has informed me that he needs to search every barrier for signs of tampering--”
“Papio!” trilled a young voice.
Battle‘s jaw dropped. “Games, I owe you more respect.” 
Games, cocksure, merely grinned.
All the priests and legionares looked up to see a short, plump blonde woman skittering into the museum on round-edged shoes that threatened to break her ankles with every step. Her pale dress was fashionable, and her arms were cluttered with cloth totes that bore symbols of exclusive merchants. Among their handles was a leash that led a small creature which trotted obediently behind her, its curly white fur shaved and dyed in a pattern of twining roses. “Papio, I saw the official gondolae outside and I just had to--”
Vitallio growled under his breath and excused himself from the proceedings, catching his daughter by the shoulders before she could view the gore. He guided her to the next aisle.
“--Had to come and show you this lovely itty bitty pet I just got. Isn’t he adorable? Or perhaps it’s a she. I didn’t check.” She tittered. “Anyway, I thought you two should become acquainted--”
“Sarninia. Now is not a good time.”
“--with--oh. I’m sorry.” She stood on tiptoe and peered over her father’s shoulder. “What happened? Someone got hurt?”
“Yes, but everything will work out fine. It always does, dolcita. Now, go run along with your...pet.”
“All right, Papio.”
Vitallio watched his daughter totter back out of the enormous room. He let out a breath and returned to his colleagues; their amused looks were already irritating him.

***

Bersallio’s eyelids fluttered. A cool liquid was seeping into his mouth, yet his lips were warm. He breathed in through his nose, and was suddenly quite sure this was an extraordinary thing. His eyes popped open. 
Sarninia was kissing him in a room that reeked of death. He spluttered in surprise and struggled to sit up. 
“Oh, Love,” Games said, drawing out her name. “How touching.”
Death glowered. “Cheating, letting them play with toys like this.”
“Cheating is just a different level of play,” Games murmured, eyes fixed on the mortals.
“Shh,” Sarninia warned, a black mask resting on her pale hair. “The dead are silent.” 
Bersallio nodded, sitting up on the stone bier, and looked around in the dimness. A dozen bodies lay around him in various stages of decomposition, waiting to be claimed.
“The morgue,” he whispered, and she nodded. His last mortal thoughts marshaled themselves and stepped forward, and he raised his eyes to hers. “You killed me.”
Her teeth gleamed brightly; there was wonder in her voice as she said, “And you get to live to tell of it.”
“You had doubts, I see.”
“Only about your end of the deal.”
He snorted. “Fill me in, then.”
“After you died, I took the egg and swiped the Mask of a Thousand Faces. Then I went home. In the morning, I lifted the keys to the morgue from the commander‘s pocket while the legionares were investigating your death. When the priests had retrieved you from inside the sancti, and the furor had died down, I came back for a sip from the macaw’s chalice.”
He shook his head. “I hope it was mostly clean.”
Sarninia’s teeth gleamed again. “It can only be carried by a living being, so I had to bring a mouthful here when I broke in.”
“The mask, the stolen keys, and the water. A fine plan.”
“I thought so.” She slipped the sky-blue egg from a pouch and placed it in his hands. “I’ve killed you, and you’ve got your Promise. Our business is complete.”
“The egg wasn’t retrieved, though. Are your townsfolk still in danger?”
Sarninia shook her head. “I took the liberty of leaving an anonymous note on the commander’s desk while I was upstairs, explaining nearly everything. I returned all of his keys but the one for this door. By the time they notice that one is still missing, you’ll have thought of a way out of here.” She grinned and backed away.
“You didn’t figure my way out?” he asked, suddenly seeing the room in a more sinister light.
Death’s laugh boomed into the room. “The sheep may not be shorn, but he’s in the woolsack!”
 “Good luck with your people, Magpie.” She skipped to the door and pulled the black mask down. Her entire form morphed into that of a young male legionare. “This toy will come in handy,” she said, grinning widely.
“Oracle! You’re really leaving me here?” he called, holding his hands out. “But we were such a good team!”
“I trust that you’ll be up to the task alone, Guildthief,” she said, turning to leave. “Though I fear your star is about to fall in comparison to mine, now that I have that ring of yours. Il Bascio del Infinitti just became my favorite place to shop.” One final grin, disconcertingly male, and Oracle slipped out the door. It locked behind her.
Bersallio’s eyes began roaming the room, taking in details. He already had several ideas on how to escape the morgue and rejoin the land of the living. He opened his palm, exposing the object he had palmed from Sarninia moments ago, and slipped it onto his finger again. He grinned, anticipating the look on Oracle‘s face when she realized the items in the Kiss of the Infinite were no longer for sale. 
“She’s not the only one who likes to go shopping,” he murmured, hopping off the bier with a grin.
Battle and Love both raised their arms in triumph, then stopped, eyeing one another with confused suspicion. Death put his face in his hands, bright eyes hidden in shame at losing a soul that was within in his grasp.
Games nodded smugly at the chaos that enveloped both mortals and Infinites. “Now, that? That was me.”