Sanctuary (13 page)

‘Tani!’ Tamaron spotted them and ran over to hug Itania, lifting the two-year-old off her feet. Her happy laughter carried.

‘Vella.’ Ronnyn’s eyes widened. ‘You look... grown up.’

She sensed he’d been going to say something else. She wore simple pleated trousers, a long-sleeved knitted vest and a thigh-length smock. The clothing was finer than anything she’d ever owned, but it marked her as a servant.

‘You have father’s cane.’ He looked relieved. ‘I thought I’d lost it.’ And he held out his hand as though it belonged to him.

She didn’t want to give up the cane – it was all she had of their old life – but she handed it over. He was still her brother.

‘Here. Enough of that.’ An elderly T’En woman separated them. ‘T’En don’t acknowledge their Malaunje kin.’

Behind the woman’s back, Ronnyn sent Aravelle a cheeky grin that crinkled his forehead, and mouthed,
later
.

Vittor and Tamaron started to protest, but they were sent up to the high rear-deck, where many beautifully-dressed T’En men and women were waiting. Amongst them were Malaunje servants, who were almost as magnificently dressed, each holding a large leather book.

‘These are the children of Malaunje loners and runaways, so they don’t know our customs,’ Causare Imoshen said. ‘They must be assigned choice-mothers, and brotherhoods must be allocated for the boys when they reach seventeen.’

Aravelle picked up Itania, who was tired and starting to grizzle. She felt the grownups watching her, judging her and her parents. She told herself that she didn’t care what they thought, but her family had to live with these people.

The little boy with the baby was led onto the centre of the carpet. Even though she resented his T’En blood, Aravelle’s heart went out to him, as he tood there so small and alone.

The boy looked up at the causare. On the other side of the brazier, the T’En men shifted and mumbled, while the T’En women whispered. Aravelle understood what the muttering was about when the boy glanced her way. A streak of copper hair grew from above one ear. She did not know what it meant, but she knew the T’En would regard it as a flaw.

‘Tell us what is known of this child, Egrayne,’ the causare said.

The tall woman beckoned a Malaunje and consulted a book the servant held open for her. ‘He says he is five years old and speaks only Chalcedonian. From what we can gather his parents lived in a mountain village, inhabited only by other Malaunje. We believe his Malaunje parents were the children of Mieren, who ran away to the mountain village. As the child of loners, he has no affiliation with any brotherhood.’

‘And the babe?’ the causare asked.

‘A female T’En, less than half a year old. No blood kin to him, she’s also the child of Malaunje loners, with no affiliation to any sisterhood.’

An eager murmur of longing came from the T’En women.

‘She’s mine,’ the boy said, his arms tightening protectively. ‘I found her hidden in a chicken coop. Let her suck raw egg off my fingers.’

‘That was clever,’ Ronnyn whispered to Aravelle and she realised her brothers had edged closer to her, even though Voice-of-reason Nerazime was with them.

‘Which brotherhood will take this boy?’ The causare raised her voice.

No one spoke.

‘Come, he may be the child of loners, but he has shown ingenuity and responsibility.’

No response.

Then one of the men raised his hand. ‘I’ll take him.’

‘All-father Kyredeon.’ The causare acknowledged a battle-scarred male with a hint of reluctance. Apart from his face being more deeply scarred than any other man’s, he seemed no different from the others to Aravelle. Perhaps the causare read something in him that only a raedan could. Aravelle reminded herself that the boy was T’En; at least he wouldn’t have to spend his life as a servant.

‘Make a note in my brotherhood’s lineage book,’ Kyredeon said to two Malaunje behind him.

‘Which sisterhood will have the honour of rearing the boy?’ the causare asked.

No one spoke.

‘Come,’ she pressed. ‘I know our ships are over-crowded, but one child will not make a difference. Which sisterhood will rear this boy?’

No one stirred.

‘Is the copper streak so bad?’ Ronnyn asked softly.

‘That is one mark against him,’ Nerazime said. ‘But he has also shown defiance. Caring for T’En males of dubious lineage and great spirit is hard work. All that effort, only to give him up at seventeen.’

‘I will take the female child,’ an old T’En woman announced. ‘My sisterhood –’

‘No.
My
sisterhood –’ a sour-looking plump woman interrupted.

As the women argued, the boy took a step back, arms tightening around the infant.

‘Since no one will take him, the boy will be my choice-son,’ the causare announced to a ripple of surprise, ‘and since he protected this baby and cared for her all the way across Chalcedonia, I cannot part them. My daughter needs a younger sister to teach her responsibility. Make a note in our lineage book.’

The T’En women muttered, but no one dared object.

While the Malaunje wrote in the lineage book, Voice-of-reason Egrayne led the boy around behind the causare. The baby was passed through the thick folds of the causare’s pleated trousers. She lifted the infant up and kissed the babe’s forehead. Then the boy’s head appeared as he crawled through.

‘Welcome, choice-son.’ The causare helped the boy to his feet and returned the baby to his arms. She touched the tip of her left hand’s sixth finger to his forehead, then to the babe’s. ‘I swear to protect your lives with my own. I swear to rear you to revere the heritage of the T’Enatuath and protect our Malaunje.’

‘Causare, what names shall I put down?’ the Malaunje asked.

Imoshen focused on the boy. ‘We cannot use your Chalcedonian name, so I will call you... Deyne.’ She hesitated as if she might explain the name’s origin, but when the causare continued it was to discuss the baby’s name. ‘As for the girl –’

‘I don’t know her name,’ the boy admitted. ‘I called her Little Chicken because of where I found her.’

‘Well, we can’t call her that.’ The causare’s voice held a smile. ‘We’ll call her Arodyti, after my brave and loyal hand-of-force.’ Her voice grew husky with emotion. ‘May this little one live up to her memory.’

The causare called a Malaunje woman over and her new choice-children were led away.

Voice-of-reason Nerazime took Ronnyn by the shoulders. ‘Your turn, lad. If she asks you a question, you address her as “causare” or “T’Imoshen.” Off you go.’

Nerazime indicated that Aravelle was to stand behind her T’En brothers, reminding her of her place. In her arms, little Itania slept on, impervious to the insult.

Even though Aravelle knew the healer would accept them, she felt nervous.

‘What is known of these children?’ the causare asked.

Healer Reoden stepped forward. ‘There are four male T’En, one of them a newborn, and two female Malaunje, all from the same parents, both Malaunje.’

Aravelle was close enough to hear Egrayne whisper to the causare. ‘Four healthy T’En from the one set of Malaunje parents. The T’En blood will run strong in those girls.’

Aravelle bristled. They were not breeding cows.

‘I was too late to save the mother,’ Reoden continued. ‘They speak our language, so their parents must have run away from a brotherhood or sisterhood. They don’t know which one.’

The causare stepped closer to Ronnyn, which made Aravelle realise she was the same height as her brother. ‘Think back. Did your parents ever mention a name of someone from their brotherhood?’

Ronnyn hesitated. Aravelle knew it was not in his nature to lie.

When there was no response, the causare turned to Vittor. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘The island,’ Vittor said. ‘Mieren came. They killed Da. They burned everything and took –’

‘...us prisoner,’ Aravelle said quickly, before Vittor could reveal the beautiful torc Scholar Hueryx had given their mother. ‘Then they threw us in a caged-cart and –’

‘The causare was not speaking to you, girl,’ Egrayne reprimanded Aravelle, then added to Imoshen. ‘For all that they speak T’En, they might as well be the children of loners.’

Aravelle’s cheeks burned.

The causare raised her voice. ‘It’s not their fault they were raised by runaway Malaunje. The boys need a brotherhood. Which all-father will take them?’

She waited, but no one stepped forward.

Aravelle stiffened, lifting her chin to hide the pain of rejection.

‘Come, all-fathers,’ the causare urged.

‘There’s something wrong with the eldest boy’s arm,’ one of the T’En men said. He was not as big as some, but he was certainly sharp-eyed. ‘Show us, boy.’

Ronnyn passed their baby brother to Vittor and the cane to Aravelle. Then he lifted his bad arm to reveal the scars and knotted muscles.

There was an intake of breath from the women and muttering from the men.

Aravelle bristled. She wanted to shake her brother. She wanted to tell them all how brave he’d been, how hard he’d worked to regain the use of his arm, and how he’d trained his right hand so that he could use it instead of his left. But she couldn’t. It would shame Ronnyn to be defended by a Malaunje.

‘It was a stink-badger,’ Vittor said. ‘He killed it to save me. He was amazing. Blood went everywhere.’

The men grinned.

‘Why didn’t you show me?’ the healer asked.

‘You were busy,’ Ronnyn said.

She took his arm in her hands. As her fingers probed his muscles, she frowned.

‘You took on a stink-badger with your bare hands?’ the sharp-eyed man asked.

‘I had an axe. And’ – Ronnyn glanced over his shoulder – ‘Vella and Vittor helped. But it wasn’t the first stink-badger that did this. It was the second, that came in from the side. I didn’t spot him in time.’

‘But he killed it, too,’ Vittor said, his voice full of pride.

This time the men chuckled.

‘Can you heal him, Ree?’ the causare asked.

‘With time, I can repair some of the damage. But this is too old to heal properly now. It’s a wonder he can use his arm at all.’

‘Vella massaged it every day,’ Ronnyn said.

Both women sent Aravelle assessing looks, as if she’d suddenly proven useful. She looked down, face hot. Back then, Ronnyn’s gift had already been manifesting and every time she massaged his arm, he’d tried to slip past her defences.

‘And the broken nose?’ the same man asked.

‘Mieren,’ Ronnyn said.

That drew more mutters. But the tone was different now. Aravelle could tell the men approved of her brother.

‘I’ll do what I can for the boy’s arm,’ the healer said. ‘It won’t be perfect, but it will be better. I should reveal that I am honour-bound to rear these four boys and watch over the girls. Their Malaunje mother placed a geas on me with her dying life force.’

‘A Malaunje with such an affinity for the gifts,’ Egrayne whispered to the causare. ‘What a waste!’

A ripple of annoyance and respect raced through the T’En, and a bud of desperate dignity unfurled in Aravelle. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and whispered, ‘Stand tall, boys.’

‘So I will take the Malaunje girls into my sisterhood,’ Reoden said. ‘And –’

‘Wait.’ The sharp-eyed man left the brotherhood ranks. He moved with coiled tension and radiated concentration as he studied Aravelle’s family.

‘All-father Hueryx,’ the causare acknowledged him. ‘What is it?’

Ronnyn glanced over his shoulder to Aravelle, his forehead crinkling. She knew what he was thinking. Was this the same Hueryx their mother used to tell stories about? Were their parents’ transgressions about to be revealed?

Hueryx left Ronnyn and came around to study Aravelle.

She lifted her chin. Even if it was the same Hueryx, he would never recognise them. She’d only been a baby and Ronnyn hadn’t been born when their parents ran away.

Hueryx lifted a hand to Aravelle’s bruised eye. ‘How...’

She sidestepped him, glaring.

He chuckled, muttering under his breath. ‘I swear it is Sasoria all over again.’

Aravelle gasped to hear mother’s name.

Hueryx turned to Ronnyn. ‘And you... I thought I’d lost you.’ He shook his head in wonder.

Aravelle was aware of the causare and Reoden exchanging worried looks.

‘You know these children?’ the causare asked.

Hueryx nodded. ‘They are as alike as peas in a pod and they all have the impudent look of a very valuable, but wilful, Malaunje scribe who went missing under strange circumstances nearly thirteen years ago. I am honour bound to take the boys when they turn seventeen and protect the girls right now. They are brotherhood-born.’

Aravelle’s heart sank. Now she wouldn’t see her brothers until they were all grown up. Ashmyr would never know her.

‘But I must fulfil the geas,’ Reoden protested, glancing to the causare for support.

‘Do it by rearing the boys,’ Hueryx said. ‘I’ll have them back when they are ready for the brotherhood. The girls are mine. I’ll take them now.’

Vittor shuffled closer to Ronnyn and Aravelle. Her brother glanced to Nerazime, who gave the slightest shake of her head and nodded towards the causare. She would decide. Aravelle focused on her.

‘They are brotherhood-born, causare,’ Hueryx reminded her. Although he spoke softly, his tone held a warning. ‘Would you deny the brotherhoods their due?’

‘This is easily resolved. Where is your brotherhood’s lineage book?’ the causare asked.

Hueryx beckoned a Malaunje, who hurried over with a large, leather-bound tome.

While the all-father flicked through this, looking for the right page, the causare turned to Ronnyn. ‘Name your Malaunje birth parents, if you can.’

‘My mother was Sasoria and my father was Asher,’ Ronnyn said. Then he added, as if he could not help himself, ‘My father died trying to protect us. We had to leave his body for the wild dogs.’

Aravelle felt hot tears sting her eyes. Vittor gave a soft sob, but she refused to cry.

‘It must have been hard to leave him,’ the causare said and her hand cupped their cheeks one after the other. Inexplicably, Aravelle felt a weight lift from her chest with the causare’s touch.