Sanctuary (17 page)

The hand-of-force chuckled, which seemed to incense Hueryx’s voice-of-reason.

‘If you admire her so much, why don’t you offer to tryst with her? Or have you already...?’ Dragomyr’s brown drew down in suspicion. ‘The other day, when I was speculating on the identity of her sacrare’s father, you said nothing. Are you the father? Did you tryst with her in secret and keep it from us?’

Hueryx threw back his head and laughed.

Dragomyr bristled. ‘She’s the most dangerous sister alive today. Do you have a death wish?’

‘No. But one of the all-fathers does. As much as I would like to claim that honour, I am not the father of the sacrare. Imoshen very wisely hid his identity and I have not been able to guess it. If Kyredeon knew, I shudder to think what he would do. And it is just as well I did not offer formal challenge. You saw the way she demolished Dretsun’s challenge? His stature may never recover. She thinks ahead. Applying to the Sagoras for sanctuary is exactly the move I would have made.’

‘What are you staring at, insolent girl?’ Dragomyr waved a hand at Aravelle. ‘Get back to work.’

After that, she kept her head down and collected discarded clothing. Each item held the gift-enhanced scent of the wearer, making her feel dizzy and yet covetous at the same time. This was awful. How did the Malaunje protect themselves? How had her mother worked beside Hueryx without...

She hadn’t; she’d become his lover and produced two children. But then she had run away. The complexities of her mother’s motivations dawned on Aravelle. Now she understood why, when Sasoria spoke of Scholar Hueryx and the Celestial City, her voice had held equal parts longing and resentment.

Aravelle had finished putting the weapons away and was returning silver chalices to their case when the all-father and his seconds spoke of death.

‘...be seventeen soon, and her sisterhood will turn him out, but no all-father will take him, not when Imoshen the All-father-killer is his choice-mother, not when it means the all-father would earn the enmity of all the other brotherhood leaders,’ the hand-of-force said. ‘When that day comes, we’ll have to execute him.’

‘The causare will come up with something,’ Hueryx said. ‘She won’t let us kill her choice-son.’

‘I think you have an exaggerated idea of Imoshen’s power,’ Dragomyr said. ‘No all-father will take him, and he can hardly go back to Chalcedonia.’

Someone tapped on the door.

Hueryx gestured for Aravelle to answer it.

‘All-father.’ Saskar gave his obeisance from the doorway. ‘Captain Ardonyx is reorganising our stores.’

They bristled like dogs whose territory had been invaded, left their spiced wine on the table and went out to see what was going on. Feeling relieved, Aravelle continued to pick-up and put away.

When the door swung open again, she flinched, but it was only Saskar. He came straight across the cabin to her.

‘What did they want with you?’

‘All-father Hueryx plans to write a history. He wants me to be his scribe.’

‘He can read and write perfectly well.’

Of course he could. Alarmed, she met Saskar’s eyes.

He nodded grimly.

‘Then why would he need me?’

‘I don’t know. But I did hear Hueryx was furious when your mother ran away with Asher.’

She shivered.

‘Don’t worry. Hueryx is a much better all-father than Kyredeon.’

‘The voice-of-reason doesn’t approve of me.’

‘Dragomyr doesn’t approve of much. His all-father is smarter than he is, which is hard for a voice-of-reason to take.’

‘Then why is Dragomyr Hueryx’s voice-of-reason?’

‘The last all-father lost control of the brotherhood when one of his supporters killed himself, this upset the balance of power. To make the challenge, Hueryx had to move quickly. He needed the backing of two strong seconds. Dragomyr might not be as smart as Hueryx – few are – but he is loyal. Hueryx’s hand-of-force is also loyal, and ambitious for stature. Keep out of Reyne’s way.’

Aravelle frowned. ‘I don’t see why you’re telling me all this.’

‘My Mieren parents raised me until I was eleven before our village forced them to turn me over. It’s hard coming in from the outside. I know. I’ve spent the last seven years trying to make sense of the T’Enatuath. There are two ways of doing this, Vella. You can make waves and get swamped, or you can ride it out. So keep your head down and stay out of trouble.’

‘Charsoria hates me already. When she learns I’m to scribe for Hueryx...’

‘She’ll be furious. But there’s nothing she can do.’

Aravelle rolled her eyes. ‘You only think that because you’ve never had to live in the same cabin with her.’

He grinned. ‘If she’s going to take out her spite on you, you might as well enjoy the benefits of your new role.’ Without asking, he took the remainder of the spiced wine and poured it into two cups, giving her one and raising his. ‘Here’s to Aravelle, the all-father’s scribe.’

Together they polished off the spiced wine. Her stomach no longer ached and she felt lighter of heart. Nothing had changed for the better, but now she had a friend. ‘Thank you. I should get back to work.’

‘I’ll help.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘Oh, but I do.’ He grinned. ‘You’re doing my job.’

So they began to clean up. While working alongside Saskar, she wondered why he had to clean the cabin when he wore the leather breeches and vest of a warrior.

As she picked up the bronze statue to return it to the chest, she was struck by the pathos of the figure. It depicted a wounded warrior and his two friends who stood over him, ready to defend him to their last breath. The force of their emotion, captured in the lines of their bodies, was so powerful that it brought tears to her eyes.

‘It’s by Iraayel,’ Saskar said. He saw she did not understand. ‘All-father Iraayel, the great sculptor. It’s called the ‘Fallen All-father.’ It’s not the original, of course. That stood twice as tall as us and was made of marble.’

He came over with a cloth and wrapped the small statue reverently. ‘There were so many precious things that we could not bring them all. We made copies and hid the originals. One day...’ He had to clear his throat. ‘If our people ever return to Chalcedonia, they’ll reclaim our heritage.’

Loss made Aravelle feel cheated and hollow. She’d never seen the Celestial City. All she had were her mother’s stories.

He put the bronze in a chest and handed it to her to put away, but caught her arm. ‘Don’t be taken in by Hueryx. He can be charming, but he always gets his own way.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Aravelle said. You had to like someone to be taken in by him, and she hated the all-father. ‘I cannot be charmed.’

Chapter Twelve

R
ONNYN HAD NEVER
felt more constricted in his life. The T’En children were only allowed out of the cabin at certain times of the day, and only allowed in certain places. The Malaunje used the mid-deck and the below-decks. The T’En had the foredeck and rear-decks, except when the big lads practised their combat training: then they claimed the mid-deck and everyone kept out of their way.

This was the first chance he’d had to see the lads go through their exercises. They ranged from boys just a little bigger than him to youths taller than Hand-of-force Cerafeoni. In preparation for their role as brotherhood warriors, they had memorised sequences of strikes and counter strikes. As they performed these patterns with wooden long-knives, Cerafeoni observed closely, interrupting to correct the angle of a deflection or their stance.

When she saw Ronnyn, she said, ‘Stand back. Empowered lads tend to be a bit wild at this age, that’s why we keep them segregated.’

Watching the warriors made him restless to begin his own training. Instead, he was stuck with the children, who were all Vittor’s age or younger. The little ones spilled out of the passage, crowding around him.

‘That’s it for today,’ Cerafeoni called. ‘Back to your cabin.’

As the trainee warriors walked past, joking and laughing, an aura of roused male gift enveloped Ronnyn, making his heart beat faster. Surrounded by small children, he felt inadequate; shame burned in him.

Just then, the scarred T’En woman and her shield-sister herded the children up onto the foredeck and started the lesson. When it become clear Ronnyn already knew most of what the sisters were teaching, they told him to go and keep out of trouble.

He was used to working from sun-up to sun-down at home, and he looked about for something to do. When he heard his baby brother cry, he headed for the cabin. There he found the all-mother’s Malaunje servant woman clucking over his little brother. She greeted Ronnyn with a smile.

Wrapping the infant in a shawl, she took him out to find the all-mother.

At a loose end, Ronnyn looked around the cabin and spotted the chest where the sisterhood kept their books. They’d only had one book at home. Now he went to the chest, opened it up and took them out one by one. The weight of the leatherbound covers, the richness of the paper, the illustrations with their brilliant inks and glowing gold leaf... he felt like each one was a treasure, and that was without even reading them.

Choosing one, he made himself a nest in the far corner and became lost in the T’Enatuath origin myth. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when a noise made him look up. To his surprise, a panel in the far wall opened.

Ronnyn went absolutely still as a T’En child about his own age darted out. Although partially obscured by the desk, he could see they were richly dressed, same as him. Then he caught a glimpse of her face and almost gasped. From the arch of her eyebrow to the line of her lips, she was beautiful.

Ronnyn swallowed.

As if afraid of discovery, she made straight for the chest, selected a volume and returned to her hidden nook. It all happened so quickly, he didn’t have time to call out.

Now that he’d seen the panel open and close, Ronnyn realised one corner of the cabin had been walled off. A small grille near the ceiling meant the prisoner could hear what was going on.

Ronnyn put his book aside, quietly collected a chair and went over to the false wall. He climbed up and peered down through the grill into the private nook. It was wide enough for a bunk and little else. There was one small window. Under this the girl sat reading, cross-legged. He could see the crescents of her eyelashes on her cheeks and he wanted her to look up so he could see her face again.

He wanted to help her. ‘Why aren’t you allowed out?’

The girl looked up, startled to find him peering through the grille. ‘Go away. If they knew you’d seen me, I’d be in trouble.’

‘That’s not fair. They shouldn’t shut you up like this.’

‘It’s all right. It’s for my own good,’ she said.

But she looked so sad Ronnyn’s heart went out to her. ‘I’ll speak to the all-mother –’

‘She’s the one who put me in here.’

Ronnyn felt betrayed. He’d instinctively trusted the healer. ‘How can I help?’

‘No one can help me. They’ve all tried.’

‘There must be something I can do.’

The girl blushed furiously, put the book aside and came to stand under the grill. She looked up earnestly. ‘Please go away. You’ll only make things worse.’

‘Do you need anything?’

‘I have everything I could want.’

‘Except freedom.’

‘Who is truly free? Not even the all-mother, she’s bound by tradition. None of us are truly free.’

Ronnyn laughed. ‘I’m free.’

‘Not if you belong to the T’Enatuath.’

‘I grew up free,’ Ronnyn said. ‘And I’ll be free again one day. You wait and see. And when I go, I’ll take you with me.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t leave.’

‘Why not?’

She looked down. ‘Go away.’

‘I’m only trying to help.’

‘No one can help.’

‘I promise I’ll find a way to set you free. I will. I’ll –’

‘If you ask about me, you’ll get me in trouble. You might even put me in danger.’ She wrung her hands. ‘Just go away and forget you ever saw me.’

Ronnyn didn’t want to distress her, so he climbed down off the chair. But he couldn’t forget her.

I
T WAS DUSK
, and Imoshen stood on the high rear-deck, feeling the gentle rise and fall of the ship under her feet as it lay at anchor in Shifting-sands Bay. She lowered her shields, opened her gift awareness and sensed the build-up of a storm in the air. It reminded her of when she was growing up on Lighthouse Isle.

‘Choice-mother?’

Imoshen turned to see five-year-old Deyne sprinting across the deck towards her. Tiasarone followed at a more sedate pace with baby Arodyti in her arms, while Frayvia, Imoshen’s devotee, carried Umaleni, who wriggled, eager to be put down so she could chase after Deyne.

Imoshen held out her arms. ‘Deyne.’

The little boy covered the distance between them. She laughed and caught him. Lifting him off his feet, she spun in a circle, then put him down as he was too heavy to hold for long.

‘These children will be the death of me,’ Tiasarone complained, but she did not hand Arodyti over, even though Imoshen offered to take the infant.

Frayvia and Imoshen shared a smile, and the devotee passed Umaleni to her.

‘Have they been good children?’ Imoshen asked.

‘Always,’ Deyne insisted and Frayvia laughed.

Imoshen was not surprised. This was what her gift had told her. His nature was true and loyal.

Umaleni wriggled with delight. Imoshen kissed her daughter’s forehead and studied her dear little face. Every day Umaleni grew more like her half-cousin Iraayel. Which was lucky, as no one would be able to guess her T’En father’s identity from her features.

‘What brings you up on deck?’ Imoshen asked.

‘You didn’t come to say good night to the children.’

‘And we knew you meant to,’ Deyne said earnestly.

Imoshen blushed.

Five nights. She had tucked him into bed five nights and in that time he’d laid claim to her heart by giving his without equivocation.

‘So I did,’ Imoshen agreed. ‘But I was distracted by the blue fire.’