Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1)

by Amarcya, Zuri

He held up his palms, a corner of his mouth turned up. “I have no interest in engaging you in combat tonight, Mss Saraethien. You put me through a good session last time.”

  “Who are you?” Clisantha demanded, sounding much braver than she felt.

  “I’m the Elementyth you spied upon a week ago.” A grin spread on his face. “Forgotten me already?”

  “Elementyths wear green,” Clisantha pointed out. “And they don’t kidnap citizens.”

  “That is true. However I’m sure we can agree I have cause to at least engage you in conversation.”

  Unease snaked into Clisantha’s chest. “What do you want?”

  He stepped towards her. “I knew your mother.” The slight smirk on his face did not dampen his striking features. His face looked as though it had been sculpted in a potter’s workhouse.

  “I didn’t see you at her burial.”

  “We were not often on good terms.” His deep voice was rich with husky tones. “And I detest her family.”

  Clisantha shrugged. “So why bring her up?”

  The Elementyth smiled. “You look almost exactly like her. That’s how I found you.”

  Clisantha’s face hardened. “What do you want?” she repeated, her voice clipped.

  He seemed to be bemused at her attitude. “Ten days ago I was minding my own business and I happened to notice that you were engaging in illegal activity. I wondered if it would be possible to discuss why you were doing so?”

  His flippant attitude grated on Clisantha’s already tense nerves. “I don’t think it appropriate for you to question me when you are busy with illegal activities of your own.”

  He stepped forward again. “I’m an Elementyth. I don’t answer to you.”

  “No. But Sovereign Law promises that every accusation is investigated. And I might feel like making an accusation.”

  The Elementyth stood very still while the buildings dashed past behind him in blurred grays and browns. Clisantha’s nerves started to twist as she realized how fast the platform was traveling. All it would take was a slight nudge to cause an accident she could not recover from.

  “That threat works both ways, Mss Saraethien. I’m here to make you an offer. One that will benefit us both.”

  “What possible beneficial arrangement can there be between us?” Clisantha asked. “You are actively working against the Sovereign and—”

  “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about!” he yelled, his face darkening.

  Clisantha’s insides tensed with shock, then anger. She clenched her fists, and strengthened her shield.

  “This is what Telmar meant,” he said, returning to the lighter voice and smirked expression. “You can’t have emotional reactions to situations if you are seeking lordship.”

  “You’re insane,” Clisantha stated, while cursing inwardly. He knew more about her than she wished.

  The Elementyth stepped closer. “It may seem to you that chasing this dream of lordship is a great exciting pastime.” He crossed his arms into their wide sleeves. “But what do you expect the Arc will do when they learn you are Giftborn?” He raised an eyebrow.

  A cold shiver tickled Clisantha’s spine.

  “You are barely able to hide the pains you feel. Any trained magien will know the symptoms of a common magien mind infection. There will be many watching you and your progress, Clisantha. Do you think they will not notice?”

  He came further forward until he looked down upon her. Scholars usually tried to create a comfortable atmosphere for their passengers during bad weather but this one was managing badly, the wind and droplets of rain were still getting through. Loose strands of Clisantha’s black hair whipped around her head. The contrast of his ivory face framed by the dark cowl, with his sky blue eyes staring at her, sent a pang of nervousness through her from head to her foot, but she forced herself to stand her ground.

  “Whether the Sovereign goes against you or not, you will be the target of a severe inspection. You will be watched constantly, everything you do will be assessed—your tax payments, your social interactions, your friends and acquaintances, your family, your sanity. You will struggle.”

  Clisantha almost rolled her eyes. “I won’t. I have help.”

  “Oh,” said the Elementyth, feigning surprise. “So you have a Giftborn adviser to talk to and mentor you through this process?” When Clisantha did not answer, he continued. “Because there isn’t a magien that exists that will help you.”

  Clisantha lifted her chin. “You have yet to tell me what you want. Get to the point and leave me be.”

  The Elementyth smiled. “I want you to do some small jobs for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. You will need to run some errands for me around the city.”

  Clisantha stared at him. “No.”

  He sighed. “Let’s not forget that you are an illegal Giftborn-citizen trying to become a—”

  “And you are a member of the Sovereign Order conducting illegal activities under the shadow of Torak Tower,” Clisantha spat. “Why should I get involved—you could get arrested at any moment.”

  The Elementyth scowled. “I forgot your mother was stubborn with a temper. It made her irrational.”

  Anger burst within her. “I am not my mother!”

  “There’s that temper,” he murmured, his blue eyes drinking in her face.

  The platform jerked to a slow drift and Clisantha realized they were on her road. Platforms did not usually take citizens directly to their homes. He wanted her to know he knew where she lived.

  “I don’t see that you have a choice,” he said. “This decision either results in the Sovereign’s Justice or a few errands for me.”

  Clisantha did not answer. She could not see how she could escape this man but what he proposed was dangerous. The platform drew to a halt outside her home and she lifted her robes to step off.

  “Have you noticed you haven’t had an attack since leaving the tavern?” The Elementyth asked.

  Clisantha froze. “What have you done?”

  “I’ve been cleansing you while you’ve been close to me. You need to work on your shielding methods. Once you step off this platform the attacks will return. You need to rest. Go to the beauty gallery and buy some clay. Rub it over your head and wait for it to set. Then drink boiled pepper-root, mint and rose petals every three hours for one day, and the pains will subside quicker. Until then you’ll be unable to mind travel.”

  Clisantha nodded and stepped down from the platform. Immediately an attack hit her and, as she doubled over, she could hear him as if he was speaking in her ear.

  “I shall visit you again on the next rest-day to give you time to think about what I have said. If you choose to test my word, so be it.”

  The platform drifted away, and by the time the pain subsided he had disappeared.

  Five

  Nemma waited until nightfall. She had traveled for days in the woods around the Ryim path at a slow pace, breaking through webs of tangled branches, scrambling over sharp twigs, and trying to avoid nests and aggressive animals. At one point she traveled so close to the outer edge, her feet sunk into wet soil and she could feel the cold breath of the Hanwyan Ocean sighing through the trees.

  Her clothes hung on her in shreds and fine scratches and bites stung all over her body, but the strange activity on the path concerned her more. Since entering the woods, shouts, yells, and scuffles on the path had become frequent and people seemed to be rushing in one direction or another. She could not determine what was happening but it did not bode well. If the Thaide had ordered the entire Ryim community to help find her, it would be very difficult to get back home.

  She finally pushed her way out of the trees and back onto the path peeling away wet leaves and brushing away insects, looking around at her location. She was well past her hut and bearing round to other side of the Torak city wall. Mother and Father must be frantic with worry and she ached to go home to them. Glancing at
the sky, she decided to wait until after moon-arc. Most did not stay out on the Ryim path in the moon hours and she would be most likely to get home safely.

  Turning away from the direction of home, she shrugged her carrysack onto her back and walked along the path, listening to the strange sounds filling the night air. The atmosphere buzzed with calls and whistles from hidden animals and a cold breeze twirled around her bringing musky, muddy odors but without the reek of decaying flesh. The path seemed a different place—almost an exciting new world, but apprehension damped the vibrancy that filled her. The path remained eerily still, despite the aural commotion. She had never been out at night alone before and the dark emptiness was alarming.

  The trade bay operated only on one side of the Torak Road and most people did not want to live far from it. Any that resided on the other side traded mainly within the Ryim, rather than the bay. Intact huts were scarce, most being shriveled ruins.

  Bearing round the curving path, a familiar-looking hut made of wood and hard mud mixture with a low lopsided roof, came into view. Nemma stopped. Recognition came so sudden her mouth dropped open. Aunt Gabby’s hut. How could she forget that Aunt Gabby lived in this part of the Ryim? It was the only reason she had ever come in this direction before. Her mood lightened at the sight of smoke curling from the roof. Aunt Gabby could be difficult but she was practically family.

  Nemma approached the hovel, wondering how the old woman might receive her. She had never been inside her home before and certainly had not been there without Father. Then she remembered.

  Come in when you are nearby, Aunt Gabby had said. Don’t forget.

  She had said that with such certainty…

  Taking a deep breath, Nemma stepped up to the door, which was barely secure on its hinge and knocked.

  “Come in, come in,” Aunt Gabby called from inside.

  Nemma stepped in, standing in the doorway for a few moments to allow her eyes to adjust.

  The inside of the hut surprised her. The space was neat, tidy and clean. The floor and walls had been set with a thin stone paste and decorated with small fat lumni birds that looked like Father’s work. A tiny stove sat next to a half table on one side of the space and thick bedding was folded next to the stone fireplace on the other. It was a one-room hut but the sparse furniture made it feel spacious. Aunt Gabby sat in a chair by the fire using a worn looking laceboard. She was dressed, as always, in many layers of mismatched clothing, her thick, silky hair sticking up in various directions. Nemma was glad to see her.

  “Eat,” Aunt Gabby barked, not looking up.

  Nemma saw a steaming bowl on the table with chunk of bread. “But, Aunt Gabby—”

  “Eat, child. Eat.” Aunt Gabby insisted.

  Nemma set her sack of crafted goods on the floor and sat down at the table, her mouth watering at the smell of spiced porridge wafting from the bowl. She hesitated. Did Aunt Gabby even know who she was?

  The old woman looked up at her. You must eat now, Nemma.

  Aunt Gabby’s mouth did not move and her voice sounded different, smoother and calmer, but Nemma felt reassured. At least she had called her by name. She began to eat.

  “It’s sad what has happened,” Aunt Gabby said after a while.

  Nemma swallowed, holding her breath.

  “I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to do, sometimes, you know… I did think it would be so. Bluebells, it should have been bluebells.”

  Nemma exhaled. Aunt Gabby was nattering her usual nonsense again. She put all her energy and effort into eating, spooning the porridge into her mouth savoring the creamy taste. She did not want to think about the trouble she had caused.

  Aunt Gabby continued to babble away—shouting, mumbling, laughing—until Nemma pushed away an empty bowl, leaning back drowsily in the chair. She hadn’t eaten in days and decided that that had been the best meal ever.

  Aunt Gabby whispered into the fire, her words barely reaching Nemma’s ears. “Poor friend… It is sad…”

  The firelight flickered bright on Aunt Gabby’s saggy face and tears glinted in her eyes making them look like polished green jiji gems. Nemma sat up, feeling uneasy. What was that outside? She listened but could hear no other sound than the pop and spit of the fire.

  She turned and leaned back in the chair again to see Aunt Gabby watching her.

  You have a lot to do. You must be smart, she said.

  “I will try,” Nemma mumbled, unsure what she meant. “It’s not always easy to be smart in the face of danger.”

  Use your instincts.

  Nemma had nothing to say so she kept quiet. It was unnerving speaking with someone whose lips didn't move.

  “Is it true you are a seer?” she asked, after a few moments of silence.

  Nothing is true if you must find truth in words. You are hurt.

  Nemma looked down at her arms. “Only a few scratches.”

  There is a clean tunic-set over by the bedding. Bring a cloth and that clear bottle.

  Nemma fetched the items and allowed Aunt Gabby to set about cleaning her wounds. As she dabbed away, humming a familiar tune, Nemma watched her. She had always thought the old woman mad but she seemed able to communicate coherently when she did not use her mouth to speak. She must be a seer, or at least Giftborn. Father said seers were extremely rare but how can someone who is either be living in the Ryim without being known to the Arc?

  “Hmmmph,” Aunt Gabby said, finishing up.

  “Thank you, Aunt Gabby.”

  “There is a strange story—sure… yes strange indeed—about Thank You that can be told far and wide, yes… throughout the land… hmmmph… but never remembered,” the old woman began, her rough voice rising into the air.

  Nemma changed into the clean tunic-set—long sleeved half-tunic and trousers—as Aunt Gabby began her next ramble, and sat at her feet. The fire warmed her through and she started to feel drowsy again when she heard something strange. Turning her head, she realized it was coming from Aunt Gabby.

  “… and many You people said these words of thanks must and they passed through leave the country with the speed now of a terrible storm…”

  Her two voices of different qualities were speaking at the same time, overlapping each other.

  “… no one truly knew what they meant, They but they were spoken with such honesty and are benevolent feeling that it didn't coming matter. Until You the one must who called himself leave …”

  Nemma closed her eyes, and allowed Aunt Gabby’s abrupt and loud rambling to blur into the background. She could now hear her other voice much clearer, but what it said shot fear into her heart.

  …now. Thaide are coming. They have been to your home. You must leave now to escape them.

  She jumped up. If the Thaide caught her she would never see her parents again. She ran to the table and threw her carrysack over her shoulder, hearing some of the items crack hitting her back. She froze. How could she avoid the Thaide? They would sense her, even if she tried to hide.

  Have faith in your strength...

  Nemma stared at her. The old woman was still chattering into the fire rocking back and forth. It must be lonely for her, with no one to talk to, not being able to control how and when she speaks.

  “Thank you Aunt Gabby,” she whispered, sure the old woman could hear her.

  Go!

  She hugged Aunt Gabby, though she did not even seem to register her, before running through the door.

  Outside the chilly air enveloped her and, although her new outfit provided more protection, she wished she could have stayed in the warmth. She traveled back along the Ryim careful to stay in the shadows of broken huts and trees as the moon illuminated the path before her. She moved as quiet as she could trying to listen for the Thaide that were coming, but she could hear nothing but the occasional shrill cry and grunt from animals in the forest running along the back of the path.

  As she approached the curve that would take her back into the main west curve of the Ryim, h
eavy footsteps and voices floated to her.

  She froze, looking around for somewhere to hide, but there was only a small ruin nearby. She ran and crouched in its shadow trying to conceal herself.

  They clunked past her, their voices low in conversation. Sounded like there were two of them. Their footsteps came to a halt.

  “Do you feel that?” one of them asked the other, his voice deep.

  “Yes. It is…. unusual. I have never felt anything like it.”

  There was a pause. Nemma held her breath.

  “It’s coming from there.”

  To her dismay, the footsteps strode towards her. She readied herself.

  As soon as they approached the ruin, she shot past them, pushing all energy into her legs. But she had not reached more than ten feet away when a pressure snapped around her body, jerking against her motion and lifting her off the ground. She tried to fight against it but an incredible pain exploded through her body every time she moved, forcing her arms and legs to still. In less than a moment she had been captured.

  “Fast little scut,” exclaimed one of the Thaide, as they walked round to face her. “The bind nearly snapped her neck.”

  Nemma could not even move her head to look at directly them. Her gaze held the Ryim path bending into the distance, though she could see their heads in her peripheral vision, below her as she hovered.

  “Is this it?” one of them laughed. “This is why we have been kept away from our families for days?”

  The other one moved towards her. “Is that not always the case? Isn’t it common that we are kept away from real duties to chase children, and in this case disgusting beggars, only to give them the opportunity of a lifetime?”

  Nemma tried to keep calm as the pressure tightened around her.

  “These tramps don’t want to leave their squalor and be taught how to be civilized. I don’t know why it is Law they must do so if they don’t want to.”

  “But then we would have rogue Giftborn roaming the country, causing disorder,” the other Thaide said. “That wouldn’t be safe for anyone.”

  “Well there is one other option,” the first one murmured.