Sanctuary (42 page)

Meleya threaded the needle. ‘Do you want something to bite on... What’s your name?’

‘Vittor. And I don’t want anything to bite on. I want to go back and help.’

‘Good lad,’ the devotee smiled.

‘My brother’s called Vittor, too,’ Ronnyn said, trying to distract him.

‘I’m ready.’ The devotee nodded to Ronnyn. ‘Release his arm.’ He removed the cloth to reveal a long jagged wound in his forearm. ‘Nasty. The blade’s gone through the muscle.’

Blood pumped from the wound.

Without a sound, Sardeon pitched forward in a dead faint, right across the big lad’s legs. It was so unexpected that Ronnyn laughed.

‘I should have known,’ Meleya muttered. ‘His heart’s in the right place, but he hasn’t got the stomach for it. Get him out of here, Ronnyn.’

He caught Sardeon under the arms, lifted him off the injured lad’s legs and dragged him towards the cabin door. By the time they’d reached it, Sardeon had shrugged off his hands and staggered to his feet.

Ronnyn tried to draw him into the hall.

Sardeon brushed him aside. ‘I’m all right. I’m not afraid.’

‘I didn’t say you were.’

‘It’s just... I hate the sight of blood.’

Ronnyn wondered what Sardeon would do if he had a martial gift.

S
ORNE HEARD VOICES
coming back up the beach towards the tavern. He crept over the sleeping children to peer through the gap in the cellar doors. From the shape of the bodies silhouetted against the silver sea, it was the Maygharian and two of his men. The celebrations on the captured ship had died down; it was late.

‘...this ship has fallen into our laps at just the right time,’ the Maygharian was saying as they entered the tavern.

Sorne crept through the sleeping children to the steps and positioned himself at the tavern door. Peering through a crack in the wood, he could make out the edge of a table and something on the floor.

The Maygharian lit a lamp, revealing an old woman asleep under the table. He gave her a shove with his boot. ‘Get us some food and ale, Loris.’

She scurried off, while the three men sat down. Sorne could only see the edge of a shoulder and the side of someone’s face. From their talk, he gathered they were planning a big raid. He’d heard of sea-vermin uniting to attack port towns.

‘I don’t like it,’ one of the men muttered. ‘The Marlin sea-king claims he has a power-worker. They’re almost as bad as Wyrds.’

‘It might be handy to have a power-worker,’ the Maygharian said, ‘as long as he knows his place.’

‘The prize is big,’ the other man said, ‘but it could be a trick to lure us away so they can steal our exotics. I’m not sure we should trust the other sea-kings.’

‘Of course I don’t trust them. I don’t trust anyone. But only our people know we have a cellar full of exotics. And this is too good an opportunity to miss. The spoils will be divided according to the number and size of the ships we bring. That fat merchant ship means all the more for us.’

‘What about the exotics?’

‘They’ll keep.’

The woman returned with plates of onions and beans. Sorne’s stomach rumbled.

The rest of the conversation was about who they’d take and who would remain behind. He gathered the more fighters the better. All of which pleased him.

If everyone who could swing a sword went on the raid, it would be easier to escape with the children. But if the sea-vermin took all of their boats, there was no point escaping the cellar.

Chapter Thirty-One

I
MOSHEN WATCHED AS
All-mother Ceriane’s body slid over the ship’s side into the water. It made one small splash as the sea swallowed her body. Ripples spread across the incoming swells. They’d held the farewell ceremony on the deck of the burned ship.

Imoshen was surrounded by the other all-mothers, and their sorrow felt like needle-sharp rain, drumming on her senses.

The scent of burned wood still clung to everything and everyone. The fire had left its mark here on the scorched planks, but it was worse on the foredeck, where Ceriane’s cabins had been gutted.

A rope fell down to coil on the deck. A Malaunje sailor hastily retrieved it and scrambled back up the mast. Working silently, out of respect for the dead, the sailors clung to three of the five masts, rigging spare sails. As it turned out, Athazi’s ship was well named – the
Endurance
– and Imoshen suspected it was a quality they would all need.

‘Poor Ceriane.’ Melisarone wiped her cheeks. ‘Our only gift-wright, too.’

‘What will we do?’ Athazi asked. She was barely sixty, yet her face had settled into a perpetual scowl. ‘The ability to repair damaged gifts does not arise in every generation. We’ll...’ She looked up at the healer. ‘I’m sorry.’

Imoshen met Reoden’s eyes. Her dear friend’s sacrare daughter had been identified as a gift-wright when she had been empowered. But thanks to Kyredeon, Lyronyxe hadn’t lived to grow into her power.

‘Yes, we lost more than a beloved girl-child that day,’ Imoshen said. ‘But we can be thankful at least half of All-mother Ceriane’s people survived, and we didn’t lose any of the Malaunje or T’En children.’

Deep, mournful singing carried across the sea to them.

‘Over on the
Perseverance,
the brotherhoods are bidding their dead farewell. Both All-fathers Egrutz and Dretsun survived, although I hear Egrutz lost a lot of warriors,’ Imoshen said. ‘Unfortunately, not enough of Ceriane’s high-ranking sisters lived to reform the sisterhood. We’ll have to –’

‘I’d take her people in,’ Athazi said. ‘But you can see the state of my ship, half-gutted by fire. Ceriane’s sisterhood will have to be split up and spread around the other ships. The most I could take would be the two T’En girls and perhaps some of her Malaunje.’

Imoshen’s gift surged and she read satisfaction underneath the offer. Athazi had always envied and resented the gift-wright. Now she would add two girl-children to her sisterhood, while her rival’s sisterhood was disbanded.

Imoshen wished her gift left her with some illusions.

‘I can take some Malaunje, but my three-masted ship is already too small,’ Melisarone said, with genuine regret. ‘Ceriane’s choice-sons will have to go another all-mother. I’m too old to take on more children, especially boys.’

‘I’ll take the T’En boys,’ Reoden said, prompted by generosity of spirit. Imoshen could have kissed her.

As they organised the details of breaking up Ceriane’s sisterhood, Imoshen realised only four all-mothers remained, while there were seven all-fathers. If the brotherhoods put the causareship to the vote, she would be hard-pressed to retain it.

Later, as they were rowing back to the
Resolute
, Reoden said, ‘I should have thought before I spoke. Taking in more boys means there’s no room for Ronnyn and Sardeon in my cabin, and I don’t want to put them in with the empowered lads. It would be cruel when their gifts haven’t manifested.’

‘You said Sar has been improving since Ronnyn became his choice-brother. I think it might help bring on Sardeon’s power if you put them in with the empowered lads.’

‘You’re not a gift-wright, Imoshen, what makes –’

‘We know our gifts react to each other. What if shutting Sardeon away from the other youths on the cusp of –’

‘I kept him in seclusion because his gift had gone dormant and he’d stopped growing. I shut him away to protect him.’

‘As I recall, before this happened his gift had begun to manifest and he was on the cusp. Maybe he’s ready now. Try it and see. What have you got to lose?’

T
OBAZIM HAD ALWAYS
loved the brotherhood songs. The martial songs, the love songs and the dirges, like this one. It called to something deep inside him as the men sang to farewell those lost on the
Endurance
. The all-fathers and their seconds stood on the high-rear deck, while the Malaunje filled the mid-deck.

As the singing ceased, Ardonyx slipped away to speak with the ship’s master.

Meanwhile, the rest of the all-fathers offered their sympathy to Dretsun and Egrutz. The old all-father looked exhausted. His brotherhood had borne the brunt of the attack.

‘I hear the adept Egrutz was grooming to replace him was killed last night,’ Norsasno whispered. ‘Egrutz’s brotherhood has been stable for thirty years. But now I fear –’

‘Tobazim, it was your voice-of-reason who chose where we anchored last night.’ Dretsun stepped up to them. The other brotherhood leaders fell silent, and all turned to watch the confrontation. Tobazim could sense Dretsun’s gift, laced with challenge. The all-father gestured to the gathered mourners. ‘And look what happened.’

‘The wind dropped. That’s why we anchored where we did,’ Tobazim said. ‘We couldn’t go anywhere while becalmed.’ He felt Norsasno behind him, felt the build-up of gifts feeding off Dretsun’s aggression. ‘I suppose you’re going to blame us for the fog as well.’

‘He’s got you there,’ Paragian said.

‘This morning the sea-vermin’s sails were still hugging the horizon,’ Dretsun said. ‘They’re waiting for another opportunity to attack us.’

‘Depending on the wind, we’ll pass the last of the islands sometime today.’ Tobazim was glad Ardonyx had shown him the course he’d plotted. ‘Then we’ll head south by south-west. Our course takes us straight across the Secluded Sea, if the winds favour us. If not, we’ll have to tack.’ He saw Dretsun did not understand, and gestured. ‘Weave back and forth.’

‘Why waste time?’ Dretsun snapped. ‘Why not sail straight?’

‘If the wind is blowing from the west and we want to sail into the west, we –’

‘What landsmen we all are!’ Hueryx mocked. He’d been leaning against the mast, now he straightened up. ‘He’s saying we have to cut across the wind to fill the sails.’

The all-fathers turned to Hueryx with a certain wariness and Tobazim got the impression they’d felt the sharp edge of his tongue in the past.

Hueryx gestured impatiently. ‘Not one of us knows the sea as well as Tobazim’s voice-of-reason. Leave it up to him, unless one of the brotherhoods is hiding a weather-worker?’

Had anyone else said this, there would have been laughter. As it was, they broke up and returned to their ships.

‘I spoke with Egrutz,’ Ardonyx said, as they climbed down to the rowboat. ‘He’s shattered.’

Tobazim felt his gift rise to incorporate all the other brotherhoods, in a structure that protected but could also threaten his own brotherhood.

When they reached the
Victorious
, Tobazim found the adepts cheering from the rear-deck as they watched a fight on the mid-deck. The brotherhood’s initiates crowded around the participants, but they were strangely silent.

He pushed through them to find Iraayel and a skinny youth in his mid-twenties circling each other. Both were bleeding. Up on the mid-deck, Karozar took bets. This was just the sort of thing Tobazim wanted to eradicate.

Furious, he was about to plunge in and pull the two combatants apart, when Ardonyx took his arm and Norsasno broke it up.

Iraayel fell to his knees, holding his side.

‘Get him up to the infirmary,’ Norsasno ordered.

No one came forward to help Iraayel. As he struggled to his feet, Tobazim’s gift told him that although he had accepted the causare’s choice-son, his brotherhood hadn’t. Even Haromyr and Eryx stood with their arms folded, faces grim.

‘This must be a personal grudge match, because when I became all-father I said the initiates would not have to fight for the entertainment of the adepts,’ Tobazim said. He rounded on Iraayel. ‘Did you offer this initiate insult?’

Iraayel looked offended.

Tobazim turned to the other combatant. ‘You...’

‘Oteon.’

‘Did you offer him insult?’

As Oteon glanced up to the adepts on the rear-deck, Tobazim noticed faded bruising on his ribs. Old habits died hard; his warriors were used to winning stature through force and violence.

Oteon swallowed and grimaced. ‘Yes, I insulted him.’

Iraayel blinked in surprise.

Tobazim hadn’t expected Oteon to lie. It put him off his stride.

Luckily, Ardonyx stepped in. ‘In that case, you are appointed Iraayel’s carer until he is healed. Take him up to the infirmary.’

Oteon offered Iraayel his arm. The seventeen-year-old refused it and limped off, holding his side. Oteon followed. The initiates parted for them.

Tobazim looked up at the adepts along the rear-deck rail. Most would not meet his eye, while a few stared down with barely concealed contempt. From the age of seventeen they’d lived under Kyredeon’s rule, bowing to fear and intimidation. It was all they understood. Did they think that because he was fair, he was weak?

‘Karozar, come down here.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Ardonyx whispered. ‘Reasoning won’t convince them.’

‘Let me discipline him,’ Norsasno offered. ‘A certain type only understand violence.’

Tobazim didn’t know what he was going to do.

Karozar reported to him, eyes dutifully lowered, but Tobazim noticed the twist to his top lip.

‘You were taking bets,’ Tobazim said.

Karozar shrugged.

‘Do you want to go back to Kyredeon’s rule?’

He looked up at that, surprised.

‘Because you can,’ Tobazim said. He gestured to the side of the ship. ‘You can go join him, right now. Him and his inner circle.’

Karozar’s eyes widened as he realised what Tobazim meant. He shook his head.

‘No?’ Tobazim asked. He looked up at the others. ‘Anyone else nostalgic for Kyredeon’s ways?’

They shook their heads.

‘Good. Because this is my brotherhood and we do things my way. Initiates don’t fight for the entertainment of adepts.’ And he walked off.

‘R
ONNYN,
S
ARDEON
?’

They left the ship’s side as the last of All-mother Ceriane’s people and stores arrived, and reported to the hand-of-force.

Cerafeoni led them to the empowered lads’ cabin and stood in the doorway. ‘We’re moving Ronnyn and Sardeon into this cabin.’