The Unremembered: Book One of The Vault of Heaven

by Peter Orullian

  Penit leapt, forgoing the turn. “Interesting that you believe my words speak only to our regent. Either you are clever to focus them so and try to provoke your Lady’s wrath, or you yourself are uncomfortable with your part in claiming the rights and powers rightly reserved for none other than the First Ones. Such arrogance has consequences!”

  Sutter shook his head, then nodded, then shook it again. Wendra looked every bit the mother she would have been with her own child: proud, attentive, happy.

  Penit slid to the spot of his fiction’s regent. “We return to pride so often, it seems.” Consternation slipped from his brow, replaced by pity. “But to us was given the power and use of the Will through the Order of Sheason. That gift is administered as they see fit. I may make requests of them, but I cannot compel one to give of his own Forda for my sake. It is both immoral and unlawful. So in your reasoning, have you considered that trying to subvert the renewal of a life, as you did, is precisely the aggrandizement of power over life and death of which you accuse us? You,” Penit reproached vehemently, shoving a regent’s finger toward the fire, “are the one guilty of claiming godhood. You are a traitor. More, you are a hypocrite.”

  A brief turn, and Penit raised his head. “I do not believe the Sheason acquiesced so. What coercion bought their complicity? What promises were made? Their calling is sanctified; they would not be a willing party to this, since revivification is a known heresy. Only Velle draw the Will for gain. A true holder of the Will would suffer every indignity before being brought to this.” Penit clenched his fist and raised it to his mouth, his voice trembling. “Or else resist you with all the power that is his.”

  Again Penit paused. Wood crackled and popped in the flames, sparks rose in orange flares against the night and winked out. The boy’s words froze them all, the severity of the recriminations casting a pall throughout the camp, though it was nothing more than a rhea-fol.

  Penit did not turn this time, completing a wide circle as he resumed the role of accuser. “Let us put an end to this,” he said with a note of finality, and motioned with his right hand, bidding someone to come. Then he stepped to the far side of the fire and peered levelly over the flames. “We will hear from Artixan. The Sheason in counsel to the regent, and the renderer who began to revive her child before SeFeery came to prevent him.”

  Penit gravely walked to the opposite side of the fire, where he took his place and looked back across the top of the flames. In a pained whisper, “Artixan, no. Please, don’t do this.”

  Round again the boy went, his gait slow. Penit’s eyes became glassy with tears as he adopted an expression of anguish and spoke for Artixan. “A perfect child, a handsome child, came through her womb. But the babe did not awake in this world. Her Grace was grieved, and prepared to begin the arrangements to bury a stillborn infant. Such courage I’ve rarely seen. Helaina is long known to possess a barren womb, yet this miracle began, and swelled her stomach to her own delight.” A tear tracked across Penit’s cheek. “What pain then to await the miracle, and at its very accomplishment know such tragedy.

  “It is not given to us by custom to call upon the Will to redeem all a child’s skies. But there was sufficient purpose in it to disregard the custom. And I agreed to it willingly.” Penit looked across the fire imploringly. “It was necessary, Denolan. Can’t you see that? You of all people? Must I say it aloud in this court? Rethink your position, please, before it is too late—”

  Penit stepped quickly to his left; his countenance changed to a look of reproof. “That is all, Sheason, thank you.”

  “Too late” for what, Tahn wondered. Something lingered there unspoken, cut short by the clever questioner.

  In the voice of the accuser Penit turned toward the accused, who Tahn felt he could almost see. “You now have the witness of the very man who you tried to thwart. He has vowed before the council that he freely and of his own desire sought to help the child. And”—Penit raised a finger as he kept track of each issue—“he is an honored member in good standing with the order, lest you think to sully his reputation here by naming him Quietgiven.” Penit lowered his hand, looking up and around where the court gallery might have been sitting in the great round chamber. “It is your good fortune, I should think, that you are not left to the opinions of the people.” Penit folded his arms as though concluding his argument in the role of questioner.

  The boy gracefully took the place where he spoke in the voice of the regent. He performed a turn and frowned toward the fire with a melancholy aspect. “You may make a rebuttal if you so choose. But be warned that lies here are likely to invite a sharper punishment.” Penit let out a long breath through his nose before continuing. “One thing more. I call on you to use discretion in the defense you make. But you mustn’t feel restricted from conveying any information you believe has merit or bearing in this dissent. No matter the costs to others.” Penit raised his brows, deeply furrowing his forehead, and said, “You are free to speak of any and all things to exonerate yourself of these allegations. Do you understand?” Penit looked into the fire expectantly.

  Then, another proud turn, and his head inclined toward the stars low on the southern horizon. He nodded, and in that moment Tahn watched the boy adopt the most steadfast, honorable demeanor he could imagine. “I tremble at what is about to take place here,” Penit said in low, resigned tones. “At the foot of Julian A’sa I sat when all the floors were swept and all the animals tended, and I listened. The stories of a hundred other authors I know in every detail, and the meanings behind their words.

  “Hour after hour, for years I studied the art and tactics of combat, becoming a student of the body, its movement, its capabilities, its purpose. My preparations made me of value to the men and women who occupy seats in the councils. Soon I stood in attendance to these people when they convened their ruling sessions. I saw and heard how the life of a single man could be so blithely dismissed. Later, in higher, grander rooms, it was the lives of scores of men. And not soldiers alone, but innocent people of the city and of the great tracts of this nation, whose livelihoods precariously turn on the decisions a few make around a banquet table.” Penit swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. “All this I witnessed, but I retained my hope in the simple, elegant balance of life, having an assurance that we yet choose our paths, and that the only real measure of our lives is our response to it.”

  Sutter was nodding. Tahn saw that Wendra and Braethen, too, nodded in agreement with Penit’s words. Several strides away, still seated on his rock, Grant sat in profile to the fire, its light illuminating his tough, sun-baked skin. He had not yet acknowledged Penit’s tale, but his eyes showed clearly his attention to the words.

  Vendanj lurked a farther distance behind Penit. The Sheason eyed the boy as though he wanted Penit to get the words right.

  Then something happened in Tahn. He had the strong impression that what he was hearing was, indeed, true. But that wasn’t quite right. Not the story itself, though it might be exact in every detail, for all Tahn knew. But an overwhelming feeling of surety suffused him, as though the essence of what Penit’s characters said was right. A familiar feeling of comfort and support washed over him, dispelling his momentary fears and all that had happened since the Hollows. In an instant, he recognized the sensation as the same he’d felt when Rolen had Stood for him in their shared prison cell.

  “What I have done I do not deny,” Penit continued with firm resolve. “It was mine to choose, and I’d choose it again. I’ve no guilt or shame of it.” Penit raised his arms slightly, palms up. “We meet together, build cities and communities, and draw boundaries across land to establish wealth or create the feeling of security. But our attempts to define law are paltry things. They grow out of the misconception that one group of people knows better than another. And we err when we choose a course that abuses the power of Forda I’Forza, when we assume more authority than is ours to wield. It is inconvenient, this life. But to rob it of its sting is to divest it of the
very reason to live.” Penit took a deep breath and looked about, capturing the eyes of each of his audience in turn, ending with Tahn.

  Looking back to where the regent might be, he said, “I do not recognize the authority of this Court of Judicature to pass judgment on me for my actions. It is a body of men and women too steeped in their own traditions to acknowledge a higher law. I hereby grant myself amnesty from the ruling of this court. Its deliberations shall have no bearing on my life. You will do as you will. But for my part, I say again that I reaffirm and grant myself freedom and liberty independent of this mockery.”

  From across the fire, Braethen sighed in sympathy for this man Penit played. The sodalist hung his head and clutched the book in his hand. Beside him, Wendra stared on, seeming equally pleased by what Penit said as the fact that he had said it. Tahn thought she might in an instant sweep the boy up and hug him close. Sutter only stared, weighing, Tahn thought, the things said. Whoever the man was who Penit spoke for, he was much like Nails in his fierce independence. But Tahn felt neither pity nor pride, only the assurance that the fabric of the tale was right.

  Vendanj stroked his beard with thumb and forefinger and turned away toward the night. And while the scene Penit had played stood static as each considered what they had heard, Grant finally looked at the boy, his face catching the firelight and reflecting its warm glow. It might have been the heat from the flame, or simply the brightness of the fire, but the man’s eyes seemed to glisten with emotion, the stoic face momentarily discountenanced, if only by a sheen of moisture. The exile shared a long look with Penit, silently appreciating the tale before turning back to the darkness and his vigil.

  Penit turned a final time, retaking the first position of his narration. A resolute look stole over him, a look different from those of the other characters he’d portrayed. Looking at the fire, the boy began to speak in the voice of the regent. “I will excuse your blasphemy because I know you face a great challenge in reconciling justice with your own actions.” With a malicious glance Penit said, “You are no different than the host of men and women brought here who endeavor to cover up their crimes or justify them because they fear the harshness of their sentence.” In an angrier tone yet, he continued. “I only regret that I took you into my confidences. I wonder if you’d feel so beneficent had you never risen to the station of Emerit to the regent. Perhaps you have become the very sanctimonious nobility you despise.”

  Penit waved a dismissive hand. “I will abide no removal of the council for deliberation. By a raising of hands I want a vote now on the dissenter’s guilt.” Penit cast his glance around. The boy’s haunted expression as he looked around the fire circle chilled Tahn to the bone. Without seeing a single juror, he knew the vote. With disquieting pleasure Penit announced, “The record will indicate unanimous conviction. Set the rest down as I now say.” Penit raised his chin so that he might look down his nose at the flames, at the convicted. “For the crime of treason it is hereby declared that Denolan SeFeery is unfit for citizenship in the free city of Recityv. It is further known and witnessed to in this writ that Emerit SeFeery has willfully committed treason against the stewardship entrusted to him and against the right order of progress as held by the Higher Court of Judicature and the Exigents.

  “Denolan SeFeery is thus remanded to permanent exile, and in the interest of justice will be given a sentence in the emptiness known as the Scar. With the exception of the First Seat at the regent’s Table, he will remain the only one to know of the trust this judgment represents.

  “Anyone known to abet Denolan SeFeery will be adjudged a traitor like unto him and punished accordingly.

  “From this day forward, Denolan SeFeery will no longer be referred to with the Emerit honors of his former office. And return to the free walls of Recityv shall be construed as an act of aggression and punished by immediate execution.

  “And so it is,” Penit ended, his final word at once the crack of a gavel and the sound of a closing book. All that was spoken hung in the air, seeming to dare contradiction. It came as an epitaph, like words one reads in the stone or journal of a dead man. The Soliel swallowed the feeling, absorbed it. Deafening silence remained, broken only by the hiss of wood.

  Then with a touch of familiarity Penit leaned forward. He spoke in a sweet, conversational tone. “Death is too good for you, Denolan. In exile you will feel the weight of your crimes, and the barrenness of the Scar will remind you of the barrenness of my womb, whose only fruit has now been taken from me. There you will live, your sinews growing hard and eventually inflexible. And what will keep you there, you are wondering? Your honor? A guard? An army?” Penit laughed caustically. “Hardly any of these. No, it will be the establishment of an orphanage for foundlings, castaways, the children of unfit parents. The very thing you hoped to prevent will be the tie that holds you to your heated rock. Derelict guardians will be forced to surrender their offspring to the council, which will decide where the babes are to be reared. And to you will be sent a share. A tree will be hollowed as a waypoint and cradle at the edge of your domain. On an appointed day a child will be placed there, given into your care.” Penit sneered with severe reproof. “And if you do not arrive to retrieve the babe, it will die. And thus every cycle of the lesser light will you check the cradle. Some days you will return with only what you bring. Others you will nestle life to your breast and ride more slowly to your home.” Standing back, Penit let a satisfied smile tug at his lips. “Either accept the sentence, or become the murderer you conspired two days ago to be. My officers will be watching; anyone other than you attempting to retrieve the children will be killed. What honor still resides in you may fetter the sentence to you. If not”—Penit’s smile faded, his eyes blank in the firelight—“then the deaths of countless innocents will follow your every sky and cry against you when your life is at its end.

  “Grant yourself amnesty? Grant yourself freedom and liberty from this mockery? The mockery is yours, Denolan SeFeery. Mockery of life itself. I am done with you.” Penit ceased, staring into the fire.

  Glassy eyed, the boy did nothing more than raise his head heavenward, a last character change. “And I with you. My name in your mouth and the gossip of your court is like the sting of vipers. I will no more answer to it. I am not yours to hold accountable when your law is corrupt. When you violate the basic Charter of man, my obligation to you is annulled. I am free. I am clean … I am Grant.”

  Wendra and Sutter turned at the same time Tahn did to look at the broad shoulders of their traveling companion who sat upon a nearby rock. Shock and respect showed in Sutter’s face as he mouthed something Tahn could not understand. Braethen alone did not look. Had he known? Why had he said nothing?

  Suddenly, the sound of rushing air rolled toward them. Grant jumped to his feet and took a step into the night, his sword a flash in his hand. In an instant, Mira sprinted out of the darkness toward them. Over her head streaked flaming arrows, humming past her and flashing through the air above their circle.

  “On your feet!” the Far yelled, drawing to a quick stop beside the exile to prepare for unseen pursuers.

  Tahn jumped up, nocking an arrow and pulling a deep draw in one fluid motion. But he pointed the tip aimlessly toward the darkness beyond the fire, unsure of a target.

  Out of the night more flaming arrows brightened against the night, soaring swiftly toward them, the shafts flying in an arc, seeking their target. Streaks of light angled down first toward Mira and Grant, parting the night in rapid, bright lines. As Tahn looked on, the Far and the exile danced away from of the arrows, and just as often turned them harmlessly away with a quick flick of their swords.

  Sutter and Braethen took positions a few strides behind Mira, and Wendra placed herself between the arrows and Penit.

  In the distance, Tahn heard the deep, resonant beat of a drum. Hearing the ominous droning beat, the hackles on his neck stiffened. Somewhere out there, cloaked by the night, Bar’dyn advanced toward them. How many woul
d be hard to say, but before anyone could think to test the horses’ endurance and flee north, an echoing call of drums answered the first from behind them. They were surrounded. Tahn pulled his draw around, but still saw nothing. Wendra shuffled her feet, trying to decide which direction to shield the boy from.

  “Terror tactics.” Grant spoke with a loud but calm voice, never looking away from the south. “They won’t have moved this quickly after us with an entire collough. But the Bar’dyn did not find us without help.”

  The drums grew louder, closer. Where was Vendanj? Tahn searched the darkness for the Sheason, but saw nothing. Beyond the close veil of night, Tahn heard the approach of feet—labored, heavy steps, but not clumsy or careless. The sounds bore down on them from the dark.

  Then in the distance, a glint of light reflected from two orbs bobbing in the darkness. A second set of eyes appeared, catching the light. Behind these came yet two more. Then all four Bar’dyn emerged from the night at a full run, their stout legs carrying their considerable forms at impossible speeds. No crazed look of ambush or bloodlust characterized their faces as maces and swords were raised to meet Grant and Mira.

  Flaming arrows continued to light the sky above them, but these flew straight and seemed more an attempt at confusion than any real attack.

  Still there was no sign of Vendanj.

  The sound of drums drew closer still. Chaotic rhythms pounded. And just as the Bar’dyn came within three strides from Mira, the sound of footfalls fairly shook the ground behind them. Tahn whirled to see two Bar’dyn barreling in from the north. Wendra shot Tahn a dark look. His sister pivoted to meet the flank attack, and Tahn aimed at the first Bar’dyn coming in from behind.

  He whispered his old phrase, now a thought more than anything else, and let fly his arrow.