The Unremembered: Book One of The Vault of Heaven

by Peter Orullian

  His friend stopped, switching his reins to his other hand and urging Wendra to go on carefully with Braethen, who was just ahead of them.

  The canopy of clouds overhead thinned, and the moonlight strengthened, shedding a lunar glow on patches of ground around them. When Sutter drew close again, Tahn asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were adopted?”

  The question hung in the air between them, and for several moments Sutter did not respond. He had to think of how to say it. It had been a secret he had kept all his life. Sometimes it felt like a horrible burden, and he cursed those people who had left him behind. Other times he felt lucky to have found a home at all. And when he counted the people in his life, it got simple fast: his mother and father, a brother—his parents’ biological son—and Tahn. In many ways he was closer to Tahn than to the others.

  He’d often wanted to tell his friend. It was the only secret between them on his side of things. But something had always held him back. Something? Huh. He knew what held him back, but he would never share it. Some secrets would have to remain.…

  “What do you say about yourself when your parents leave you because they have something else they’d rather do? It’s not something I wanted people to know.” He paused before continuing, “What difference does it make, anyway?”

  “None to me, Nails,” Tahn chided. “But all this time I could have been calling you ‘orphan Nails,’ or ‘vagabond Nails,’ or ‘Nails the homely abandoned waif.’” In the light of the moon, Sutter saw his friend’s smile.

  He knew that that would be the end of it. Tahn would never bring it up again—except maybe to taunt him—unless Sutter wanted to talk. It just didn’t matter. He slugged Tahn’s arm in thanks.

  Ahead, inside the tree line on the other side of the ravine lay a partially obscured cabin. Though the moon showed only a thin crescent, the light grew stronger as the clouds continued to recede. Tall ferns grew up around the place, helping to conceal it. More ferns and lichens covered the roof, and ivy vines crept along the walls and eaves. It appeared the forest had devoured the small cabin. The clearing sky brought a winter chill to the air and Sutter shivered as Mira emerged from the door. The Far simply looked at Vendanj and disappeared inside again. The rest of them tethered their horses to nearby trees and entered the house.

  Condensation coated the walls of the small, empty rooms. Through tiny cracks in the floor and outer walls, the vegetation had found purchase, growing in straight lines. A rocking chair stood in one corner, coated in thick dust like fur. Near the south wall, a dinner table had been toppled. Mira busied herself at the cabin’s hearth. The thought of a fire made Sutter more aware of the cold.

  When Mira had finished her preparations for a fire, Vendanj knelt at the fireplace on one knee. He began rubbing his palms together. Braethen stood close, observing with obvious interest. A moment later, the Sheason opened his hands and touched them to the wood. Sutter’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen the Will rendered in all his life!

  The wood started to burn, but the fire burned dark. Black flames licked at the fuel, throwing heat Sutter could feel immediately on his cheeks. But the fire gave no light or smoke that Sutter could see. The cabin remained in deep shadow, though the chill in the air fled. Vendanj withdrew and stepped back out into the night; Mira was already gone.

  “Darkfire,” Braethen said, speaking into the black flames. “To hide us from the Bar’dyn.”

  Wendra sat on the floor close to the fireplace, and reached toward the flames.

  “Not just Bar’dyn,” Sutter added. In his enthusiasm, he retold Tahn’s story of the Velle he had seen that morning so everyone would know.

  “Hard to track, too.” It was Mira. She stepped out of the corner near a lone window. Dim moonlight gleamed on the hilts of the two swords strapped to her back. She had removed the leather tie holding back her hair, allowing it to fall in wet strands around her face. She squatted next to Wendra and peered into the dark flames. “We can not stay here long. Velle can sense the Will. They will discover us even if the rain has washed our trail away.” She stood. “You should all sleep now. When the horses can move, so do we.”

  Sutter watched Tahn exchange a strange look with the Far in the shadows of the cabin. He wasn’t sure, but he’d swear his friend blushed. Then Mira left them again, joining Vendanj outside.

  “She’s quite the charmer, Woodchuck,” Sutter joked. “I can see your attraction to her.”

  “She is right, though,” Braethen said. “We’ll probably leave before sunrise, and that gives us but a few hours to sleep.” He lay near the fire, which seemed to burn hotter than Sutter ever remembered feeling a hearth fire burn. The walls of the small cabin began to dry, and the air grew warm and comfortable.

  The Sheason appeared in the doorway. “Up, Braethen. Let us see how prepared you are in your defenses.”

  Braethen stood and followed the Sheason into the back room. Vendanj did not bother to close the door. For a long time, they listened while Vendanj slapped at Braethen, who didn’t have the reflexes or training to stop him. Sutter couldn’t tell for sure, but it sounded like some kind of defensive drill—Braethen trying to ward off blow after blow. All sat quiet as the session dragged on. Finally the slapping sounds stopped and they heard the Sheason say in a low, contemptuous tone, “You are pitiful.”

  A moment later Braethen slunk back into the room, his face obviously bruised even in the dimness. The sodalist-in-training did not meet their eyes. He merely crouched down, turned toward the wall, and sobbed himself to sleep.

  Sutter shook his head. He took off his coat and crept close to Braethen, softly draping it over his shoulders for warmth and comfort. “I know I’ve always been the one to tease you about this sodalist thing, but if you want it, don’t let that bastard knock it out of you.”

  Braethen might have nodded in the dimness. Sutter couldn’t be sure. He left him to his silent sobs. Sutter knew the need of those at times.

  Then he hunkered down next to the wall, the sword at his hip tangling in his feet. Tahn smiled. “And where did you get that?”

  “Our fine friends outside. Braethen got one, too. What, you think mine should be longer?” Sutter grinned back.

  “You ever even used one?” Tahn squatted down opposite him.

  “Just the stuff your father taught us the summer before he went to his earth. I’m not going to win any fancy prize, but I know how to swing it. And I’ve got the callouses for it.” Sutter held up his root-digger’s palms. “Care to test me?”

  Tahn shook his head, and gradually their smiles faded as they looked over at Braethen.

  All were quiet for some time, when the silence of the cabin and the recent flight up the north road, and perhaps Braethen’s unexpected beating and tears, got inside Sutter and his feeling of liberation. He got to thinking about his parents. Things had happened so suddenly.

  Hardly knowing he was speaking, he shared a sad, reflective thought, just audible even in the silence. “I wish I could have said good-bye to my family.” He looked up and found Tahn staring back. His friend’s expression told him that he’d rarely heard Sutter spare a familial thought. And maybe he hadn’t. He’d be first to mount to continue on their way—when it came to that—but just then he wondered if his own infant past (orphan, as he liked to call it) had mixed him up inside about family.

  Mostly, he wondered if his father would be able to get the crop harvested without him. If he didn’t, it could go badly for them this winter. They hadn’t laid in as much as they had even last year. His departure might cost the man his farm. And suddenly Sutter’s adventure, forced or not, meant something a little different, something more.

  * * *

  As Sutter sat against the wall, staring into his own thoughts about his parents, Tahn crawled near his sister.

  Wendra had put aside a long dagger—probably a gift like the others had received—and curled up near the hearth, staring blankly at the dark flames. He could smell the coppery scent of blood on he
r blouse, and wondered if she could smell it, too, or if it was so close that she’d become inured to it. In his mind’s eye he could still see the Bar’dyn fleeing across their field toward the trees, cupping the lifeless infant body in one hand. He was glad Wendra had not seen that.

  “I’m so—” he began, but found that he hadn’t any more words.

  She lifted her hand and he took it. “Sleep, Tahn. There will be time to talk of it later.” It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But neither did she shun him. He lay next to her, still gripping her hand, and found the smell of blood soon gone, his nose growing accustomed to it. In moments, sleep took him.

  * * *

  He awoke as he always did, while darkness still lay heavy on the land. The fire continued to burn hot in the hearth, and around him Sutter, Wendra, and Braethen slept soundly. Mira sat in the rocker near the window. One sword lay across her knees, her fingers curled loosely around its hilt. As he stirred, she turned her eyes and focused on him in the dark. Without moving her head from the chair’s backrest, she closed her eyes again. Vendanj could not be seen in the back bedroom. Perhaps he’d gone to sleep.

  Quietly, Tahn crept to the door, pulling the latch free.

  “Where are you going?” Mira’s lips were literally at his ear. Her voice came so soft, none would hear but him.

  “Some things are private,” he replied, intimating a natural need.

  “Be quick,” she replied.

  Tahn stepped into the chill night air. The horses shifted uneasily as he passed them. He quietly stole several strides to the clearing above the ravine. There he stood, looking deep into the night sky. Stars winked like the sparkling bits of glass on Master Hambley’s best tablecloths. His breath clouded the night, and droplets hung like frozen tears from low scrub and forest sage. He looked east and let his thoughts come naturally, as he had always done. Deep into the far reaches of the sky he let them wander, feeling as though his emotions and hopes struggled for form with the random groupings of stars. He traced the shapes of constellations, some from Ogea’s stories, some from memories whose sources were now lost to him. The moon had risen high, its surface bright and clear. The pale outline of the darkened portion looked like a ghostly halo.

  Tahn closed his eyes and let his thoughts run out even further, imagining the sun that caused the light of the moon; imagining its warmth and radiance, its calm, sure track across the sky. He imagined the change in color in the east from black to violet to sea blue and finally to the color of clear, shallow water. He saw in his mind sun flares that caught in his eyes when he looked directly into its great light. He pictured the eruption of color as sunlight came to the forest and touched its leaves and cones and limbs. And as he always did at such a moment, Tahn suddenly felt like part of the land, another leaf to be touched by the sun. His thoughts coalesced into the singular moment of sunrise and another hope risen up from the night, born again with quiet strength.

  Tahn opened his eyes to the dark skies and the foliate pattern of stars. In the east, the first intimation of day arose as the black hinted of violet hues. A quiet relief filled him, and Tahn took a lungful of cold air. He turned to rejoin his companions and saw Vendanj standing in the trees twenty strides away, watching him. The Sheason said nothing. Tahn left him there, and started back when he ran into Mira.

  The Far eyed him suspiciously. “You were not doing anything private.”

  “How would you know? Were you watching me?”

  Unabashed, she said, “Yes.”

  Tahn studied her in a glance. He saw a latent energy in her hands and arms, as though they already had the thought to strike. When he met her gaze, he found himself wondering if she was really from Naltus Far. She had a strange hypnotic effect over him, which made him worry about what she might be, but her smooth skin and poise were hard to ignore or resist. In the shadows, she smiled just barely with the left corner of her mouth, revealing a dimple in her cheek.

  Tahn found his own smile. “Are you going to watch everything I do?”

  She canted her head subtly, the movement either inquisitiveness or suggestion.

  Warmth rushed into his cheeks. He averted his eyes and went in to his friends.

  * * *

  The darkfire burned hot but had spent most of its fuel. Wendra had not slept. The images of the day refused to let her be. Made her cold. She curled ever closer to the fire to try and warm herself. There was no help for it.

  Her child was gone.

  The horror of facing the Bar’dyn alone when it had invaded her home, ravaged their belongings, and then seized her in the nook beneath the stair and loft, it could not be given words.

  In a breath she felt as if she had been raped, all over again, at the end of her pregnancy—one to get her with child, the other to take that child away. Wendra couldn’t help but feel as though she’d been used as a vessel and nothing more. The violation burned deep inside her.

  But not so far as the precious life taken into the beast’s hands and carried into the rainy night. However true that, if she could, she would undo the day of her first violation, she had grown to accept the child inside her; she had even felt the hope of it. She’d found herself thinking and humming most of the time about what it would be like to be a mother, and had looked forward to the day.

  Most people scorned her, though some simply didn’t know what to say to her and so kept their distance. But Wendra had begun to feel more like herself again, and settled back into her life with smiles and brightness in the small tasks she set herself about. That’s what her father and mother would have done. If she’d learned anything from them, it was that life will come upon you with awful change; how you choose to live with that change is the measure of your worth and happiness.

  Wendra had succeeded at that … until the Quiet fell upon her, and coaxed her child from her womb.

  The horror of the recent violation caught in her throat as she lay staring into the darkfire. She could still feel the rough hands of the beast on her ankles, hear its guttural voice growling commands as if it knew something about childbirthing. Wendra could feel the passing of the baby into the world, knowing who received it, and that moment ached in her like no other.

  She should have done something, but hadn’t been able to.

  And then there’d been Tahn.

  Wendra had been delirious with fear and pain, but still she thought she saw her brother draw his bow on the Quietgiven but then relax his aim, never shooting. Confusion and anger roiled in her at the memory of it. Had Tahn been too frightened by the sight of the Bar’dyn? Had his friends come in so fast that he feared hitting them? It was a blur in her mind, but more than anything, she remembered the look in her brother’s face. He looked as if he bore some shame, some unnamed, private shame.

  Now it hung between them, and she didn’t think she could simply let it go, even though she loved Tahn. Balatin had made it clear before he went to his final earth that when he was gone they must hold to each other above all else. But it would take time for this wound to heal. She knew, eventually, she would find it in herself to let this go. But not today. Her own body still thrummed with its physical loss.

  The only other thought that entered her mind was why the Sheason had brought her along. Was it as simple as keeping her and Tahn together? Would she have been in danger if she remained in the Hollows? Though these questions offered some relief from more bitter thoughts, they likewise plagued her.

  So she put her songbox on the floor before her eyes and hummed its melody. It reminded her of Balatin, and that was a comfort.

  Soon she departed the familiar tune and wove melodies of her own as she often did, allowing them to escape her lips so softly that none might hear. These new airs came darker, mournful, and with a tinge of real anger. Something in them soothed Wendra’s beleaguered mind enough that she fell into dreams, though they were haunted by the events of the day.

  A shrill cry woke her from her doze. Blackness still cloaked the room. She sat up, her eyes staring w
ide into the emptiness around her. Braethen immediately stood and drew his sword. A loud thud struck the floor behind them. Wendra whirled to see Sutter had fallen from his sitting slumber. He smiled sheepishly. Mira was gone, her chair empty. Again the cry tore the silence of the predawn, this time louder and closer: “Bar’dyn!”

  CHAPTER TEN

  A Maere and Training

  The door to the cabin slammed inward, falling from its hinges to the floor in a resounding crash. A figure filled the doorway, his cloak swaying behind him. “Come! Now!” Vendanj ordered, his voice low but intense. Tahn pulled Wendra out the door into the twilight. Mira had unlashed the horses and held them at the ready. Sleep still fogged Tahn’s eyes, but he climbed atop Jole as the others clambered onto their mounts. Mira helped Wendra up.

  “No talking, just ride. Follow me,” Mira said as she returned their reins to each of them. In an instant she leapt onto her own horse and led them down the ravine that paralleled the road. Tahn tried to wait and come last, behind Sutter and Braethen. Vendanj came alongside him and grabbed Jole’s tack.

  “Stay close to Mira.” There was no room for argument in the Sheason’s voice. Tahn looked at Wendra. “I will watch her,” Vendanj said, and pulled Jole forward.

  The renderer and Wendra came after, leaving Sutter and Braethen at the rear. In the sky to their right, the sun strengthened beyond the horizon. They tore through scrub oak and trees overgrown as a result of generous rains. Tahn kept one arm before his eyes, protecting them from errant limbs, as they galloped into a shallow tributary to the Huber River. Mira veered right, following the stream toward the north road. The water splashed up around them as the horses picked up speed. The stream widened, strips of rock and sand emerging for them to travel on. They raced toward the sunrise as battle cries rose into the morning stillness around them. The din shook the very leaves of the trees, seeming to vibrate up from beneath them. A bridge appeared around a wide bend in the tributary, the horizon behind it now bright with the imminent arrival of the sun. From beneath the other side of the bridge, deep in the shadows of a stand of tall yews, a darker shadow appeared.