Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1)
Page 3
“Hail, Sovereign,” a cloaked figure called, approaching from Torak Road. Obscuring most of his face, his emerald green robes identified him as an Elementyth, the highest rank within the Element sect.
“Hail, Sovereign,” responded Betha’s husband.
The Elemenyth took in his drenched appearance. “Come.”
He led him out of the core to a hjuy hovering on the side of Torak Road and Clisantha’s interest peaked. How had he managed to obtain one as just an Elementyth? It was smaller than Father’s had been, but had the same hexagonal shape with a roof curving up to a jeweled point. She waited while both men climbed in and then drew as close as she could to the doorway. She took a few moments drawing on energy before opening her consciousness to receive the sound waves of their speech.
“…is not acceptable, Brisryn. This kind of stupidity could compromise my men.”
The harsh tone of the Elementyth’s voice shocked her.
“I made a mistake, sir. The Thaide were there.”
“Why? They should have been killed.”
“I don’t know what happened,” the weaver said, a tremble in his voice. “They seemed to know what was coming.”
“Are you suggesting that someone leaked information? You have allowed information to seep—”
“No, no,” Brisryn said. “They may have been guarding the area beforehand and noticed the activity.”
There was a long silence. Clisantha inched closer, confused at what she was hearing.
“We need to rearrange our schedule to account for this setback,” the Elementyth said. “Let me see the map.”
Curiosity surged over Clisantha as the rustling of parchment reached her. All magiens were expected to maintain an attitude of respect and honor towards each other, particularly before the non-gifted. Although every magien job in the four sects was considered important, the Thaide were set apart. Everyone in the Realms considered them superior to all other magiens and they were heavily involved in every aspect of city law and policy. Why did this Elementyth expect them to be killed?
“Why is the map ripped like that?” he snapped.
Clisantha floated further forward to hear the weaver’s mumbling response before realizing that she was partly penetrating the wall of the hjuy. The Elementyth had not bothered to protect it. After a moment’s deliberation she drifted into the enclosed space. The hjuy was different to one her Father had owned. It had a dull gray interior instead of rich brown, and the upholstery did not look as soft or inviting, but the symbol of Torak Tower was still present, engraved into the inner wall. The Elementyth had lowered his hood, allowing dark brown hair to fall over his forehead in light waves as he leaned towards Brisryn, who cowered back in his seat.
“I entrust one item upon you,” he growled, “and you can’t even keep it safe.”
The weaver, his eyes wide in fear, whimpered.
Suddenly the Elementyth sat upright and held up his palm.
Clisantha drew more energy to extend her hearing to outside the hjuy. What had he heard? The Elementyth turned, his head low, listening while holding his breath. His sculptured features held high cheekbones and a strong jaw, which defined his face. His clear blue eyes, as light as her favourite tunic, seemed bright in the semi-dark hjuy. She began concentrating as hard as he, trying to identify the noise, but all she could hear was the pounding of the rain onto the road outside.
The magien finally lifted his head, face twisted in fury, and to Clisantha’s utter horror, he looked precisely at her consciousness. Shock propelled her back out of the hjuy. She could feel her distant body breathing hard as thoughts crowded her. How could he know she was there? The books had said that a consciousness must touch a Giftborn for them to realize its presence but the Elementyth seemed to… to sense her. Other magiens had not detected her consciousness before, even the Thaide—the most powerful magiens in all the Realms. What had gone wrong?
She rose into the air eager to get home and study her Father’s old books but an odd sensation stopped her. Something had changed, the feeling becoming stronger, more intense, and as it touched her mind, she knew what it was.
Who are you? the Elementyth’s voice roared in her mind.
The moment his mind touched hers, she no longer had control. A pain shot through her as the memory of Brisryn stepping from foot to foot surfaced. She drew energy to repel him and lurched away, breaking the link, but he darted forwards, re-emerging instantly. She tried to keep her thoughts blank, but numerous images arose; her old living quarters, her mother’s bedroom when she had been alive, a busy night at the Glass Hearth tavern, the bustling city on a restday afternoon, Orna in her rest day robes… and the pain, an aching pain embraced her, throbbing deeper the more she resisted. Desperate, she steadied her mind and pulled more energy than she had ever risked using to wrench away from the Elementyth and sped up into the sky.
Terror washed through her as he pursued. Her infringement on the Elementyth’s privacy warranted punishment, but that did not concern her as much as his contempt for Sovereign Law. The Elementyth had worrying secrets—she had over-heard him talking of plans about killing Thaide. What would he do to her if he discovered her identity?
They sped through the city under the rolling clouds, weaving past citizens, carriages and penetrating buildings. He steadily gained on her, drawing energy from his nearby body while the strain on Clisantha to maintain her escape increased. She needed to get away. Turning a corner, the Glass Hearth tavern appeared in front of her and she had a sudden idea. She held the image of the Journey Grounds in her mind and focused, pulling herself towards the image. In half a moment, it appeared in front of her.
Halting, she cast around for the Elementyth. She had traveled far from her body and her senses were almost completely subdued. Her sight had diminished and she could hear nothing, but the feeling of the magien’s consciousness had disappeared. Relieved, she drifted over the Journey Grounds for a few moments before mind jumping to several other places in the city to be sure the magien no longer followed.
Finally, focusing on the memory of her relaxed body, she returned home and floated back into herself. She released her consciousness back into her body but when her senses came back, she could not have been prepared for the many disjointed sensations that gripped her. Multiple carriages seemed to run over her head, and her body trembled as a plethora of emotions slammed into her, from fear to anger to contempt. Unable to bear it she cried out, releasing emotional tension and frustration, then vomited on her lamb’s wool rug.
Head pounding, she stood up, and stumbled away from the chair intending to pour fruit water, but her joints and limbs were tight and weak, tingling with pain as they moved. She gripped the table. Pain rose in her body like waves, overwhelming her and she resisted the urge to cry out again. At that moment someone knocked on the door. Composing herself, she made her way over to open it. Della.
“Are you alright, Clisantha dear?” Della asked. Her green eyes were still filled with tears and she hunched over, a blanket over her shoulders. “I thought I heard—”
“I’m fine, Della,” Clisantha said, working hard to smile without showing a trace of pain. “I heard it too. Perhaps it came from the Iyogreth’s. Their children can be noisy.” Her voice trembled as she spoke the last word.
“Yes… yes, I suppose…” Della looked over at another house on the road. “Alright, dear, just thought I would check…”
Clisantha closed the door and hurried to the kitchen. She poured and drank sweet water as if it would abate her pain, but she barely tasted it. Her mind was burning into all senses, rendering them useless. Staggering towards a soft-seat, she collapsed onto the floor and into darkness.
Three
While the storm seethed on, hearty laughter and cheerful chatter filled Nemma’s home under the warm quiver of lantern blaze. At times the family had to shout to hear each other over the rolling thunder while whistling winds shook the hut, throwing water through tiny gaps in both walls.
The three of them adhered to an established routine during storms, while Aunt Gabby sat in her chair observing them, sometimes offering her brash and unnecessary opinion. Fortunately their supplies proved more than enough. As well as Nemma’s purchases, Aunt Gabby brought food from her home and Father had set up new deals with a lord who had passed by the bay and a couple of Ryim merchants.
Ten days of storm had passed and Father coaxed her into playing a game they started when she was baby. She had to find the seven poa stones hidden around the hut. A childish game, but Nemma knew he enjoyed it more than she, so she played along to pass time.
“Look beneath those cloths,” demanded Aunt Gabby. “No, there.”
She jabbed her knobbly cane at the table and Nemma headed towards it. She had learned to always look where Aunt Gabby suggested first until she grew bored, allowing Nemma to play on her own.
“They’re not there, Aunty,” she said.
“That’s because you’re not looking where I tell you,” the old woman said, raising her voice to a screech.
Nemma sighed, giving Father an exasperated look. He avoided her eye, trying not to laugh. Narrowing her eyes at him she resumed her search. Father had not chosen any of his usual hiding spots. Interesting. If she did not find at least four, he would tease her about it for days. Aunt Gabby continued to bark instructions, rapping her cane on the floor whenever Nemma ignored her.
It had never been clear why Father took so much responsibility for Aunt Gabby. She lived alone in a hut around the other side of the Ryim path and although her hard joints meant she had some physical difficulty, she seemed to do fine on her own. The surprising thing was that beggars did not harass her, even though she was an easy target for food and goods. Father had never properly explained it.
“Father,” Nemma said, as Aunt Gabby’s rapping became louder and faster. “Tell her to stop.”
“I can’t do that, Nem,” he replied solemnly. “You should practice blocking her out. Anyway she has a right to play too.”
Nemma scowled at him and he widened his gray eyes, bemused at her annoyance. He knew he was the only one Aunt Gabby would listen to.
“And anyway I think it’s good to see the two of you working so well together—”
Jumping on his lap, she wrestled with him while Aunt Gabby beat a solid rhythm on the stone floor. Father laughed, twisting her around as he shrugged off her playful attack. His ability to overpower her at the flick of his hand always delighted Nemma. His medium build, silver hair and lined features did not reflect his capabilities.
“You may do well to listen to her, Nem,” Father chuckled, wrapping his arms around her, locking her in position. “Did you know she is the greatest seer of all time?”
“Who, Aunt Gabby?” Nemma said, struggling to free herself and wincing at the lingering pain in her hip. “Don’t be ridiculous. Tell her to stop so I can concentrate… or… or I’ll consider it cheating.”
“Alright, alright,” Father grumbled, releasing her. He spoke sternly, “Gabby. That’s enough now, let Nemma find them on her own.”
Aunt Gabby silenced, slumping back in a lopsided heap. Her clothing never seemed to fit her large awkward frame and although Ryim people wore whatever they could find, make or steal, Aunt Gabby seemed to relish in wearing mismatched colors and sizes. It was clear, however, that she had once been a striking woman. Her jet-black hair, while generally sparse, shot out of her head in thick silky tufts, and green eyes pierced out beneath her loose skin. Turning her attention towards Nemma’s mother seated in her usual spot using her battered laceboard, Aunt Gabby clicked softly under her breath, seeming to go into a daze.
Nemma turned her attention back to scanning the room, quietening her thoughts and concentrating on anything that looked out of place.
Two in the walls, one in the stove, three in the table legs…
Nemma snapped a look at Aunt Gabby. Had she just whispered something? Aunt Gabby turned back to stare at Nemma, her bent figure shifting, crinkled lips pursed. Nemma shook her head. Aunt Gabby had never directly disobeyed Father before. She prowled the room again, searching the shelves above the stove.
Sculpture on the wall, three in the table legs, one in the stove, one in the stove, one in the stove…
“Aunt Gabby, shush!” cried Nemma, “How am I supposed to concentrate?” She turned to her father wondering why he had not silenced her. “Father.”
“She didn’t say anything, Nem,” Father said, surprised.
“She did, Father. She’s telling me where they are.”
Father shook his head. “She didn’t say a word. And anyway, she doesn’t know where they’re hidden.”
Nemma threw her hands up in the air and pointed as she spoke. “The sculpture on the walls, one in the stove and I think she said the table legs?”
A silence followed her outburst, during which Father’s expression sobered and Mother’s laceboard stilled. Father stood, glancing toward Mother, and gestured to Aunt Gabby, leading her into Nemma’s room before closing the door.
At once Mother began bustling around the room, “…foolish game anyway… careful with people like that…”
“Mother,” Nemma said, bewildered, “what was Father angry about?”
“Nothing, Nemma dear. He just didn’t like that Aunt Gabby spoiled your game.”
“But he said she didn’t know where the stones were.”
“Well,” Mother said, holding up a fist-sized, charcoal stone she had just retrieved from the broken stove, “he was obviously mistaken. Help me with the table legs.”
“But, Mother,” she pressed, “you must have heard Aunt Gabby speak. You were closer to her than I.”
Her mother shot her a stern look. “I said the table legs please, Nemma.”
For the rest of the evening Aunt Gabby was strangely quiet and Father busied himself on his crafting plate. Mother had warned Nemma not to provoke him with questions, and she reluctantly obeyed, even though he still seemed to be his usual cheerful self. They did not play that game again for the rest of the storm. Mother kept Nemma busy cleaning, cooking and trying in vain to teach her the ways of a laceboard, while Father crafted and kept company with Aunt Gabby.
Six days later the storm broke. Nemma woke to see sunlight struggling through gaps in the hut walls. She lay for a few moments, listening to Aunt Gabby’s snorting and murmurings, wondering what Mother had in store for her. She had made Nemma promise to not go to the bay on the first day of good weather this time, and to allow Father to be responsible for supplies from now on. Nemma had to admit that the deals Father secured acquired good supplies, but they usually only covered the basics, such as lantern oil, tea flowers and grains. Mother’s favorite, yet expensive, red fish would be out of the question.
She dressed and entered the living area. No one else was up yet. On the table glinted an array of crafted items, while five new pieces of clothing lay on Mother’s chair. Nemma sighed as she slotted the poa stones into a flat circle on top of the stove and set a pot of water on them. The money she could earn for these products today would ensure their stability for almost a season, yet Mother refused to see this.
She stood by the table assigning likely selling prices to each item, when she heard raised voices outside. Creeping to the door, she was taken aback to hear Father’s voice in argument with another man. He normally stayed out of squabbles within the Ryim.
“…is of child bearing age. You can’t expect Ryim men not ta notice,” a throaty voice was saying.
“What concern is that of theirs, or yours? When she was younger, no one treated her kindly. Everyone, including you Mirhan, forbade the
ir children to play with her, just because of her clean skin. She’s targeted by sellers every day.”
Nemma drew in a sharp breath. They were discussing her.
“And yet now, you are indicating that being noticed by the same people that shunned her is some kind of privilege. You honestly expect me to give you permission to allow your son to… use her as he uses many of the young women in the Ryim?” Father sounded agitated.
“My son is a worthy man! He has many a women interested in him. You should be grateful he chose ta ask for—”
“And what of those women, Mirhan? Why does he not still pursue them? Bored now he has taken his fill? The only reason you’re asking is because he can’t get to my daughter so easily.”
Mirhan stumbled over the words in his reply.
“We’re only askin’ you to choose from one of our sons,” another whinier voice began, “It need not be—”
“There is no man in the Ryim I will send Nemma to.”
“But she is well past the age of—“
“No!”
Fear jumped to Nemma’s throat as scuffling noises followed. Father never lost his temper. Her hand flew to the door to rush outside, but she hesitated. Would he be angry if she became involved?
Before she could decide the two men spoke again, but this time from further away.
“You made a big mistake, Jonam! We’re only askin’ out of respect,” the whiny man called.
“Let’s not worry, Cael, I’ll permit my son to pin her down with his hardest thrusts when he has the chance. It’ll be easy enough—even before the storm she was runnin’ around with no clothes on. You can’t protect her forever,” Mirhan jeered, his throaty laugh prickling Nemma’s arms.
The door opened and Nemma jumped out of the way as Father stormed in, his face contorted, fists clenched. He saw Nemma and stilled. She held his gaze, heat rising in her face.