The Unremembered: Book One of The Vault of Heaven

by Peter Orullian

  “Hold, Jastail,” the stately woman said. Her words bit, but retained an air of dignity.

  Jastail half turned and smiled wanly. “Not tonight, Ariana. I haven’t the patience for it.”

  The woman pushed back her chair and exited the rear gambling area without another look at any of them.

  “Bring her,” Jastail ordered his men, and started to leave.

  “Too far,” Gynedo blurted.

  Jastail paused, though he would not look back at the old man, who went on, his words weak against the noise in the room, but clear in their intent.

  “I’ve seen it, but only once. Take care, Jastail. You and I, we know the lie of the wager. It is meat for our wine, and tobaccom for our pipe, but always these things sate the user. What you play at now … it will never satisfy—”

  “Enough!” Jastail blared.

  The old man’s face sketched itself in stern lines. “Don’t forget yourself, boy.” Gynedo sat tall in his seat. “And mark you this: Will you come again to my table? Will the chances of the riverboat be enough to entice you?” The old man reclined again into his chair. “I judge that the game has more of you than you of it. You are too enamored of the stakes to maintain control. You’re reckless.” He took his pipe to his lips. “Do your trade and leave me in peace.”

  Jastail left, briskly striding through the game room and out onto the deck. His companions urged Wendra to follow, and reluctantly she made her way past the revelers into the night air.

  She found Jastail leaning upon a rail, watching the lesser light ripple upon the water. Without turning, he dismissed his men, leaving Wendra at his back, unguarded.

  “You’re thinking to attack me,” Jastail intoned calmly. “Take your chance.”

  Wendra stood, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she thought of shoving him over the railing into the river. She’d lost sight of her goal in complying with this highwayman: Penit. She knew Jastail had used the promise of taking her to the boy to manipulate her. The thought darkened her mood further. What use had he for her now, if she was only to be a prize for a game of stakes? And if she failed to find Penit, how meaningless was her struggle in the cave against the fever of her wound? A dark pressure filled her lungs, burning her from within, but also warming her against the night, against this place, this man. She took a step toward Jastail and raised her arms.

  “Do you suppose you can do it?” he asked. His words stopped her. “I mean to say that you do not appear to be one acquainted with death.” He spoke evenly, as he might to a friend, but still he did not turn toward her.

  “But there you’re wrong,” Wendra answered. “I’ve seen it.” An image flashed in her mind, and she rubbed her empty belly. She lowered her hands, the dark pressure in her lungs subsiding. “I’ve had it coaxed from my body and torn away from me before I might give it a name.”

  At that, Jastail turned. His eyes looked strange as he searched Wendra’s face. His lips parted as if he meant to pursue her comment, a wary concern folding the lines of his mouth and eyes. He looked at Wendra’s stomach, seeming to understand a part of her story. But he left unspoken whatever questions he had. After a few moments, the same smile as he’d given Ariana played upon his features.

  “Acquainted, perhaps,” Jastail conceded. “But not the cause.”

  Wendra came to the railing beside him and looked out at the expanse of river. Moonlight rippled on its surface, a silent dance accompanied by the music of small waves lapping at the prow and the din of gamblers inside the game room.

  “No, not the cause … unless the boy dies,” she threatened. “I will find him. Either you will help me, or you will not. But you will not prevent it.”

  “Anais—”

  “Anais?” Wendra interjected. “I don’t want to hear that word from your lips. You may be smart at the table, and more than a match of wits for those two dogs you keep with you, but I am not blind to your lies and empty promises. You’ve made a mistake in bringing me into the company of others as greedy as yourself.”

  Bitter laughter escaped Jastail’s tired face. It fell flat upon the deck and river.

  “There is fire in your belly,” he said. “The dust won’t take you easily. But there’s no help for you on this riverboat.” He considered a moment, a more wry smile returning to his weathered features. “In truth, I am your only friend here. You may have need of my protection against other, less friendly passengers.”

  “And what if I should cast myself into the river and swim to shore?”

  “In this water?” Jastail asked, his smile lingering. “Not likely. Your legs would seize and drag you down before you stroked half the distance.”

  “And if I should kill you while you sleep?”

  Jastail regarded her. “Then you will never find the boy.” He took up his vigil upon the river, his amusement gone.

  Wendra could not divine the truth. Did he know where Penit was? Or was he playing her false until the last?

  The chill off the water bit at her skin while she kept her captor company beneath the lesser light and the river carried them south. On another night, the sweep of stars in the sky above the wide river basin and the reflection of their light in the water would have caused her to sing. But Jastail muzzled her, not with hands or cloth, but with vague promises and deadly wagers. And in her lungs, her breath for song scarred like smoke and threatened to give voice to a dissonant rasp like a cough from winter winds.

  They watched the river together in silence for some time, and the tranquil rush of water along the side of the boat nearly caused her to forget the strange relationship she shared with him. She might have been standing with Tahn at the edge of the Huber in the Hollows. The thought of her brother suddenly sharpened the pain of their separation. It had been long since they’d been separated, starting—in some ways—with the death of her child and Tahn’s inaction against the Bar’dyn that had coaxed her child from her womb. That moment, the flight from the Hollows, and not knowing now if Tahn was still alive—because she still loved him—made her need to rescue Penit that much stronger.

  And as she stared into the cold depths, she heard new sounds, not the water sluicing down the side of the riverboat.

  Wendra heard water splashing.

  And the zip of arrows penetrating the river’s surface.

  Angry voices suddenly barked commands, fear tingeing their orders. The Bar’dyn, Wendra thought suddenly, realizing what must be happening. Could they have tracked her once she got aboard the boat?

  “Bring her!” Jastail yelled, calling his men to action.

  As they rushed down the side of the boat, deckhands stood along the railing firing arrows at the Bar’dyn swimming toward them. Wendra looked toward the shore, where dozens of Bar’dyn rushed south to get ahead of them. Hundreds of strides downriver, the Bar’dyn splashed into the water and began swimming toward the middle to intercept them. The large creatures moved swiftly in the river, their long, powerful arms and legs pulling them with ease against the swift current. Arrows continued to strike the water, some bouncing off of thick Bar’dyn skin. Two men manned the front ballista, firing spears toward the Quietgiven with little accuracy.

  Jastail led her toward the stern. The riverboat yawed as the wheelman turned away from the Bar’dyn, hoping to put some distance between the watercraft and the Given. The oars and paddle wheel worked wildly, slapping the water and pulling with the current to increase their running speed. Celebrants lined the gambling room windows, their moon faces peering into the dark with concern. Wendra ran past them, and at the rear of the boat watched as Bar’dyn swam to catch the swiftly moving craft.

  They came to the building that housed the horses, and Jastail threw the door wide. His men came from behind and darted into the stable, saddling the mounts in a hurry as Jastail watched the railing for any sign of boarding Bar’dyn. Moments later, the two hirelings emerged with four horses, having appropriated one for Wendra.

  “The other side!” Jastail barked.

/>   The men led the mounts to the side of the riverboat opposite the attack. The hull sliced across the current, angling toward the east side of the river. Wendra could see no torchlight marking a dock. The clash of metal chimed in the night air, drawing their attention forward, where strangled cries rose and echoed out across the water. Men and women streamed from the large gambling rooms, filling the deck with chaos and more desperate cries. The large sword-bearing guards of the gambling room were first, jumping to meet several Bar’dyn who were rounding the corner. Given eyes found Wendra, and the creatures broke into a run toward her. Jastail lifted Wendra onto her steed, jumped onto his own, and slapped her horse’s rear. Together they vaulted the railing. Their mounts crashed heavily into the freezing waters. Jastail’s men came directly behind, splashing into the river at their back.

  The instant cold forced a cry from Wendra’s throat. But her horse began working alongside Jastail’s mount toward the opposite bank.

  Already, Wendra’s legs were growing numb from the cold. The horses chuffed and swam, struggling to make the far shore. Behind them on the riverboat, the Bar’dyn howled, meeting the swords of the boat guards and dispatching them quickly. Then the riverboat begin to burn. Some people jumped into the river ahead of the swinging blades; others fell beneath the onslaught. Some jumped to escape the flames, which danced on the river water beside the reflection of the lesser light.

  Then into the water came the Bar’dyn, pulling with ferocious strokes. She glanced ahead; could they reach the east bank ahead of the Quietgiven? The Bar’dyn gained on them, snatching the slowest of Jastail’s henchmen from behind and pulling him from his horse. His scream ended in a gurgling sound.

  The boat had gotten them close to the bank, but Wendra did not think the horses could outswim the Bar’dyn. Downriver, dozens of Quietgiven had seen their escape and now swam swiftly for the shore.

  The riverboat became an inferno of swirling flames on the water, men and women trying to swim away from the heat, their arms succumbing to the freezing cold water and slowing their flight for land. More than a few slipped soundlessly into the depths.

  Hearing another splash just behind them, Wendra turned in time to see a Bar’dyn crush the second of Jastail’s men before sending him adrift, blood flowing from a wound to his neck.

  Then Jastail’s horse lurched from the water, jumping onto the bank. The Bar’dyn uttered indiscernible words and kicked harder toward Wendra. But before they could close the distance, her own horse gained the land and pulled her from the river. In a heartbeat, she followed Jastail north along the riverbank into the trees, the feeling in her legs all but gone.

  The wind cut at Wendra as her horse raced to stay with Jastail’s fleet-footed mount. Tree limbs and tangled roots whipped past as they forged their own path through the dense wood that clung to the riverbank. Twice, her horse nearly went down, the swim having exhausted its legs. But the steed righted itself and fought to stay close to Jastail.

  The forest rose like a series of dark columns frosted with the glow of the moon, but its beauty hid itself from Wendra, who clung desperately to her reins. They splashed through an estuary and up into a dense stand of firs. Jastail slowed at the top of a short rise and cocked his head toward the river to listen. Wendra looked in the same direction and saw a shape moving among the trees.

  “Run!” she screamed, and kicked her mount hard in the sides.

  The horse bolted forward past Jastail just as a Bar’dyn dove from a thicket of saplings. Jastail scarcely had time to draw his sword and turn. The Bar’dyn’s bulky body sailed through the air with a strange grace, hitting Jastail’s horse full in the side. The horse, the Bar’dyn, and Jastail all went down in a knot of arms, legs, and drawn weapons. Immediately, the horse stood and bolted into the trees. Jastail rolled aside, one large Bar’dyn hand clasping his ankle. A wet tearing growl escaped the Bar’dyn’s throat as it yanked Jastail back. Wendra could see blood on her captor’s pant leg where the beast’s razor-taloned hand held him firm.

  The gambler struggled against the Bar’dyn’s strength, but to no avail. Jastail’s left hand scrabbled for purchase on root or rock to pull himself away, the other clinging to his sword. Finding it useless, he stopped fighting the Bar’dyn, twisting his sword in a quick spin and clutching it with both hands like a plunging weapon. As the Bar’dyn pulled him in, Jastail used the creature’s force and drove the blade into the beast’s shoulder.

  The Bar’dyn let go and stood erect, howling in pain. The sound vibrated in the trees and hummed in the forest floor. Jastail’s sword rose like an ornament from its body, the creature touching it tentatively as it mewled in its throat. With a painful jerk, the Bar’dyn pulled the blade from its fibrous skin, a soft, wet sound accompanying the sword’s removal. One of its arms hung slack, but the other lifted Jastail’s weapon to its eyes and surveyed the blood streaming in runnels down the blade’s flat edge. It grunted and tossed the sword aside, fixing its baleful eyes on Jastail, who crawled backward, kicking with one good leg.

  Wendra realized she could flee. Jastail would die, or he would find a way to defeat the Bar’dyn, but either way she could be several thousand strides north of here when the battle ended. She looked north and considered kicking her horse into a run.

  The Bar’dyn took large steps toward Jastail, who seemed unable to climb to his feet. In a moment, it would pounce upon him and Jastail would be dead. To Wendra’s right, water suddenly splashed at the river’s edge: more beasts out of the Bourne. In the space of seconds the fury of many Quietgiven would descend upon them. The forest trees and low growth and Jastail and the Bar’dyn all swam before her eyes, her lungs burning with hot breath that longed to pass over her teeth in violent song. She shook her head, dismissing the strange irrelevance of the inclination and thought. What would Balatin do? Still, her legs would not move—they were still numb from the river cold—she could not stand to defend Jastail.

  Dear Will and Sky, I prepare to help my captor. I should like to see him suffer at the Bar’dyn’s hand. This very night he played me like a token.

  The Bar’dyn took another menacing step, now seeming to deliberately threaten Jastail, knowing the man was beyond self-defense. Jastail butted up against a tree, turning on his side to crawl around its base. Then the Bar’dyn grew still, a serenity entering its face as if it contemplated the death that would follow in the next moment. Heavy feet pounded the forest floor, growing louder from the direction of the river. Time fled—Wendra knew she must intervene now or not at all.

  In the tense moment of calm, Wendra slapped her horse with the reins and plunged forward to place herself between the Bar’dyn and Jastail. The Bar’dyn looked up at her in surprise, its death mask gone and hatred twisting its features.

  “Sa’hon Ghetalloh,” the Bar’dyn shrieked, compacting the very air around Wendra. It turned at the sound of its brothers racing to its side. “Your blood will nourish the dust, Womb, then no more will you people the land with their plan.”

  The coarse, ripping sound of its voice caused her horse to rear, kicking with its front legs. One hoof caught the Bar’dyn in its wounded shoulder, forcing it to double over in pain. A second hoof landed on its head, driving it back into the saplings.

  Wendra yelled to Jastail, “Get up!”

  The gambler struggled to his feet, leaning against the tree. Wendra pulled her mount backward by his reins and Jastail struggled onto the saddle. As the highwayman put his arms around her waist, three Bar’dyn emerged from the trees behind the saplings where the first Quietgiven had recovered its balance. Wendra kicked hard, spurring her horse into a dead run. Through the trees Wendra pushed, gathering speed. Behind them, the Bar’dyn pursued, their feet pounding the ground. But slowly they outdistanced them, and before the lesser light fell west of the river valley, Wendra was alone again with her captor, who slumped against her back.

  * * *

  Wendra did not stop to tend Jastail’s wound, nor to warm herself or eat. She followed th
e riverbank, keeping it just within sight through the trees, but stayed far enough away to avoid being seen by anyone traveling by boat. She had done as Balatin would have, and she wondered now if she should attempt to push Jastail from her saddle and regain her freedom. But the man still claimed to know where Penit was, and the promise of finding the boy held her in its grasp.

  The cool smell of evergreen softened the heat of their flight, and at dawn Wendra stopped and helped Jastail down to rest. Her horse needed rest, as well. She hoped the Bar’dyn would need to regroup and sleep, or her intervention would have been for nothing.

  Birdsong filled the strengthening daylight, and Wendra pulled up Jastail’s pants leg to check his wound. The gambler muttered incoherently, flinching at her touch. His leg where the Bar’dyn had held him was purple and black, lined with several deep cuts from its sharp nails. Wendra cautiously wound her way to the river and wetted a length of cloth from her cloak. Crouching at the water’s edge, she looked both north and south along the smooth surface that reflected a clear morning sky. No boats or Bar’dyn interrupted the perfect glass image of the water. She closed her eyes and muttered hopeful words about the others reaching Recityv safely.

  Silent, she paused there, listening to the lapping of water at her feet and watching swallows fly close to the surface gathering food. The steady burn in her lungs subsided, relieving her need to rasp out an angry song. The soft melody of her songbox played in her mind, and she allowed herself to briefly forget Jastail and all that had happened since descending from the plains of Sedagin. Into her repose rose the face of Penit promising to return. The image scathed her, chided her for poor judgment and selfishness. Though she did not fully understand how, she’d been able to heal herself, but had done it too late, after the boy had gone to find help. She realized she had not attempted to sing the song for Jastail, to try to heal his wound. But even should it work for someone beside herself, she did not intend to ease his suffering. He would live; that was enough. Wendra wrung the cloth out and returned to find Jastail more coherent.