by E. J. Godwin
Soren faced the others. “Put away your swords—now!”
The youngest of the Raéni, a lad fresh out of training and eager to demonstrate his loyalty, was the first to comply. The rest followed, some muttering their disapproval. Wirden held out to the last. But the price of disobedience was so clear in the Master Raén’s face that her wrath soon cooled, and she slid her Fetra back into its scabbard.
Soren glanced at the sword in Caleb’s hands, then at him. Caleb knew what he was asking. To sheath his sword felt cowardly, an abandonment of his duty as a father. But he obeyed, realizing that the Master Raén looked on Warren as a citizen of Ada—no less deserving of protection than anyone else.
Joásen made his way to the front. “What is this, Soren? I never thought I’d see my son stand shoulder to shoulder with a traitor.”
“Go to hell!” barked Caleb before he could help it. The words were English, yet by Joásen’s dark expression they had translated well enough.
The elderly soldier whisked out his Fetra once more, this time grasping it horizontally in front.
Soren’s mouth fell open. “No!”
“Keep out of this, Soren. Even the Supreme Raén can’t deny me this.” He scanned the crowd. “I was the one who discovered this evil. Are there witnesses to back me up?”
“Me!” Wirden cried, and several of the others echoed her reply.
Soren stepped in front, blocking Caleb from Joásen’s view. “Rights or no rights, I won’t let you do this!”
“Be off!”
Soren gripped the older man’s arm, forcing him to lower his weapon. “Calm yourself, and think! No one’s exiled a Raén in centuries!”
“It’s not your decision!” he cried, pushing Soren aside. Joásen stepped towards Caleb, lifted his blade as before, and shouted a string of words in the Urmanayan tongue:
“Gidas kwal yonté adré gal orné ven Ada!”
Joásen raised his knee and bore down. There was a ringing snap, and his broken sword dropped clanging to the floor.
Caleb could scarcely breathe. A nightmare—this has to be some kind of nightmare. The room was spinning, a vortex of staring eyes, sinking him down, down, into the abyss.
“What about Warren?” he shot, hot tears kindling. “How can you treat an innocent child this way?”
“The boy can live with us,” Joásen answered. “He won’t be shunned because of you. We aren’t that kind of people.”
Caleb Stenger leaped forward and knotted the collar of the old man’s shirt in his fists. Soren reached in to separate them, but after a breath of scorn Caleb released Joásen and stepped away.
He glared at them one by one. “If you’re so ignorant that you place superstitious beliefs above common decency, maybe we should leave—and find a country where a man’s deeds are more important than the trinkets he carries in his pocket!”
He turned to Warren. The boy had sunk to the floor against the wall, rocking back and forth with his arms around his knees, the Medallion still clenched in his fist. Caleb lifted him to a stand. “Don’t worry, son,” he said in English. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. But we have to leave now.” Caleb clasped his hand and turned for the door.
“Wait,” Soren cried out. “I’m coming with you.”
A gasp swept the crowd. “No!” said Joásen. “I will not permit my son to accompany this traitor!”
“Master Raén or not, my actions are my own responsibility,” he said. “I’ve seen no evil in this man—a Raén who has proven his loyalty to the Oath, which is more sacred to me than any ancient custom. Until he breaks that Oath, I will not abandon him.”
“But he’s found the Medallion,” Wirden cried, unable to contain herself.
Soren shook his head. “Caleb Stenger speaks the truth. I will not sacrifice my loyalty, not even for my beliefs.”
“He’s been exiled,” Joásen said. “Your decision to defend this man will be your betrayal of the Oath.”
Soren turned away. “We’d better leave now, Caleb Stenger, before these fools become their own bringers of evil.”
Caleb tightened his grip on Warren’s hand, and they ran out the door and into the night.
11
Blood Valley
The most dangerous counsels
are those that are never questioned.
- Olo, Third Underseer of Spierel
THE RAÉN in charge of the barracks, unaware of events at the refectory, stood dumbfounded as Soren and Caleb bustled in to seize their baggage. At the stables, the Master Raén grumbled as they saddled their tired horses. But he would not leave Tellahur, and there was no time to search for replacements.
After confiscating a store of food from the inn, they sped through the gate, ignoring the hails from the guards. A harvest moon lifted over the fortress, its pearly light falling upon the tall summits in the west. Ten miles ahead, a pair of rock-crowned bluffs stood on either side of a high pass; the Winding River, here only a narrow stream, quickened out of a long mountain valley beyond. The vantage between revealed the pale, moonlit lands to the east for many miles, and Caleb half expected to see dark hordes of angry Raéni thundering after them.
But the chill of the night had cooled his fears. “Aren’t we overreacting?” he suggested, raising his voice above the wind.
“In what way?” Soren asked.
“There must be some place we can go for sanctuary. The Raéni aren’t the only people in Ada, you know.”
“You don’t understand. My father has exercised the Rite of Exile. There is no place to go, not in Ada, at least, and I refuse to cower in a hole while others decide our fate. You’ve found the Medallion of Yrsten. When word spreads, no one in Ada will ever look upon you the same way again.”
Caleb thought immediately of Telai, and a sudden despair wrung his heart. The prospect of never seeing her again, let alone abandoning all hope of a life with her, was almost more than he could bear. Homeless, again. He struggled for a way to divert his mind, to convince himself that it was too early in the game to give up. Besides, there was no point in worrying about things he couldn’t control.
“Those words … Urmanayan, weren’t they?” he asked. “What did they mean?”
“Haven’t you worked it out by now?”
“Translation isn’t my strong suit, if you haven’t noticed!”
“Indeed. Very well: You will never find refuge in Ada again.”
The words settled like a stone in Caleb’s gut. “Will they follow?”
“Possibly. But not to harm us—only to be sure we’re headed far away. If they believe that, all the better for us.”
“Then where are we really headed?”
“Immediately? To Dernetondé, past the mountains. We’ve entered Blood Valley, Tedrel in the ancient tongue. If you look closely through the trees long enough you’ll see a narrow lake at the center. The entrance to Véigen lies beyond, a naturally formed tunnel through which we invaded the land of the Hodyn before we captured Ekendoré.”
“The battle of Aén’Tedrel, yes.” Telai’s harsh lesson in the Hall of Memories still stung a little.
Soren shook his head. “Amazing how you remember that so clearly, but not the Yrsten Medallion. Anyway, if we ride through the night we can reach Véigen by dawn.”
“Through the night?”
“Yes. The life of a Raén demands such hardships. And you’re exiled now: it may be a long time before you sleep in a real bed again. But in any case it will be much more difficult for the horses, especially riding double like that. Worry about them before you start worrying about yourself!”
Caleb seethed, but kept his mouth shut, knowing that Soren was right. He needed to focus on practical matters—in short, to remember his training. Warren nodded sleepily, and he held the child firmly in place, working the reins with one hand. There was no one to help care for his son now, and Caleb had no choice but to find another life far from Ada. He had learned so much, and worked so hard, only to have it snatched away by some ridicul
ous dogma.
“Then what?” he asked, though neither of them had spoken for a while.
“Explain.”
“After the tunnel.”
Soren thought for a moment. “I’d like to avoid Enilií, if we can.”
“Why? They won’t know what happened.”
“Perhaps. But they will soon after, and just imagine their reaction. Are you willing to repay their trust with deceit?”
“They should trust me, Soren,” Caleb cried. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“They won’t see it that way. We’ll need to keep a low profile if we’re to avoid being followed. I know a house where the owners keep quiet. But we’ll have to replenish our supplies before then.”
“Well, I suppose that’s not too bad. Anyway, I was talking about long-term plans. You said you’d make anyone who followed believe we were headed far away. What did you mean by that?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said to my father? Until you break the Oath by a deliberate act, you’re still a member of the Raéni.”
Caleb’s brow furrowed. “I’m grateful, of course, but I don’t understand—”
“Great Hendra, save me from these ignorant recruits!” cried Soren, his gaze aimed at the starry sky. “What’s the highest duty of every Raén?” he said in singsong condescension.
The sudden realization calmed Caleb’s mind. “Kseleksten.”
“Yes. You may be exiled, but you are still under the Oath.”
“Didn’t Joásen’s act end my life as a Raén?”
“Not officially. Tradition states that any Raén has the right to exile another. But it’s a very old and rarely used custom, started long before the Oath.”
“Haven’t others been expelled from the Raéni?”
“Not without opportunity to defend themselves before the Council.”
Caleb shrugged. “Nothing more than a show of formality for one who found the Medallion.”
“Perhaps. But the Oath is a bond only you can break. They may have taken away your ability to fulfill your ordinary duties, but they can’t take away your ability to seek out and destroy the last of the Lor’yentréi. It is the only duty you have left—the only duty I have left.”
“You’re being clever, Soren. I’m the one they exiled, not you. And you’re the Master Raén of Ada. You’ll break the Oath if you neglect your other responsibilities.”
“No. However skilled, no matter what my position, I’m only one man, easily replaced. My duty to help a fellow soldier in need is no less than any other obligation, especially when there’s no else one willing or available. And what louder protest than the Supreme Raén’s? If anyone has broken the Oath, it is my father.”
“Yet somehow of all those Raéni you were the only one to reject your belief in the Prophecy.”
Soren glared at him. “I’m not the one who’s trying to be clever,” he said, and flicked the reins to ride ahead in silence.
They were well within Blood Valley now. Immediately on their right towered a massive peak, Colhendra, one of the “brothers” of Hendra; the other, Telhendra, lay south of Ekendoré. Caleb’s eyelids drooped, while Warren sagged against him, asleep despite the night chill. But the way along the lake was strewn with large rocks and the roots of scattered, twisted pines, demanding Caleb’s attention. Even with the full moon they were forced to dismount at times to search a way through, or to rest and water their horses.
All that night they neither heard nor saw any sign of pursuit. Caleb hoped the Raéni at Udan were content merely to be rid of them. They reached a smoother stretch along the lake, and Soren dropped back to ride alongside him again, either forgetful or forgiving of his insult.
“Are you sure they won’t come after us?” Caleb asked.
Soren shifted uncomfortably. “It’s possible—though the smarter and safer move would be to speed a message south of the mountains to Enilií. We have fresh horses stabled at several points along the North Road, and there’s a chance an experienced rider might get there ahead of us.”
“How far will we have to go to be safe?”
“If by safe you mean safe from the Raéni, then once we leave Ada. But the Hodyn will be the greater threat long before that happens. There are only the two of us, and having a child to protect makes us vulnerable,” he said, glancing at Warren.
Caleb chose to ignore the remark. “I thought they only live in Grimoa.”
“Live, yes. But they frequent the wasteland to the north, Dernetondé. It’s the chief route for their spies, avoiding the well protected lands to the east and south. They knew of Véigen before we did—thus the disaster of Aén’Tedrel. But even the Hodyn would not dare repeat our mistake and bring anyone here.” He pointed at the hills surrounding the valley. “We have our own scouts stationed all through this area. Dernetondé is the safer route—safe from the Raéni, at least.”
“Scouts? Won’t they spot us and report?”
“As long as we don’t act suspicious, they won’t know any different until it’s too late.”
“Now I know you’re making too fine a point about Enilií. But once we’re past Véigen won’t the Hodyn do the same?”
“Not as long as we’re careful. The borders of Dernetondé are thick with tall brush. It will hide our enemies, but it will hide us, too.” He turned in his saddle to scan the eastern sky. “Dawn comes. We’ll be in darkness again soon enough, though.”
“The tunnel. How long is it?”
Soren sighed, either from weariness or at Caleb’s incessant questioning. “About fifteen miles, measured in a straight line. The main difficulty will be the darkness.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t bring torches!”
“Did nothing we teach you stick in that head of yours? Look around. You’re in the middle of a pine forest!”
Caleb nodded, remembering when Edai had forced him to make torches using nothing but sharp stones and pine branches. “That’ll take too much time, Soren. We’re talking fifteen miles. That’s a lot of torches.”
“I suppose you’d rather walk the whole thing in the dark.”
A sudden idea dawned in Caleb’s head, and he smiled. “We won’t have to.”
“Is that so? Why?”
“You’ll see.”
♦
The first sunlight struck the mountaintops. Blood Valley remained in shadow until they reached the western end, where the sun lifted over the flanks of the eastern heights and turned the lake to fire. Caleb glanced back with bloodshot eyes, and the twin hills they had passed were lost in the glare. Except for a solitary hawk sailing against the sky, all the land between looked lonely and empty.
The horses were stumbling by now, so they dismounted and led them carefully through the rocks littering the rising slope at the head of the valley. When the incline became a precipice, they stopped.
Nestled among the crags and crannies yawned a ragged black hole. Chill air flowed out and struck their faces, and Caleb shuddered. He had been in caverns before, but well-lit ones with smooth paths and convenient steps. And there were no rescue parties in Ada—at least none he cared to meet.
The Master Raén faced him, arms folded. “What?” Caleb asked, distracted.
Soren snorted. “I’m waiting for you to fulfill your promise to conquer the darkness. Perhaps you’ll beg the sun to follow us into the caverns. If not, we’ve got work to do!”
Caleb grinned, not at the sarcasm, but in anticipation of the man’s reaction. He rummaged through his pack. “Can we take the horses?”
“Of course! Véigen is big enough. But we won’t be able to ride, unless you like bashing your head on the rock, or bending double in the saddle for miles. We’re in for a long walk.”
“Without rest again, I suppose?”
Soren flicked a weary smile. “No. There’s a large cave a short way inside where we can sleep.”
“Good. Here, catch.”
A metallic cylinder flashed in the sun, and the startled Master Raén barely mana
ged to snatch it before it hit the ground. Irritation soon gave way to curiosity, however, and he turned the object over in his hands. “What’s this?”
“Some people on Earth call it a torch, but I’ll use flashlight,” he said, borrowing the English word. “It’ll be less confusing. See that red knob? Push it.”
After a few doubtful stares at the man who fell from the sky, Soren extended his finger and pushed the switch. A beam of light shot out of the cylinder into his face, and he dropped it with a shout. Caleb shook with laughter.
Soren retrieved it and gazed into the lens. “There’s no flame!” He eyed Caleb suspiciously and handed it back. “I’m not touching any of your strange gadgets.”
“The courageous Master Raén of Ada. Anyway, it won’t last forever. We’ll have to extinguish it when we stop to rest.”
Soren gestured at the entrance. “Lead the way, then—since you’re the great wielder of sunlight.”
It was a squeeze at first with the animals and their packs. But after a dozen yards or so the passage widened, the rough walls of the tunnel converging at the top like a vault. Most stones bigger than a fist had been shoved to either side to make a way. The floor had ledges and drops in it, however, and Caleb was careful to keep his grip on Warren’s hand. The child shuffled alongside him, nearly asleep on his feet. The damp, chill air was no worse than the valley, but Caleb knew they would need plenty of blankets when they stopped to sleep.
A half hour later the walls abruptly receded into the darkness. “We’ll stop here,” Soren murmured. “Shine your light to the left.”
Caleb obeyed, revealing a ragged hole about twenty paces away. It looked uncomfortably like the home of some fell beast, but he shrugged and led his horse to the opening, Warren dragging behind him. The opening was larger than it first appeared, with room enough inside even for the horses. A nearby pool, tainted with lime but potable, provided an ample supply of water.
After tending to their horses they postponed sleep long enough to gulp down a cold meal. Even Warren managed to eat a little. But as Caleb laid out several blankets against the hard stone floor, Soren touched him on the shoulder and pointed.
Warren sat with his head slumped forward, clutching the ivory necklace Telai had given him. Soren settled down to sleep, his back turned to respect their privacy, while Caleb gently laid his son down and wrapped his blankets around like a cocoon. He wished someone could do that for him—wrap him in a shroud of forgetfulness.
