Pierdomenico Baccalario - Ring of Fire (Century Quartet, Book 1)

I know that I am mortal.
But when I explore the winding circles of the stars,
my feet no longer rest on earth, but, standing beside Zeus,
I take my fill of ambrosia, the food of the gods.

Ptolemy, astronomer

Nature loves to hide.

Heraclitus, philosopher called the Dark One

T HE STARS OF U RSA M AJOR ARE PERFECTLY STILL IN THE SKY .

The time has come for them as well.

Inside the shelter surrounded by ice is the sound of fingers drumming nervously on the table. Then a question, which hangs at length in the smoke-filled air.

Do you think shell come?

Theres no reply. The aluminum windows are bitter cold. Its snowing outside. The glacier gleams with a bluish glow.

I think I hear wolves , one of the two men murmurs, scratching his beard. Dont you?

Lets start, the other man suggests. Hes gray and gaunt, like a tree thats been through a fire. We dont have much time.

The woman stops drumming her fingers on the table, checks her watch and nods. Hes right. Lets start.

The two men open their notepads and start to leaf through them.

How are the children? asks the man with the beard.

Theyre still growing, she answers. And soon well have to choose.

She has around twenty photographs with her. She shows them to her companions. The pictures are passed along swiftly from hand to hand.

How old are they? the gaunt man asks.

Eight.

The bearded man is clearly nervous. He anxiously springs up from the table, draws his face up to the window and looks outside, as if he could make out anything through the massive blizzard. I heard them again. The wolves, I mean.

The gaunt man croaks out a laugh. Were surrounded by thirty kilometers of ice. How could you be hearing wolves?

The bearded man stands there at the window until the pane has completely fogged over. Then he goes back to his chair and checks his watch for the millionth time. Maybe we shouldve met in a place thats easier to reach. A park, like last time.

She wouldnt have come anyway. You know what shes like. In any case The gaunt man points at the photograph of a young girl. Not her, we said.

The woman runs her finger along the rim of her teacup, then raises an eyebrow without revealing any other sign of what shes thinking.

Ive changed my mind, she says, sipping her tea.

I dont think you can change your mind just like that.

This is my task.

But this girl A short, bony finger points at the face framed in dark, curly hair. Shes still your niece.

She speaks two languages better than you do. Whats it going to take to convince you?

You know the risks.

And you know the reasons.

Last time we said no.

Last time shed just been born.

Theres a long moment of silence during which the only sounds are the kettle on the fire and the wind whooshing through the fireplace. The men stare grimly at the pictures on the table: Western faces, slanted eyes, blond hair, red hair, light skin, dark skin. Boys and girls all very different from each other, except for one fundamental detail. Theyll soon learn what it is.

The shelters walls groan under the weight of the snow. Overhead, the stars slowly follow along their course in the gelid nighttime sky.

I wouldnt want you to be making a mistake, the gaunt man resumes.

Youve never made any before?

I try not to. Especially because I dont deal with nice people You know that.

The man with the beard clears his throat to make the others stop arguing. Then he says, Lets not be overconcerned right now. Its still too early to decide. I just need to know where Ill have to take the map.

Where did you hide it?

The bearded man shows the others an old briefcase. This should pass unnoticed.

I hope so. Also because if anyone realized

The gaunt man suddenly stops talking.

He hears something outside the shelter. Footsteps in the snow. Boots. The yelping of dogs. Furious howling.

Wolves.

The three spring to their feet.

Now do you believe me? shouts the bearded man, rushing back toward the window.

A moment before he manages to reach it, the door to the shelter isflung open. The newcomer walks into the room, wearing boots complete with crampons. A thermal mask and a pair of gloves are thrown to the floor.

Sorry Im late , the person says with a disarming smile. Long, thick black hair tumbles out of her hood. But I had to find out where its going to begin.

She removes the crampons from her boots with a snap.

She closes the door, shutting out the sled drawn by wolves.

And she says, Its going to begin in Rome.

P ERFECTLY STILL IN THE DARKNESS, TWELVE-YEAR-OLD E LETTRA waits.

Her legs crossed, her hands holding the string that will set off the trap, shes sitting stock-still. As motionless as the old wardrobes lined up around her in a series of shadows, one darker than the next.

Elettra breathes slowly, silently. She ignores the dust, letting it settle on her.

Come out, come out , she thinks, only moving her lips.

Shrouded in the darkness, her fingers clutching the string, she listens. The boilers hum in the distance, pumping hot water through the pipes in the hotel rooms. The meters tick away softly, each one at its own pace. A dusty silence reigns over the basement.

The hotel, the city, the whole world seems incredibly far away.

It isnt cold.

Its the twenty-ninth of December.

Its the beginning. But Elettra doesnt know that yet.

* * *

A little noise tells her the mouse is approaching. Tick-tack.

The sound of tiny paws on the floor, coming from somewhere in the darkness.

Elettra slowly raises the string with a satisfied smile, thinking, The irresistible appeal of pecorino Romano cheese.

No one can resist pecorino Romano, her aunt Linda always says when shes cooking.

Tick-tack. And then silence. Tick-tack. Then silence once again.

The mouse sniffs the air, warily following the aromas path.