by S Kaeth
As the stranger opened his mouth, Ra’ael gave them a saucy grin over his shoulder before snagging the man’s sleeve with deft fingers. By the time he turned to look at her, calm respect had filled her expression.
“I’m happy to welcome you.” Ra’ael smiled. “Please, may I see your token? Not that you’re Fallen, of course, but we must follow these traditions for the good of us all. What kaetal has sent you?”
He stared at Ra’ael for a moment before producing the carved wooden figure he’d been given from his Storyteller. He shifted his weight under the adherence to tradition so rigid it was almost—but not quite—insulting. “I bear a message from Storyteller Utalen of the kaetal of Tseril.”
Ra’ael gave him a nod. “Wonderful. Please, come with me to the Ellewyn. Teros, our head priest, is expecting you, along with Storyteller Zeroun. We do not want to keep such busy people waiting.”
She guided him forward by his arm, the dignified motion honoring the messenger, but as they walked away, Ra’ael turned to flash them a wide smile. Kaemada returned it as beside her, Takiyah let out a deep sigh.
Kaemada turned to her, searching her eyes to see if she was okay. “Why was he so combative with you?”
Takiyah shook her head. “I do not know. With his zeal, I expect we will find out soon enough.”
Darkness lurked in her friend’s eyes, and Kaemada grabbed her hand. “Forget what he said, Takiyah. You belong here as much as anyone, in this community, as part of tonight’s celebration, as one of our people.”
A grin answered her, and Takiyah squeezed her hand before turning to the fires, shaking coals, surely from her little forge at the edge of the kaetal, into the central fires. Kaemada watched Ra’ael and the messenger walk away. If she couldn’t defend her people, if she couldn’t live up to the expectations of her closest family, if she couldn’t meet the task she’d set for herself, what good was she to her community? What good was she to her son, especially in the face of such hate?
As the sun went down, the scent of roasting meat mingled with the aromas of cooking vegetables and honeyed bread baking on the coals. Families gathered on the field with their instruments, breaking into impromptu songs while children laughed, danced, and played. Neven and Farel remained sequestered as they had been since their return—Farel a day ago, and Neven early that morning. They’d only been allowed contact with the Storyteller and the priests as they prepared themselves for the ceremony.
Eian ran, shrieking with laughter, around her legs, and Kaemada caught Takiyah’s eye with a grin, including her in the joy. The taller woman had been tense all day, not that Kaemada blamed her. She’d kept close to Takiyah, just in case, ever since the Storyteller and Teros had finished their meeting with the messenger. Fortunately, he’d kept his distance, and Kaemada was determined to enjoy the evening.
The sound of drums began: a steady thump, thump, thump rising to the sky, calling her back from her worries. The peripheral music faded away, and conversations quieted.
“Mahkae, Mahkae, pick me up!” Eian danced around her.
She hoisted him, even though at four summers of age he was getting too big to hold for long, and perched him on her shoulder so he could see. Two priests entered the field from around the hill, beating on small hand drums, and the other two priests followed, pulling behind them a cart over which was stretched a large, tanned hide. On the hide, Ra’ael danced, striking out the rhythm with her feet. Her rattling bracelets and anklets emphasized the rhythm, gleaming in the light of the fires.
Takiyah’s father, the Storyteller, came next, rattle bracelets shaking with each clap of his hands, a broad smile splitting his face. Tension melted away from her as she joined in, stomping her feet and clapping her hands. Maeren followed her husband, holding Neven and Farel’s hands up high. The Naming Song was beginning, the ritual that had folded each person firmly into the community after they completed their yah. Beside her, Takiyah caught her eye, and a true grin split her face as she clapped to the ancient rhythm. They were all tied together, woven tightly into the community, regardless of how much family they had or where they were born.
The celebratory air was contagious, and Eian shrieked with laughter. Kaemada brought him back down to the ground and hushed him, kissing his dark brown curls. He promptly pushed his way through the crowd so he could see, and Kaemada peered after him, even though there were plenty of adults about to be sure he did not get into trouble.
Once they reached the fire, Neven and Farel spun to face the Storyteller. Ra’ael stomped one final beat on the drum and leapt to the ground as all the drumming stopped.
The Storyteller’s voice rang out, shattering the stillness. “Tonight, we welcome back Neven and Farel, now men in their own right. They have completed their yah and centered their souls with that of the spirits and Eloí. They have proven they can survive alone and can live in service to the world we depend on.”
The Storyteller turned and whispered in Neven’s ear, then faced them again. “In the presence of his family and kaetal, Neven Anadero has been given his true-name, to share with only those he chooses.”
Neven’s cheeks flushed as the cheering of the kaetalyn grew to a thunderous roar. The Storyteller bent to whisper in Farel’s ear, then turned once more. “In the presence of his family and kaetal, Farel Daros has been given his true-name, to share with only those he chooses.”
Clapping his hands through the whooping cheers, the Storyteller shouted, “Come then, and welcome your men!”
Kaemada laughed, joining the surge forward as the crowd descended on the two young men. She caught Eian’s hand and whisked him back into her arms to avoid losing him in the press.
“Congratulations!” she said as she embraced Neven and Farel, kissing each on the cheek. They stood, beaming and wide-eyed, and she remembered how full her heart had felt when she’d stood there with Ra’ael and Takiyah. The last of the tension melted, unable to stay in the face of such camaraderie, and Kaemada gave Eian a squeeze.
He giggled. “Can we eat now?”
“Yes, my dear.” She laughed and followed the flow of the crowd toward the bowls, pots of meats and vegetables, and the sweet, fresh-baked breads.
Letting Eian down again, she dished out food for both of them and grabbed two wooden mugs of tea. Eian led her, skipping and twirling, to a spot on the grass, where he plunked himself down, wriggling in anticipation.
Ra’ael joined them, and then Takiyah, their bowls laden with food.
“How did the meeting go?” Takiyah asked.
Ra’ael shrugged. “The messenger seems to have a distrust for psions. He hates Galod, too, for some reason. He kept pointing him out as an outsider and a bad influence.”
Takiyah grinned. “I’m surprised you did not punch him.”
Her mouth full of meat and gravy, Kaemada smiled. The food was tender and perfectly seasoned, and she’d always loved stars-of-evening. Eian snuggled against her as he ate, and she threw her free arm around him, balancing her bowl on her leg.
Ra’ael shook out her long, black hair. “I have far more self-control than that.” Then she grinned. “Though it took some doing. It does not matter. In a season, the fear will pass us by.”
Kaemada frowned. “The Saimahkae said the Elders are nervous.”
Ra’ael shrugged. “They are, but at least our Storyteller is keeping the hysteria to a minimum. It makes no sense to have such sudden terror of Dark attacks. Nothing good will come of it.”
“Danger is part of life,” Takiyah agreed. “Walls would be a good way to protect the kaetal from attacks.”
“Walls!” Ra’ael glared at her.
Kaemada groaned as they brought up the old argument yet again. It’d been such a nice, peaceful night.
Takiyah smirked. “It’s what it’s called when you stack stones as a barricade—”
Ra’ael’s dark eyes flashed. “You cannot go against the stories. Torkaema the Great smashed the walls of the old cities and connected us further with the
spirits. Torkae was named for him. We, of all the kaetaln, should keep his ways!”
They'd had this argument countless times. Ra’ael would inevitably bring up the walls of the City of the Lost, where the Fallen went, and Takiyah would snap at the implication of lawlessness, unless Kaemada stepped in.
Kaemada gestured at them with her spoon. “You’re arguing about which way to protect our people is best while forgetting we want the same thing. Better to remove the reason behind the worry.”
Ra’ael shook her head. “Walls wouldn’t have helped the kaetal of Tanelwith. Not with a Dark-touched betraying them.”
There was a group of people who could fight the Darks, according to the stories. And with no need for walls. Perhaps the Darks could be driven off, and no other Rinaryn would ever turn traitor.
Staring at her stew, Kaemada said, “If we could get the Kamalti to help us, we might find protection against the Darks.”
“Stop dreaming of legends,” Ra’ael scoffed. “Why do you insist on bringing up the Kamalti?”
Takiyah nodded. “More likely Taunos has discovered some way to fight them. Not that his task is more than moving a river.”
Kaemada shrugged, watching Eian turn in circles beside her. “They were our friends, back when we used terrible weapons and lived in cities. They may still have knowledge that could help us.”
Ra’ael shook her head. “Why would they have preserved knowledge we lost?”
“Can I have more bread?” Eian broke in.
“You can have mine.” Kaemada’s stomach was knotting again, and she handed him the treat.
“Do not eat too many sweets.” Ra’ael tore the bread in half, handing one part to the boy and the other back to Kaemada.
Her stomach wasn’t just knotting from the conversation—wariness filled her bond from Tannevar. A strange scent tickled her nose. Leather… and oil.
Kaemada seized Eian, pulling him down into her lap. “Something’s in the woods.”
Takiyah turned just as the elderly man next to her fell, an arrow piercing his chest.
“Run!” Ra’ael shouted.
AHN
Chapter Two
All psions begin training to control their gifts as soon as they’re discovered, with many exercises to build up their mental walls. Children are given a fair amount of indulgence, as it is understood that their walls are weak and easily overcome by strong emotion. However, once the child has reached maturity—gone on their yah, as they say—that laxity ends. Severe penalties reign in force to persuade the psions never to use their gifts except under the direction of their leaders (“Elders”). They say this is to prevent a return to a past time when psions were hunted.
Generally, an uncontrolled psion ends up in one of two ways. Those without adequate mental walls end up as quivering masses of nerves because of the overload of other ideas and emotions (described in their story of “No-mind”). Those whose walls are stronger, but still insufficient, lose their sense of self. They bounce from the identity of one person to the next as they follow the thoughts that slip past their walls (their story of “Every-mind”).
Rinaryns walk a line between encouraging young ones to practice their abilities, to build control, and discouraging those who have control from using their abilities.
—journal excerpt
Arrows rained down on them, nearly invisible against the night, and Kaemada threw herself over Eian. Shouts and screams filled the air. An arrow thrummed home in the ground next to her shoulder. Another struck the Storyteller’s staff as Takiyah bellowed for her father, racing toward him. Nausea rose in Kaemada’s throat. How many of those she knew and loved had just died? There was no cover here. They had to move. She forced herself to think, to account for the direction of the arrow storm and the scent of leather and oil.
“The Ellewyn!” she shouted.
“The Ellewyn! The Ellewyn! Get up the hill! Go!” Ra’ael screamed directions, shoving stunned men and women into motion.
The Darks usually launched arrows in volleys, and Kaemada suspected they had mere moments before another wave struck them. There was no way everyone would make it to safety. Clutching Eian close, Kaemada sprinted with the flood of people, her heart in her throat as she gasped for breath. Eian clutched her tight, his whole body taut with panic. A woman next to her went down, and then a man just ahead of her. Kaemada dodged him and kept running, forcing down grief, terror, and guilt. She had to rescue Eian.
The cries of her people filled her ears, their pain and fear dragging at her spirit with sorrow. Anger urged her on. Eian’s need sustained her in the press of the crowd, on, on, on. The feathers of another arrow brushed her hip, and her blood ran cold. A man tripped next to her. She grabbed his arm to help him regain his balance. Almost there. Blood sang in her ears as her heart pounded a song of wrath, a song of battle.
Kaemada burst inside the Ellewyn, shoving through the crowd at the entrance. “Get back! Away from the door!”
On the other side of the large room, she squeezed Eian tightly one last time. She had to go back outside, had to defend their home. Tannevar’s fury howled along their bond. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she put her son down, kissing his forehead as he clutched at her. “I will be back soon.”
“Eian, come sit with me,” one woman said, holding out her hand. Feet dragging, Eian went, though he watched Kaemada with big, fearful eyes. Flashing the woman a grateful smile, Kaemada turned back to her part in the larger song of the kaetal. Battle.
She ran to the large box in the corner, blessing Ra’ael for her habit of never being far from a weapon. Shoving open the lid, Kaemada reached inside, only to be inundated by the hands of frightened people looking for a means of defense. Handing out daggers and bows warred with the need to get back out there and defend their home. She directed the next man she locked eyes with to take over. Grabbing a staff for Takiyah, a sword and dagger for Ra’ael, and a bow for herself, she headed back out into the night. She sidled along the wall of the building. Ra’ael and Takiyah stood at the corner, ready to leap back for cover, but there seemed to be a momentary reprieve. Able fighters clustered behind them as more streamed along behind Kaemada.
“How’s your knee?” Ra’ael glanced at her as Kaemada handed her the weapons.
It was during a Dark attack just like this one three summers ago that her knee had been injured, stabbed by a former kaetalyn. A deep unease chilled her. Kaemada shifted the attention away from herself. “We need to move.”
“The arrows came from the northern tree line,” Ra’ael mused. “It’s safe to figure they’re scattered through the forest. We will split up.”
Ra’ael’s fingers picked out individuals with a weaver’s dexterity. “You ten, defend the west side. You seven, take these bows and set up over there, under cover of the wagons. You ten-and-two are with Takiyah, and you nine are with me. Kae, take these ten-and-one over here. Come around the eastern side of the kaetal for an aerial assault after we take out the bows. We will push back the Darks to allow the healers a chance to tend the wounded and bring them to safety.”
Kaemada gestured and her group fell in behind her. She motioned them low, and they ran at a crouch to the tree line. The tension in her shoulders eased with the forest she knew so well providing them cover. She wiped her sweaty hands on her pants and quickly prayed to the spirits for guidance. It was difficult to align her song with that of the spirits when her thoughts flitted to those injured and killed in the attack. Had she really seen the Storyteller with a gash on his forehead and the Saimahkae’s clothes bloodied?
She focused on the smell of the trees and the soil underneath her feet to calm her heart. She had a task to complete. Ra’ael had entrusted her with five of the kaetal’s precious aeneshenon, winged warriors, and she was determined to keep her whole group safe while they drove out the intruders.
Kaemada headed in the direction Ra’ael had indicated, then began the loop that would take them toward the archers. The undergrowth thick
ened in that direction, so they ran along a narrow wild-trail. Though all moved silently on the trails, some were less adept in the undergrowth. One stray snap of a twig would give away their location. They’d have to follow the trail to the pond and then divert to avoid a tserwora den—they had enough troubles.
How was it that the Darks were attacking tonight when they had just attacked Tanelwith? Something was wrong. Something was different now, but what?
Still moving, she cast along her link to Tannevar, and his senses engulfed her. Crisp night air, the wind blowing past as he ran. The moon Tharahel had risen full, and her sister, Anathel, was rising, providing more than enough silvery light to see by. Tannevar scented the intruders a distance upwind of him and was angling toward them.
A hand grabbed her, yanking her to the side. She jolted back to herself, staring at the píewood tree she’d nearly walked into. She gave her head a quick shake to get rid of the last vestiges of disorientation that accompanied deep connections with Tannevar.
“Are you alright, Kae?”
She nodded to Solarenn, one of the aeneshenon with her, but slowed her pace. Something was wrong, something was wrong! What was it? She frowned at the trail. Near the pond, east and north of the tserwora den, a cluster of elderwoods sprawled around a tiny clearing. Many summers ago, Tikatae had dragged her there, her last altercation with him before the Elders declared him Fallen the next day.
It was only a feeling.
Reaching along her bond, Kaemada asked Tannevar to divert to the clearing among the elderwoods.
“What’s wrong?” Solarenn asked.
She shook her head. It was probably nothing, and she’d probably sent Tannevar on a useless errand. They had to follow Ra’ael’s instructions and take out the archers.
“Nothing,” she said. “Let’s go.”
They were nearly to the pond when she shivered with the force of Tannevar’s rage. He passed along the scents of five more intruders he’d found. Cautioning him to be careful, she compared his position with her own. A chill ran down her spine. The extra Darks were positioned such that if they continued on the trail, they’d run right past them. She held up a hand, and her band halted.
