Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (128 page)

Vendanj seemed to weigh the things Tahn said. He regarded him for a long time without moving. Finally, he spoke, his voice firm but low. “The Council of Creation is said to have ended with the First Ones abandoning their work on behalf of men, because they thought the work was lost. Once Quietus had been sealed up and whited, the land was given into the stewardship of those who would have it; our lives are our own. But the work of the Artificer had already tainted that stewardship, and has pressed in upon us since recorded time.

“In all the ages past, we have warred with each other, warred with the Quiet, and so perhaps you wonder if we deserve another day, if the Quiet that would blight our world is not inevitable.”

Tahn nodded. “And what difference can the bow of a simple hunter from the Hollows make when added to the nations, the armies, that stand against the darkness that comes at us from the Bourne?”

Tahn saw something in Vendanj’s eyes: knowledge, perhaps comfort. The Sheason spoke of neither. “There is more to you than your bow, Tahn. You know this about yourself. However desperately you wish to be only a woodsman from the Hollows, it is folly to cling to such obvious self-deception. Your moment at Tillinghast should have taught you as much.”

Tahn remained mute. In response, the Sheason’s brows rose perceptibly in surprise. Seeing that look, Tahn realized that even at Restoration, the Will had controlled the moment, obscuring revelations Vendanj had apparently expected Tahn to have. Still, the renderer said nothing of it.

As if in response, Vendanj narrowed his gaze as a father might to reprove a willful child. “It is the opportunity of free men to choose their own path, to direct their will as they deem fit. But freedom is not license to waste the gifts bestowed on you.”

“And what might those be?”

Vendanj settled back as a father does when he sets out to explain. “Shall I name all those who have raised their arms and placed their lives in the breach in order to safeguard the land that houses your narrow tract in the Hollows? Men and women who knew not the politics, nothing of the old war or the ancients, who put themselves in harm’s way and went to their final earth because they were called to it by nothing save their desire to be free, to preserve their children’s morrow?”

Vendanj showed Tahn compassionate eyes. “I am well pleased in your triumph at Restoration. But now you have been qualified, selected to act as the Will would have you. Don’t ever make demands or assert your own needs, or you will have undone what we came here to do.”

After a moment, Tahn offered meekly, “Is my life not my own?”

Vendanj’s features softened to a paternal smile. “Every answer to that is true, Tahn. Make peace with them all.”

Vendanj stood in Tahn’s company for some time, then began to take his leave. As he strode away he spoke. “Keep safe the token you hide in your tunic. It may serve you well someday.”

*   *   *

The evening of their second day, they spotted the Soliel Stretches beyond the lower peaks of the last range of mountains. Their rations gone, Sutter dug some roots he recognized, and they drank from a nearby stream. Tahn sought an opportunity to talk with Wendra, but his sister still kept her distance, speaking only occasionally to Braethen. Like Wendra, Sutter was changed, too, but Nails seemed to fight that change, turning their minds toward home.

“Can you imagine the welcome we’re going to get from Hambley?” Sutter licked his lips. “I can taste his roast duck already. Hey, Woodchuck, maybe you can hunt us up something good for him to roast in those magic Fieldstone ovens. This time, we’ll be the ones people buy spiced bitter for. I think I’ll take a glass of warmed cinnamon and some plum brandy to wash it down with.” As he spoke, Sutter casually rolled his own sword in his hands, its use seeming to have become increasingly familiar to him.

“Well, so long as you put some fine roots beside that duck, root-digger, I’ll spare not the carafe.”

Distantly, Tahn could hear Wendra using her voice, drawing more water from the stream, and choosing songs both high and low to test her vocal limits and strength. If nothing else, it gladdened his heart to hear her sing again.

Braethen wore a quizzical half smile, his books for once put away, and only his sword in sight, lying near to hand. “Hollows men,” the sodalist added, “you will place another plate at that table, and a handful of cups for me alone.”

Sutter gave Braethen a look of pleasant surprise. “And when Hambley sets the glasses down, will our resident scop favor us with an emotional retelling of the events since Northsun?” Having baited him, Sutter waited expectantly to see how the sodalist would respond.

Braethen cleared his throat, preparing to orate something, but with his first word broke down and laughed. His laughter was contagious, and soon they all were laughing as they had not since Tahn could remember.

“That’s all right, sodalist, after all,” Sutter said, standing and drawing a deep breath as though he meant to issue a battle cry, “you are you!”

That got them all laughing again. Tahn rolled off his rock, holding his stomach, while Sutter struck a noble pose.

*   *   *

The Far king shifted around abruptly, and gave the Sheason a despairing look. “Then the floodgates are nearly open.” Elan glanced over them all in his central hall, quickly searching their faces. Lighting on Tahn, the king asked, “You made it to Tillinghast?”

Vendanj answered. “He did. And is come again into the land.”

“Then we have an instrument to be grateful for.” Elan smiled crookedly at Tahn, though Tahn did not like being described in such a way. “Still,” the king added grimly, “I fear there is not time to sire a larger generation of Far before…”

Tahn saw Mira’s discomfort at the turn of the conversation. “Whatever else you decide, you should know Mira’s actions made my stand at Tillinghast possible.”

No one responded, though understanding came to Elan’s face. He nodded at Mira, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

“They will seek the covenant language, and Naltus is now its sole repository. But they will not make their ambition dependent on that alone.” Vendanj leveled a serious look at the king of the Far. “It will be necessary for you to place a select few of the Far in areas that will prove critical should the Shadow of the Hand be laid fully open, or should the Veil fail utterly. First though, the convocation. It is necessary for you to occupy your seat at Recityv. Tahn has survived Restoration, but that is only our first step. The time is short now before convocation begins, if it has not already. We need your leadership, Elan. The politics of kings, the subterfuge of the League … the coming of the Quiet. You must not stand idle.”

Attending closely the Sheason’s words, the king nodded in such a way that Tahn knew he would consider all Vendanj asked. But concern stayed in the Far king’s aspect, causing Tahn to wonder if Elan’s burdens amounted to more than even a Far could manage. In that instant, Tahn felt empathy for King Elan, a kinship he decided they shared as creatures given a role that left them few choices for themselves.

*   *   *

That night, after all the details had been shared, they were treated to hot baths, assigned beds, and allowed to sleep, this time, without the company of standing guards—an exception the king made in order to give the weary companions some privacy. Braethen went with Vendanj, a fealty having grown in the sodalist for the Sheason. Grant went with Mira to the training yards, where immediate work would begin to instruct the Far in battle techniques unfamiliar to them. Wendra took her own room, saying a soft good night to them all before taking a loaf of bread and some freshly warmed milk to bed. Tahn and Sutter bunked together, opening their window to let the night air touch their chests as they had always done on hunting trips into the Hollows.

“What’s next?” Sutter asked, staring over the foot of his bed at a bright moon through the opened window.

“I’m sure they’ll tell us,” Tahn remarked, lending both contempt and humor to his words.

Sutter raised his hand that bore the unique glove of the Sedagin. “Do you suppose I’d be welcome back into the High Plains again?”

“Sure. You make a wonderful impression wherever you go.” Tahn chuckled and turned likewise to view the risen moon.

Sutter laughed.

It felt good to banter with his friend again, even if the familiarity of that banter did not put him completely at ease. Looking at the moon, Tahn recalled the last room he shared with Sutter, and the disturbance at their window that had caused Nails to take refuge under his bed. The memory of the leagueman’s charity and his friend’s vision sent a chill down Tahn’s back, and he drew his covers up over his chest.

“Do you think Wendra will ever forgive me?”

Sutter exhaled into the cool, comfortable air. “I’ve never seen her this way,” Sutter said thoughtfully. “But I have faith in her. And why not; I intend to marry her one day.”

Tahn gave his friend a playfully quizzical look. “Do you suppose she’ll return to Recityv?”

“I think Vendanj would like that,” Sutter replied. “But I’ve a feeling Wendra will make up her own mind. What I want to know is if Braethen intends to tag along with the Sheason now forever.”

“Not me,” Tahn shot back. “That’s a secret I’ll gladly let them keep.”

“The real question,” Sutter said, a smile audible in his voice, “is what you intend to do about Mira. I mean, a Hollows boy finding romance with the elusive Far. I’m starting to think you’re keeping things from me.”

“I don’t have any secrets from you,” Tahn said.
But that’s not true anymore, is it?

“Well don’t delay, that’s my advice. A ripe root goes soft if left in the ground too long.” Sutter belly laughed.

Tahn joined him, unable to resist Sutter’s infectious laughter. When they’d finished, Sutter wiped his eyes free of mirthful tears, and asked, “What do you think happened to Penit?”

The mention of the boy’s name caught Tahn off guard. “I hope he gets away,” he said. “If there’s a lad in the world who could do it, it’s Penit.”

They both nodded at that.

“And what have you decided about Grant?” Sutter asked, treading lightly.

Tahn did not immediately reply. “There’s a lot to think about.”

Sutter nodded at that, too. “I don’t know. He’s just so full of fun and love. You know, if the exile career doesn’t work out, maybe we could put in a word for him at the tenendra. I hear they have a few empty cages to fill.”

They went back and forth for some time, their jests and laughter resounding in the room, and pealing through their open window toward the moon.

When they had calmed down, and Tahn was starting to feel sleepy, he turned his head on his pillow. “Thanks for not letting me come alone, Nails.”

Sutter shifted in his bed and returned Tahn’s grateful look. “And thanks to you, Woodchuck. You got me out of the fields.…”

“Well, you may thank me the day we dine on that duck and plum brandy. Until then, simply call me … master.”

Sutter sat up and bowed his head in jest. “Especially now that you’ve passed your Standing, right?”

“Of course, boy,” Tahn said in a kingly tone.

“Woodchuck, that might have worked out fine, but it is common knowledge that a master’s generosity springs from his loins. And when we shared a room tonight for our baths, I noticed that despite what you might have hoped, in that regard the Change hasn’t been terribly kind to you, has it?”

Again their laughter rose, even louder this time, so that they almost feared a knock on the door to calm them as they’d often heard during their childhood when sharing a night together at home. Forgotten were Sutter’s greatsword and Tahn’s new bow.

*   *   *

Down the hall, Vendanj sat up, quietly placing a sprig of herb on his tongue. With the sodalist fast asleep, the Sheason reflected on the brightness of the moon and listened to the laughter echoing from a few doors away. His first thought was to quiet them, afraid their noise would draw undue attention from the sober-minded Far, and perhaps any Quiet that took to the air. But easing into his pillows, he let them alone. If they could find even small joys here and now, then perhaps there remained hope for them all. Perhaps it was that one quality that most suited them to this endeavor, perhaps the very thing that gave Tahn success at Tillinghast, restoring to him a greater measure of light than of darkness. With that thought, Vendanj nodded silently to himself. “You are the one, Tahn. Given life out of death, so may you do for the family of man.”

With their laughter in his ears, Vendanj drifted to sleep with belief ever more alive in his heart.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Peter Orullian has worked in marketing at Xbox for nearly a decade, most recently leading the music and entertainment marketing strategy for Xbox LIVE, and has toured internationally as a featured vocalist at major music festivals. He has published several short stories.
The Unremembered
is his first novel. He lives in Seattle. Visit him at
www.orullian.com
.

TOR BOOKS BY
PETER ORULLIAN