The Unremembered: Book One of The Vault of Heaven

by Peter Orullian

  But perhaps the strangest of all was a child standing on a wooden box, who tapped answers to questions with a wooden peg leg. They paused to watch. A man standing behind the boy interpreted the responses for those who paid for knowledge. A small wooden sign leaning against the boy’s box announced his ability was a gift from the First Fathers, and that he’d been rescued from the mountains fabled to house the Tabernacle of the Sky, where the fathers had sat at creation. When he raised a hand, exposing a long tear in the seam of his shirt, Tahn could see clearly the child’s ribcage. What must he do for food, Tahn thought, as the boy tapped out another answer to some riddle.

  These strange and desperate people intrigued Tahn the most. He didn’t know if he felt sadness for them, or hope that one might be able to help him answer the riddles of his own life. Maybe it was both.

  He and Sutter moved on.

  A hundred strides from the wall, Tahn again looked up in wonder at the towering majesty of the structure. At its top, a parapet jutted up every fifty strides. From what Tahn could see, each housed two ballistae. He also saw the heads and shoulders of men walking across it at intervals, their eyes looking down to monitor the goings-on below. As he peered in each direction, it was still difficult to know exactly where the city wall ended.

  Focusing on the wide gates, Tahn pressed forward through eddies of milling shoppers and travelers making their way to the city. Sutter nodded to a man in a brass helm and long crimson cloak. The soldier returned the greeting with the slightest movement imaginable. At either side, eight more men in crimson garb stood watching the flow of humanity through the city gates.

  At the barrier, one line of wagons and carriages waited to be inspected; another moved more quickly where people on foot were scrutinized briefly before being allowed to enter. When he and Sutter reached a uniformed attendant who held a small copybook in one hand and a quill in the other, panic rose in his throat.

  With a tired monotone, the man asked, “What brings you to Recityv?”

  Before Tahn could answer, Sutter declared, “We’re hungry.”

  A crooked smile crossed the man’s lips as he surveyed them both. “You’re not aspirants to any seat?”

  “What?” Sutter asked.

  “Move along,” the soldier replied, “and keep out of trouble.”

  Relief washed over Tahn as he passed beneath the thick red stone wall of Recityv. He heard a distant cry in his mind—the voice of the Sheason telling them to get to this place. And now they’d arrived safely. In the shadow of the gate, he no longer felt like a child this side of the Change, regardless of the Standing. The end of the cycle might come soon, but part of him believed that when he returned to the Hollows, even if it were before then, it would somehow seem different. Smaller.

  Inside the great wall, buildings towered several stories high. Just strides beyond the gate, storefronts gleamed in the daylight, the stone of their facings principally white. Some had been polished smooth, showing pale reflections of the street they faced, others were rough-hewn. On the rooftops, a variety of animal statues perched atop the stone, peering down like unmoving familiars. Windows varied in size and shape and color: Fancier inns seemed to have been crafted in straight lines and angles, fitted with rectangular panes of glass; other edifices had round, long, narrow, or polygonal windows; and many were tinted various shades of rose, azure, or gold, those on the east side of the road refracting colorful rays of light.

  Some men walked the street in mail, others in cotton twill. Many wore tight leather breeches, mid-calf boots, loose-fitting coats that laced at the neck, and hooded cloaks of various lengths. Women strolled in gowns that shimmered or were oversewn with lace in intricate and delicate designs. Those that did not have such finery seemed mostly to go about in work dresses, often bearing stains deep in the fabric. Most of the women wore hats, the brims of those worn by the more stylishly dressed women long and curving subtly downward in the front and rear, while the brims of many others were short and generally flat, and often had no brim at all.

  A host of richly ornate carriages lined the streets, their owners seeming to be bustling from one shop to another in pursuit of some item to purchase. A charged feeling buzzed in the air, as everywhere standards flapped in the wind.

  Tahn and Sutter kept riding, hoping to see someone they recognized. Perhaps Vendanj would have someone watching for them. Deeper into the city they went, passing arbors and warehouses and multifloored taverns, past fountains and inns, and offices marked with the sigil of the tree and roots.

  At the center of a broad, grassy common rose a tall, narrow building, crowned by a glass dome. Tahn could see tall cylinders within the bubble, pointing skyward. Near the foundation of the building stood a rooted pavilion with several rows of chairs facing a lectern. At the back, a tall, dark slate showed diagrams in yellow chalk.

  Sutter, while agape at the marvels about him, wore an impossibly broad smile, making him look entirely conspicuous.

  “Perhaps, Your Majesty, you might close the royal mouth. It makes you appear a commoner,” Tahn joked.

  Clearing his throat, Sutter sat straight in his saddle. “Just relishing the gems of my domain, boy. It is wise for a man to reflect upon his success and importance.”

  “A man, you say? And important?” Tahn laughed. “My Lord, the only thing man about you is your scent, which I find important indeed. You might consider washing the royal ass.”

  “A job for a chamber maid,” Sutter said, leering. “Delicate work for a delicate girl.” Dropping the conceit, Sutter added, “Where are we going to stay tonight?” He then resumed craning his head at nearly impossible angles to see every height and detail of the architecture around them.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps the others have already arrived.” Tahn looked around at the sheer number of people bustling through the street. “But we’ll never find them without asking someone.”

  “And how do you intend to do that?” Sutter chided. “Saunter up to someone and ask them if they’ve seen a grim-looking Sheason and a gorgeous young Far?”

  Tahn considered. “We’ll look for the symbol of the three rings,” he said. “If we can find any member of the order, they’ll be able to help us find Vendanj.”

  “I don’t get the feeling Sheason are welcome here any more than they are anywhere else. Maybe less so. Perhaps we should find a sodalist.”

  Sutter started to say something more, but choked it off as they came to a densely packed crowd. The street had suddenly become a wall of humanity too congested to negotiate with a horse. Ahead, and beyond the congregants, Tahn saw a raised scaffold.

  “Move over!” a gruff voice demanded.

  A portly man with mottled skin over most of his face sneered at him and tried to shove Jole aside. The crowd amassed behind them. Tahn reined left and led Sutter to the edge of the street and out of the way. Then above the tumult, a loud voice echoed past the stone of the building fronts.

  “It is with solemn regret, but by authority of the Court of Judicature, that we bring sentence before you today.”

  Tahn squinted into the distance. It looked like a gallows. He’d heard of them from stories given by Ogea at Northsun. The thin man announcing from the platform wore the color of the Recityv guard, shouting through a cone he held to his lips as he spoke. But it all remained so far away that Tahn could barely make any of it out. As the man continued to speak, two figures climbed a stair and stood behind him.

  “Let it be understood that justice will not be denied. The regent will not be swayed by any threat.” A protest went up from some; others cheered. “Today treason will be answered as befits the crime.”

  People jockeyed around for a better view. Tahn looked past the man at the front of the scaffolding at the two standing behind him. A horrible certainty dawned in his mind.

  “Come on!” he whispered urgently to Sutter. Tahn jerked Jole’s head about. “Out of the way!” he yelled, urging Jole to hasten back through the tightly packed crowd. Insults flew,
a few swinging at Tahn’s legs as, finally free of the crowd, he gained speed, racing away from the gallows.

  Sutter came abreast of him as they dodged around others. “What are you doing?!”

  Tahn made no answer. He focused on avoiding the various obstacles in the road. Apple cores sailed past his head and rocks struck his chest and shoulder, more than a few hitting Jole as Tahn guided him through the crowded streets. Sutter yelled at those hurling things toward them, promising to answer their hospitality. At a narrow alley, Tahn turned left. They leapt overturned barrels and broken crates, the clatter of hooves echoing off the walls. Sutter’s nag struggled to keep up.

  Emerging onto the next street, Tahn reined in and looked left again. Several intersections north, the crowd had just started to gather.

  “There!” Tahn shouted and pulled Jole left yet again, spurring him onward.

  Carriages careened to one side or the other as Tahn screamed for them to stand aside. Children clapped at the spectacle, and Tahn saw two soldiers in crimson dress look his way as he passed. He did not turn to see if they pursued him. Near to the cross street where people gathered closest to witness the sentence, he again pulled back on Jole’s reins. Hooves slipped and scraped over stone as the horse fought to keep balance while skidding. The mob backed away as he came to a reckless stop near the street corner.

  Sutter came in behind him, his old mare dumping him to the ground with a loud thud. Tahn quickly looked around, and found that some second-story windows had short balconies that overlooked the street. He eased to his feet to stand on Jole’s saddle, and jumped. Catching a balustrade, he hoisted himself up. A few people appeared to disapprove, but also understand Tahn’s desire for a clear view of the hanging. Sutter began climbing the building, using the deep grooves in the stonework as footholds.

  Tahn knelt on one knee on the side of the balcony nearest the gallows. Though yet sixty strides away, it was much closer than they had been before. He could see the fear in the faces of the condemned.

  “… resolve is absolute,” the guard was saying. “Be a rumor true or not, all things are subject to the rule of law and the discretion of the regent.” A continued mix of approval and scoffing attended the officer’s remarks.

  Sutter reached the balcony and took a knee beside him. “Will and Sky, Tahn, what’s gotten into you? Haven’t you seen enough of this?”

  “This isn’t the League,” Tahn said.

  “No, but it’s just as gruesome.” Sutter tugged at his sleeve.

  “Stop!” Tahn scolded. “Don’t bother me now!”

  “Tahn, what is this about?” Sutter’s voice now held genuine concern. “There’s nothing you can do for them. And even if there were, this isn’t the kind of attention we need. You can’t afford—”

  “To what!” Tahn interjected. “To help them?”

  “You don’t know what’s going on here,” Sutter said reasonably. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t involve us. Those men may deserve this.”

  Tahn looked his friend in the eye. “One of them does not.”

  Sutter stared back, confused. “How could you know that? Do you recognize one of them?”

  Tahn shook his head. “Please, Sutter, just trust me.” He wanted to say more, but he knew that anything he might say would sound crazy right now, and there wasn’t time to explain.

  “All right,” Sutter said softly. “But you seem to be taking over my adventure.”

  The throng of watchers pressed even tighter as their numbers increased. A line of guards three deep extended in a horseshoe around the gallows, the first row pointing spears outward to keep the crowd back. The officer finished speaking and stood aside as each of the two men was fitted with a noose around his neck. A horn trumpeted the moment, calling from some high promenade above the yard where the bulk of the mob stood waiting to witness these deaths. A hush fell over the crowd as a dark-cloaked man spoke privately with each of the convicted. Tahn wondered what the man could possibly say to them at this moment. When he left them, Tahn saw the gleam of tears on one fellow’s cheeks.

  At one side, a second guard in Recityv crimson stood with his hand on a lever, his eyes on the front-most officer. The yard grew quiet enough to hear the birds chirrup in the eaves of a nearby building. The dart and swoop of swallows was the only movement. The sun felt suddenly heavy and too bright, exposing this scene in glaring clarity.

  Tahn took his bow from his back and produced an arrow from his quiver. He moistened his fingers with his tongue and checked the fletching. He traced the scar on his hand, reminding himself not to clutch his weapon too tightly. Then he stood, holding the bow at a perfect angle to the ground. His heart raced in his chest, pounding an impossible rhythm. But he breathed easy and recited the oldest words he knew.

  “I draw with the strength of my arms,” he said, and exhaled.

  Shouts of alarm rang up beneath him as the crowd became aware of him standing with an aimed bow. But Tahn might have been standing at the edge of some promontory, a wide, empty chasm before him and nothing else, save the scaffolding and the objects of its use. The officer looked at the guard who manned the lever-release. At that moment, the guard nodded and performed his task.

  “And release as the Will allows,” Tahn finished, and calmly released his arrow.

  A hatch opened and the two men fell. The rope tightened with the weight of their parcels, and when the rope holding the man on the right drew taut, Tahn’s arrow sailed into the sunlight of the yard and sliced the rope a fist’s length from the high beam that held it. The man plummeted to the ground. A gasp of horror and shock erupted from those gathered, and several hundred heads turned to see Tahn standing with his bow still pointed toward the gallows.

  Moments later, a squad of soldiers swarmed onto the balcony and put Tahn and Sutter into irons.

  “I guess we won’t be needing to look for a room,” Sutter said. But there was no humor in his voice.

  The guards led them away. With bitter irony, Tahn could only think of Wendra, her lifeless child, a moment of indecision, and how much better this moment had been.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Darksong

  Wendra stood inside the mountain cabin a pace back from the doorway, peering through the opening at Jastail and eight creatures like the one that had broken into her home and forced her child from her womb. She shivered at the sight of them, recalling the feel of coarse hands tearing her undergarments away and the incredible power in the beast’s grip as she was forced to drink a pulpy fluid from a bone vial. Guttural sounds responded to the appeasing voice of the highwayman, who motioned toward her.

  “Come out here,” Jastail said, glancing toward her. “And bring the boy.”

  Wendra looked despairingly at Penit, who returned her gaze with a terrified expression. He grasped her hand and together they eased out the door. Wendra shielded her eyes against the brightness of the sun as she tentatively approached Jastail, keeping the highwayman between her and the Quietgiven. She saw cold appraisal in the heavy brows of the Bar’dyn, their attention shifting from her to Penit and back again.

  “Did I tell you?” Jastail said in a confident, pleased tone. He looked back at Wendra and gestured toward her with splayed fingers, as one might do to invite inspection. “And this is why I ask my price.”

  The Bar’dyn did not speak at first, running another emotionless gaze over her and the boy. “Perhaps we will just take them,” the foremost Given said evenly.

  “Ah, Etromney, you test my patience with this needless litany each time we meet.” Jastail turned his back on the Bar’dyn and paced around behind Wendra and Penit. “You come to me because I deliver goods no one else can.”

  “Not every time,” the Bar’dyn said pointedly.

  “Perhaps,” Jastail admitted, unruffled. “But I have access to”—he looked at Wendra and seemed to alter his words—“circles that the pedestrian traders never will. But you know all this; I’ve explained to you my connections many times. So why begin w
ith threats?”

  The Bar’dyn’s expression never changed, remaining as flat as Jastail’s had ever been. “The times are changing.” The Bar’dyn paused, raising its thick nose to the air as though it could smell what it described. Wendra remained still, feeling as much as hearing the deep resonance of the creature’s voice, like a single, thick chord drawn by a heavy bow.

  “More threats?” Jastail asked.

  “No,” Etromney answered. “Soon, there will be no need to meet here. No need of any trader or highwayman.” The Bar’dyn seemed to frown, but the lines in its folded skin hardly moved. “You are an abomination, human, wretched in your Second Inheritance, and worse to betray your own kind. My gorge rises at the sight of you.”

  Jastail let a strange smile crawl over his face. “What do you know of humanity, of abomination, except what you see reflected in the trough you drink from.”

  The Bar’dyn’s hoary face resumed its steady gaze. “Is the boy hers?” Etromney asked.

  “No,” Jastail said, “but what of that? She is still capable of breeding.”

  “Can you prove her womb is not barren?” the Bar’dyn went on. “And what of—”

  Jastail violently ripped Wendra’s dress upward, exposing her belly and hips. “See for yourself,” he said with heat, pointing to the stretch marks in Wendra’s skin from her recent pregnancy. “The mark of one recently with child. Now no more accusations or disbelief! She will suit your purposes well enough. And the child is pure Forda I’Forza, a suitable receptacle I’m sure. And I’ll share this advice: Control the lad, and you control the girl.”

  Wendra knew her legs trembled as she stood exposed to the Bar’dyn. She locked her knees to keep on her feet. Jastail held up her dress for several more moments as the Bar’dyn looked on. Finally, he dropped the hem and took a wide-legged stance in front of them, facing the Quietgiven. The highwayman’s zeal and confidence in the face of the Bar’dyn surprised her. The creatures out of the Bourne stood two feet taller than Jastail; the obvious strength in their massive shoulders and legs would discourage most men from such boldness.