Dermot had never bothered to clarify his relationship with Quint for the other men. First, it wasn’t their business. Second, they wouldn’t understand. The boy was family—his only family. Dermot had never met his father, and his own mother had sold him to the temple. He still remembered watching her from behind, weighing with her hand the tiny sack of coins as she walked away. Quint was more family than she’d ever been. The moment he’d heard the clink of his shackles opening, he’d promised himself to protect the boy at all costs.
Such promises—the ones he made to himself—Dermot rarely kept. His turns were littered with abandoned pledges—drink less, gamble less, whore less. Corpses on the battlefield of life, he considered those he’d broken, which was pretty much all of them. But his promise to watch over the boy he held sacrosanct. There was nothing, including sacrificing his own life, Dermot wouldn’t do to protect Quint.
Riverbend, Chapter 67
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When death visits,
May it rain in buckets,
Washing clean the decks
Of the ship carrying the dead
To the land beyond,
And refilling the stores
With fresh water
For the next journey.
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—Excerpt from Incantations of the Allyrian Code
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Riverbend
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Whym neared the Commerce Gate just as a funeral procession was exiting the city. The Tower of Plenary no longer served as a religious building, but the bells pealed as the mourners poured through the gate.
Must be someone important. He moved off the road to let them pass. Normally coffins were pulled on carts with mourners following, but sixteen uniformed TruthGuard led this procession. The coffin rested between them on a wooden bier affixed with four poles—two on each side—that fit over the pallbearers heads so their shoulders bore the weight. TruthGuard as pallbearers? A lord maybe?
He thought about asking one of the merchants waiting for their goods to be inspected, but knew he’d need to shout to be heard over the procession. “Fssssssswaaah, fssssssswaaah, fssssssswaaah.” The mourners shook their rain sticks, a custom left over from the seafaring Allyrians, who’d believed the sound of water brought peace to the dead.
Although it was impolite not to stop for a procession, Whym kept moving, edging behind the waiting merchants toward the gate. It was already too late to catch his father before he left to collect rubbish from the streets, but he hoped to make it home before his mother left for work. Otherwise, he’d be forced to tarry nearby until one of them returned that evening. He slipped through the gate while the mourners were still flooding out, then headed toward the Maze, the shortest route home.
He didn’t know the way well, but navigated by the spire of the Tower of Plenary. It was morning when he exited the Maze near the bridge over the Inge. A shy sun peaked over the rooftops to the east, its rays skimming over the lazy flow of the river. His breathing and pulse both quickened as he realized how close he was to his destination.
He remembered standing in the same spot with Kira on his first and only Hunt, debating whether to pursue the Rat Man into the Maze. His life had changed that day. He’d learned how cruel the world could be. As he’d grown up, he’d faced that lesson many times, but he’d always had his parents’ love and Kira’s friendship to lean on. He looked forward to finally doing something for them and hoped their new life in the Vinlands would be all he’d dreamed.
When he reached the shared courtyard, he had to stop himself from running up the steps. He still took them in twos. Standing outside the weathered door, he smiled, imagining the surprise on his mother’s face. He rapped his knuckles against the wood, his hands almost fully healed with brand new, though somewhat warped, fingernails. “Anybody home?” He did his best to alter his voice to conceal his identity.
The door opened and he looked into the face of a ghost. His father, eyes bloodshot, with deep purple bags beneath them, looked at Whym in disbelief. His hair was greasy and unkempt. Filthy rags clung to too-thin shoulders. “Whym?”
“Dah?” Whym looked past him to the rubbish strewn about the room. “Dah, what happened?”
Maldwyn Ellenrond flung his arms around his son and squeezed so hard Whym could feel the bony knobs that were once a man’s shoulders dig into his ribs. “I thought you were dead!”
“Why?” Whym gently extricated himself from the embrace. “Where’s Mum?”
His father dropped onto a chair beside the table. “Issy passed,” he said, watching the unmoving wood grains of the cluttered table without looking up.
After receiving the news, Whym’s legs felt as if they could no longer support his weight. He sank into the nearest chair. “When?”
“Not long after you left. Right after Kira disappeared.”
Kira disappeared? Moments before, Whym had been brimming with hope and making plans for the future. Now, he felt his world crumbling around him.
“Then they started rounding up the seekers and executing them,” his father continued. “I was certain you’d never return.” He looked up at Whym. “I’m so sorry, son.” His eyes circled the room. “I didn’t think I had anything left in this world.”
“It’s all right, Dah.” Whym comforted his father with words that sounded empty to his own ears. “Tell me about Mum.”
Madwyn exhaled, looking down toward the floorboards, either unwilling or unable to face his son. “We had a bad wind that spring. Issy wasn’t the only one. Half of RatsNest was sick. Kira’s grandmother also passed.”
“And Kira?” Whym asked, hopeful the news was better than it sounded.
His father shook his head. “Guess you’ve not heard. Her dad’s a snake. That tailor’s worse.”
“What happened?” Whym had hoped Kira had run away when his father had mentioned disappearing. Whym was a seeker, or nearly one. He’d find her wherever she’d run. But he could tell by his father’s expression the story was much worse.
“The tailor had his way with her.” His father’s mouth drew into a sneer. “Got her pregnant.”
Whym couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t the tailor. It was me!
“When Drusus found out, he beat her badly then left her in the courtyard. Issy and her grandmother nursed her back to health.”
“And then?” Whym was being crushed by the mountain of guilt. Because of me, she lost her reputation, her apprenticeship—everything!
“They found her body in Flint’s Folly. There’s an old warehouse there—”
Whym pushed back from the table and stood. “I need to clear my head.” He fought not to break down in front of his father. “I’ll be back later.” He left his pack and rushed outside. When the door clicked shut, he ran, running so the movement would keep him from collapsing to the street in grief.
He didn’t stop until he reached Flint’s Folly. The abandoned warehouse where they’d played as kids—and where he’d ruined everything that one night before leaving—stood nearby. It was a fitting place to grieve. He swung the board aside and pushed his way through the planks, having to exhale to fit his chest through the gap. The air was dank and rotten, and smelled even worse of mildew than he remembered. He leaned against the wall—the spot where he’d held Kira that night—and sank to the floor and cried. “I should never have left!”
The amulet burned hot against his chest. He opened his mind. The voice from the Mysts greeted him. Ender of Ages. Servant of Death.
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When no more tears would flow, Whym left the warehouse. He wasn’t yet ready to face his father—or what was left of him—so he wandered the streets of RatsNest. Soon after a smiling moon had chased the summer sun from the sky, he heard the boisterous no
ises of men who’d already downed too many mugs of ale. He was near the Fiddlestop. Lively notes of music frolicked through the streets, beckoning those near to join.
He recognized the tune—The Naughty Merchant.
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Oh…I…found myself a farming lass
workin’ in the field.
I stayed awhile and smiled a bit
until the deal was sealed.
Then later in the hay loft,
the farmer’s daughter squealed.
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Hey ho, ho hey,
I’ve traveled the land from desert to sea,
A merchant, a trader, that’s me,
In every place there waits a sweet face,
And sometimes two or three!
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Oh…I…found myself a gentleman’s wife,
her nose stuck in the air,
But just as soon as her hubby left,
her body was gloriously bare,
And she told me how to do it—
“Yes, there, there, right there!”
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The door to the Fiddlestop opened, and the light rushed out to greet him like a beacon calling home the lost. By the time he reached the stairs, he’d been swept into the current of the music and was letting the beat of the familiar chorus fill the emptiness.
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Hey ho, ho hey,
I’ve traveled the land from desert to sea,
A merchant, a trader, that’s me.
In every place there waits a sweet face,
And sometimes two or three!
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“Dim Whym,” a voice called as Whym lingered at the door. A young man he recognized as a former schoolmate was waving his arm at a booth to his left.
Whym knew it was reckless to be recognized—he’d promised Stern to be careful—so he started to back out and leave. Then he locked eyes with the person beside the waving ex-schoolmate—Tyrus Fen.
Whym had thought his enmity toward the First Lord’s elder twin had faded during his time as an apprentice. He’d often reminded himself that Tyrus was only a child at the time. But when he glimpsed the smug face staring back at him, the full force of his hatred returned. He thought of what he would do to Tyrus now that he didn’t fear punishment. The Council’s trying to kill me already. I have nothing to lose. Unlike the shiver of remorse he’d felt when he was tempted to hurt Ansel, the images that filled his mind of what he’d like to do to Tyrus left Whym hungry for more. Servant of Death.
But then Whym remembered his father and thought of the trouble just being recognized might bring to him. He tripped as he turned in haste and stumbled out the door, back into the darkness. They’ll know we’re back for certain.
“Dah!” He pounded on the door when he arrived, wet with sweat and out of breath. “Dah!”
When the door swung open, Whym was filled with relief. He hugged his father hard enough to lift his feet from the floor. “I’m so glad you’re here. Get packed. We’ve got to go.”
“Go where?” His father looked worried.
Whym remembered how thin the walls were, so he leaned in and whispered into his father’s ear. “There’s a place we can hide in the Vinlands. Now hurry and pack.”
His father surprised him with a smile that looked out of place on his wasted face. “I’m glad for you, Son.”
“No, you’re going, too.” Whym looked around for a bag his father could use to pack what he needed.
“Sit.” Maldwyn’s voice was not that of the lost man with whom he’d spoken earlier, but of the man of Whym’s childhood—the man strong enough to withstand a lifetime of humiliation as the Rat Man. Whym did as he was told. His father sat next to him. “I’m not going with you.”
“But—”
His father cut off his objection and continued in a quiet voice. “When I was your age, I packed my bags to leave. I planned to run away to Bothera, where it was rumored the resistance was still active.”
Whym had never heard this story of his father’s past, and was surprised to learn he’d once planned to join the resistance. The first time Whym had even heard of the resistance was atop Sentinel Mountain. “Why didn’t you?”
“Your mother.” Maldwyn smiled at the memory and patted Whym’s wrist. “And you.”
“Me?”
“And your grandfather. He was so feeble. He suffered terribly while imprisoned by the Council during the rebellion. I didn’t think he’d survive another turn as Rat Man.”
“You mean you stayed to become the Rat Man?”
“I took over the role so he could see your birth and know his legacy would live on.”
“But why didn’t you run away after? You could have taken us with you.”
“I was no seeker, Son. And I was no soldier. If I’d have run, they’d have caught me. If I’d have fought, they’d have killed me. The Council would have won. Besides, it was no longer just my own life I’d have risked.”
“You don’t think they won by forcing you to be the Rat Man turn after turn?”
“Every turn I reminded Riverbend what kind of people lead them. I fought the only way I could.”
Whym hadn’t told him of Endeling, the Faerie, the Steward, the magic. The magic! Dah could use the Unum as well. “But there’s another way—”
His father caught his elbow as he was pulling the Unum from his pocket. “Don’t. Say. Anything. With your mother gone, there are but two things I want in life. I want you away from Riverbend, and I want to survive for one last Spring Clean.” There was a glimmer in his eyes—a disconcerting blend of excitement and malice—when he mentioned another Spring Clean that puzzled Whym.
“But Dah—” Whym tried again to pull out the Unum, but his father gripped his elbow with surprising force.
“With Kira gone, there’s nothing for you here. Take whatever you want and go.” Whym could think of nothing in the house he wanted except his father. “Now!” Maldwyn raised his voice.
The geode. Whym hurried to his room and grabbed the rock. It seemed such a trivial thing. He didn’t know why it had come to mind. He shoved it in his pack, slung the pack over his shoulder, and fastened his sword belt. His father was already waiting by the door.
“I love you.” Whym enveloped the frail man in his arms. There was so much he wanted to share, and couldn’t understand why his father was so insistent he not tell. He was worried, though, that Tyrus seeing him might bring the TruthGuard to the house at any moment. If they found Whym there, he was certain it would bring trouble to his father. After Endeling, Whym didn’t want to think about what the TruthGuard might do to his father should they catch them together.
Maldwyn Ellenrond, eyes moist, tousled his son’s hair as he’d done when Whym was a boy. “Make me proud.”
Riverbend, Chapter 68
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“Vengeance is a sweet poison.”
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—Truth (Lessons 9: 1)
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Riverbend
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“I looked everywhere for you.” Kutan stepped from the shadows as Whym reached the courtyard. “When your father said you’d left, I was worried you’d done something stupid.”
Whym released his grip on the dagger handle he’d grasped by instinct. He’d thought of only the TruthGuard when he heard a voice. “You spoke with my father?”
“Not much the first time.”
“The first time?”
Kutan held out his hands to calm Whym. “When I reached the city, I was afraid someone from Vademus’ funeral procession might have spotted you and I—”
“Vademus
Fen?” Whym interrupted. He’d not learned whose procession he’d passed that morning.
Kutan shrugged. “Seems the First Lord hanged his brother in Redress Square for the murder of Lord Cullen.”
From Commander to criminal, hanged in Redress Square. Life can turn in a moment! Whym wanted to learn more, but there were more pressing issues. “The first time?” he asked again.
“Yeah, your father told me about your mother and Kira. I’m sorry.” Kutan took a deep breath, then continued, “When I saw you’d left your sword and pack, I was worried.”
“I just needed some time.” Whym looked away, the mention of Kira and his mother scraping a newly formed scab.
“Well, I searched everywhere. I even went over into NewTown to the butcher’s and the tailor’s shops. I came back to your father suspecting he was hiding you.”
“He doesn’t even know you. What did you tell him?”
“Everything.” Kutan stopped walking and faced Whym. “I needed to find you.”
“Everything?”
“Near enough.”
A small part of Whym resented Kutan for stealing his opportunity to tell the story to his father. The rest of him, though, was glad his father at least knew the truth. “I was in Flint’s Folly.”
Kutan wrinkled his face in confusion. “That would’ve been the last place I looked. Anyway, when I went back out to search, I stopped in a couple taverns to see if there was any word on the street about you being caught. When I heard about Tyrus and Kira, I—”
“What about Tyrus and Kira?” Whym demanded, the hatred that had been rekindled burning beneath the surface.
Kutan’s eyes opened wide. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” Kutan turned as if to leave. “Let’s go.”
Whym grabbed his friend’s arm, spinning him around so they were again face to face. “Tell me now, or I’ll go find out myself.”
“Promise me you won’t do anything crazy?”
“I promise. Tell me!” Whym let go of Kutan’s arm.
Kutan chewed on his lip, his tell when lying. Whym braced to receive the lie. But then Kutan’s shoulders sagged, and he looked Whym in the eye. “Tyrus told his friends Kira came to petition the Temple of Sand while he was there. He claimed she spread her legs for him so he’d take her side in the claim.”
Birthrights_Revisions to the Truth Page 43
