The Unremembered: Book One of The Vault of Heaven

by Peter Orullian

  In a last desperate attack, the Maere charged Vendanj, whose eyes were shut as he focused his energy and words into the Will.

  Braethen got to his feet, but fell forward onto his hands. He scrambled ahead, using one hand on the ground to keep his feet under him. The Maere closed in on the Sheason, but came hindered by the light, and losing substance with each step. Vendanj’s eyes were still shut, and he stood, unaware. Braethen pressed on, gaining speed and resolve. He pushed away his dizziness, focused on the Maere and rose, bolting for the Sheason. The Maere raised its awful hands and darkness enveloped them, just two strides from Vendanj. Braethen howled, and the Sheason’s eyes opened just as the Maere blew from its torn lips a rank breath across its darkened hands. The darkness leapt, flashing forward in jagged arcs toward Vendanj. Braethen arrived and with his last vestige of failing strength brought his sword up into the belly of the Maere. The sword thrummed as it met the Quietgiven. The beast doubled over, its dark magic dissipating as it crumpled, writhing, to the ground. The sun continued to stream down upon them, and in moments the Maere was nothing more than steaming ashes at their feet.

  Braethen looked up again at the marvelous tunnel carved from the mist straight up into the light of day. The Sheason slumped to the ground, and Braethen sat down beside him, together in the light of the sun, surrounded by the darkness.

  * * *

  Tahn lay facedown on the ground, gasping for breath. Sutter collapsed on his hands and knees beside him, drawing his own ragged gulps of air. The smell of dirt and rocks warming in the sun helped reduce Tahn’s panic. After a moment he turned over and propped himself up on his elbows. The mists remained just a few strides behind him, small plumes puffing outward, threatening to expand and engulf them again before being drawn back into the body of the great black fog. Distantly he thought he heard a shriek, but his heart still throbbed in his ears; he couldn’t be sure.

  In the distance, Jole and Bardoll were fretting and stamping.

  “Will and Sky, what is that?” Sutter exclaimed, looking back at the mist.

  “More than Vendanj told us,” Tahn replied bitterly.

  “Why did you run?”

  The images flashed in Tahn’s mind—the mind-cry of an infant falling off a broken stone monument, singed sheets of parchment rising on hot winds. He saw an image of himself tearing at stone with bloodied fingers. Tahn held up his hands and looked at them, but saw nothing save the old scar on the back of his hand. He tried to make sense of the images that flashed in his mind, but even now they were fading. The memories of countless suns folded into nothing; the gentle voice of Balatin teaching him on a summer porch with light flies winking in nearby piñons dissolved into a mirror of desert brush, waterless wastes, a barren tree, and finally to nothing. He was left with only the litany of flesh and Will he rehearsed every time he drew his bow, and that meant no more to him than before. He took fistfuls of dirt in his hands and recalled the cloaked figure near the ravine on his last hunt, a patch of earth turned to glass, and soil that resisted the nourishment of rain. He realized that he did not care to see another day come, and shuddered beneath the growing heat of the sun on his back.

  Sutter gently grabbed his arm. “Tahn, what’s wrong? What did you see? Why did you break the line?”

  Tahn shook his head. “I don’t know, but whatever the reason, it’s gone now.” He stared at the bank of dark fog. “It got inside me, Sutter. I don’t know how, but I could feel it reading my memories like pages in one of Braethen’s books. And then it was like something was writing the story forward.” Tahn paused, trying to understand the feeling. “The story was the same,” he finished.

  “What story?” Sutter asked. “What do you mean the same?”

  Tahn shut his eyes, trying to say it clearly. “I’m not sure. Maybe ours.”

  Sutter stared at him for several long moments. Finally, he said, “We have to go back in for the others.”

  Suddenly, Tahn remembered Wendra. “Great Fathers, what have I done?” He rose to his knees.

  As if in response, the sound of pounding feet issued from the fog. Tahn sat up, hoping to see Wendra emerge from the grip of the dark cloud. Several feet inside the mist, the large shapes of several Bar’dyn appeared.

  “Run!” Tahn yelled.

  He scrambled to his feet and headed for Jole, Sutter at his heels. The stamping of heavy feet shook the earth behind them. Sutter quickly drew abreast of Tahn, matching his every step. Tahn looked back and saw the Bar’dyn emerge from the mist, their eyes fixed upon him and Sutter, massive legs carrying them with impossibly quick strides.

  Tahn’s chest burned. He’d not completely gotten his breath back before starting to run from these creatures that seemed not to tire. As he struggled up a low hill, something pierced Tahn’s foot. Not watching his step, he’d planted a boot on a spine-root. Several needles shot through his boot and entered the soft flesh of his sole. He almost fell, but Sutter caught him, grabbing his waist with one arm and jerking him forward.

  As they struggled toward the horses, something hit Sutter in the back. Nails pitched forward, breaking his fall with his hands. On his back, a small iron ball with several dozen spikes—like the head of a small mace—had struck just beneath his shoulder. Sutter got up. Blood spread in circles around the spikes. Tahn glanced back, and saw a Bar’dyn hurl a second ball. The beast threw the weapon with its bare hand, its fibrous skin too thick to be harmed by the spikes. The ball hurtled with tremendous speed. Tahn dove to his left, his foot jolting with pain as he hit the ground.

  The Bar’dyn closed on them, their eyes set and determined, a bitter intelligence burning from within. Two took swords out without breaking stride, a third shifting a long ax into its other hand. The look in their large eyes somehow frightened Tahn more than the weapons they carried; there resided an old anger in them. Sutter stooped and helped Tahn up, reaching one arm around his head and arching his back against the intrusion of the ball lodged there. Leaning together, they hurried through the dry grass. Tahn could hear the labored breathing of the Bar’dyn, like horses going full-on. He fought to continue, expecting at any moment the steel of a blade or the huge, gnarled hands of the Bar’dyn to rip them roughly back. The horses were close, but each step grew heavier, more difficult. Tahn’s legs threatened to give out. His hair fell in wet strands over his eyes and face; his friend’s cheek and jaw dug into Tahn’s own as they pushed forward, heads together. The mere heat of the sun fell like a weight upon him.

  They reached the horses, and Jole nudged Tahn with his head. Sutter climbed onto Bardoll and looked back, riding around and putting himself between Tahn and the Bar’dyn. He lifted his sword as a challenge, but the Bar’dyn paid no heed and came on undaunted.

  “Hurry, Tahn!” Sutter yelled. “They will take us from our saddles in another breath!” Sutter ducked, another ball sailing past his head.

  The horses sensed the impending danger and began to sidestep, tugging at their reins. Tahn could not get his foot in the stirrup without stepping on the barbs that had broken off in his foot. He anticipated the agonizing pain of placing pressure on them to mount.

  “Hold!” one of the Bar’dyn called. “You run only from lies!” Its voice rasped powerfully, the words glottal and hard to understand.

  “I’ll send you to eternal night!” Sutter cried in defiance. But even in his stupor, Tahn heard his friend’s fear.

  The Bar’dyn yelled deep in its throat. The proximity of the cry warned Tahn of their closeness. There was no time to move around Jole to mount from the other side, and he could not jump into his saddle with only one foot. Tahn gritted his teeth and thrust his boot into the stirrup. Intense pain filled his foot, shooting ripples into his entire body. Something snapped in the middle of his sole as though one of the spine-roots had broken inside his foot as it met bone.

  Tahn screamed, and put his full weight upon his foot to hoist himself up. The force drove the spines deeper into his tender flesh. Seated, he let go the reins and put
his arms around Jole’s neck. He scarcely needed to tap Jole before his old friend ran like canyon wind. Sutter swiped down once with the flat of his blade and kicked Bardoll into a full run. Sutter raced away with Tahn, looking back warily for further spiked balls. Another ball hurtled past, missing badly over their heads. Each time he bounced in his saddle, Sutter’s face twisted in agony at the sharp points driven into his back.

  “Faster!” Tahn yelled. The Bar’dyn kept pace with them, one even gaining ground. Glancing back once, Tahn watched their gait, graceful despite their immense size, and the powerful muscles rippling beneath their thick, coarse skin. Their faces had eased into a terrible, placid expression, though their arms and shoulders pumped vigorously.

  “We’ll have you,” one of them announced with an even voice, not a threat but a comment. “Then your lies and the lies of your Fathers will we show you.” The Bar’dyn’s face remained unchanged as it called after them, the eerie calm not unlike that belonging to the Sheason.

  “They’re gaining!” Sutter yelled over the fury of hooves and the pounding of Bar’dyn feet.

  Tahn looked back. He could see that in moments they would be overtaken. What can I do! Suddenly a calm came over him, as though the world fell silent. Tahn felt still inside. Just then a cry shattered the air. The Bar’dyn all stopped and looked backward to the mist a thousand strides behind them. The creatures out of the Hand looked confused and without direction. The sureness in their aspects had fallen, though a cold hatred was still etched into their thick features. They looked at one another and then back at Tahn and Sutter, who now were well beyond their reach. One of the creatures pointed, and the Bar’dyn began to run again, this time south toward the north face.

  Tahn and Sutter did not slow, and gradually the High Plains faded in the distance as they raced east toward Recityv.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Help of Young and Old

  As Wendra stepped into the light, she immediately saw six Bar’dyn and a figure draped in a long, oversized cloak that hinted at scarlet folds whenever it moved. The Quietgiven watched the mists farther to the north, and didn’t see her or Penit duck behind a rock formation twenty strides from the mist’s edge.

  The exertion of freeing herself from the darkness had caused her hip and ankle to bleed freely, the blood pumping madly and coating her entire left leg.

  Penit looked at her wound with horror. “Are you dying?”

  “No,” Wendra said, suppressing a nervous laugh. “But we must be quiet,” she whispered. “They will not be kind if we are found.”

  Penit nodded and looked around, grabbing a rock and holding it with his arm cocked and prepared to throw. Wendra let him alone in his protective pose and tenderly touched her cuts. The wound burned hot, fever assuredly; it would get into the rest of her soon. A few drops of blood fell to the cool soil in the shade of the large rock. Will the Bar’dyn smell the blood and track us down? Wendra looked around and realized they were only paces from the north face. In their flight through the shadows of the mist, they had fled south and east. The dark cloud held steady, rising several hundred strides up the cliff. But on this side of it, the face of the sheer bluff shone red, orange, and white in jagged striations that looked like lightning. The summit of the north face was lost beyond sight, too far for help, but close by at its base she saw her answer.

  A cave.

  Wendra pulled the strapping from her left boot, tore a strip from her cloak, and tied it to her wound as tightly as she could bear. Then she tapped Penit and pointed to the hole at the base of the cliff. The boy understood immediately. He helped her up and, using the large rock as a shield, they stepped as lightly as they could toward the cave. Wendra watched closely for drops of blood on the ground, but soon lost her concern in the flashes of heat that stole over her.

  Occasionally, strange sounds emanated from the mist, but Wendra did not stop. She fixed on the dark mouth at the cliff base and pushed all other thoughts out of her mind. She hoped the Far had fared well against the Bar’dyn. She hoped Tahn and the others were all right. But even her concern for her brother fell away under her determination to reach shelter for herself and Penit.

  They reached the cave and guardedly entered, stopping to sit only when the shadows hid them completely. Penit eased Wendra to the cave floor. She felt the cool invitation of the ground there on her cheek and let everything else go to blackness.

  * * *

  When she awoke, she could not see the entrance to the cave. Worriedly, she looked around, searching for Penit, but all remained black. Finally her eyes adjusted, and she saw the flicker of several stars shining through what looked like a tilted arch—the cave entrance.

  “Penit,” she whispered.

  “Right here,” the boy replied. He reached out and touched her arm.

  She jumped at his touch, causing a twinge in her leg. Her face slick with sweat, Wendra knew the fever had spread. The cuts were almost surely deeper than she had first thought. She sat up and leaned back against the cave wall.

  “Any sign of the others?” she asked.

  “No, but I found your horse,” Penit answered, his voice proud.

  “You left the cave?” Wendra asked with mild reproach.

  “I crawled to the entrance and watched the Bar’dyn search the edge of the dark clouds, disappearing inside and coming out in different places. I didn’t see them get anybody.” Penit scuttled closer to her, his boots and bottom scraping the cavern floor. “Then the mist blew away in a great wind, scouring the ground. I waited a while, then I went out to look around for Vendanj to help you with your leg. I saw Ildico drinking at a small stream. I got him and brought him back. He’s just outside, tied to a tree.”

  Wendra wanted to scold him for taking such a chance, but she didn’t have the energy. Besides, he’d gotten them food and transportation, which might just save them.

  “Thank you, Penit. That was very brave.” Wendra, her eyes now more fully adjusted, saw a shadowy smile spread on the boy’s face, though he said nothing. “Bring the saddlebags in. Let’s have something to eat.”

  The boy rose and became a dark silhouette against the lighter darkness of the night beyond the mouth of the cave. Stars on the horizon winked in and out as he passed in front of them. He disappeared for a moment, then quickly returned, dropping the heavy bags to the ground.

  “Can we start a fire?” he asked. “It’s getting cold.”

  Wendra considered the risk, but heard the fear behind his request. “Gather some wood, but quietly. And don’t stray too far from the mouth of the cave.”

  “Won’t have to, there’s plenty just outside.”

  Penit left again on his errand. Wendra retrieved a bag filled with dried meats and cheese, and another with Sedagin flatbread that she’d saved from the previous night’s feast. Thoughts of the Sedagin left her dejected. They certainly would have come to their defense had they been close at hand. Instead, here she lay, far below them, holed up in the bedrock of their High Plain and bleeding out her life’s blood. Suddenly, her thoughts turned to her lost child, and to the Bar’dyn who had come into her home and taken it from her, and who had pushed them up the road to Myrr, into the wilds and finally into the high home of the Sedagin. Then, upon leaving, they had passed through these mists. Anger brought bile to the back of her throat, and she tasted the hot acid of her stomach. Tears of frustration and loss shook her, but she let them fall without a sound, for fear of being heard by the boy and worrying him.

  Penit returned with an armload of wood and laid it on the cave floor beside her. She took a flint and handed it to the boy, who readily built a fire. His face, streaked with dirt and tears, glowed in the orange glare of the flames with a thankful smile that warmed Wendra’s heart. They ate in silence, building meals of the bread, meat, and cheese. Penit fetched the waterskin, and they both drank deeply before settling in and tending the fire.

  Sometime later, Wendra decided to have a look outside, but her leg had grown stiff a
nd numb and did not respond to her attempts to use it. She sat again and looked at Penit, who appeared lost in thought and somehow content here in the cave despite the events that had brought them here. She thought she could see all the terrible circumstances and nightmarish beings disappearing from his consciousness as he put himself in the present moment, fed and warm and tending a healthy fire. She envied him this, as she watched him live so contentedly even for a few moments without concern for tomorrow. Unwittingly, she smiled with the same expression that she’d seen on Balatin’s face so often: wonder, love, admiration. She’d assumed her father lived a contented and happy life. It pained her now to realize that these moments were, for parents, but islands in a river current. But it made her glad as well that, though she hadn’t known it, her life had offered him some respite from the hardships a parent knows.

  “When do we go find the others?” Penit said, interrupting Wendra’s reverie.

  She looked at Penit with increasing amazement and wondered if life on the wagon beds had instilled such persistence and courage in him. “Tomorrow. My leg is stiff and I have the sweats. After I sleep, and it’s light, we can search for them. They may well find us; Mira is an adept tracker.”

  “Good,” Penit replied.

  Wendra studied the boy’s face, wondering if she dared jeopardize the feeling of safety he seemed to have. Not tonight. Tomorrow. When the greater light is firmly over our heads, I will ask him what the mists showed him. So she sat with him in the light of the fire. They steadily fed the flames and remarked softly about unimportant things, the way she and Balatin and Tahn had done in the years before. Sometime later in the evening, Wendra began to hum softly, her dulcet tones a perfect counterpoint to the crackle of the fire and the low hum of wood being consumed by flame. Penit watched her, grinning. Wendra returned the smile, spontaneously creating a soothing, lilting melody. Penit crawled closer and rested his head on her lap. Long before the fire had burned to coals, Wendra followed the boy into sleep.