by Lucy Hounsom
She swallowed her irritation. Helira was right. She had shirked her duty and she fully deserved the reprimand. Brégenne shook her head and tried hard to forget the horror in Nediah’s voice when he spoke of disintegrating minds.
She felt ahead with her right hand and found the sharp bend in the corridor that led to her quarters. After forty-six years, she knew the walls of Naris by touch. From the age of thirteen, the citadel had been her home and the centre of her life. If she’d never touched the Lunar, Brégenne reflected, she would be an old woman now. But power changed you and there was no going back. While she had the appearance of a woman in her thirties, her parents and childhood friends had died and aged without her. So many she had known growing up were now gone. When she had left for Naris, she had left that life behind.
Once she had shuffled through these corridors, clutching desperately at the black rock she couldn’t see. Back then, vivid memories pierced every sightless moment. Summer skies, the brooch she had lost at Spring Dance, the rich green of woodland grass that left its dew like tears on her bare legs. She remembered the wind that blew across her homeland at dusk, the dawn that brought a pink stillness and the creases in her mother’s face.
They used to make her cry, these thoughts. But one day she’d stopped crying and found herself unable to start again. She learned to see by moonlight, practising her own technique until she passed out from exhaustion. It wasn’t the same. The moon bleached the colour from everything, turning it silver and shadowy. Still, it was sufficient to build her a mental map of the subterranean citadel they called Naris.
Her fingertips touched wood. Brégenne placed her palm against her door and it swung inwards. As soon as she stepped inside, she knew someone had been there. After her arrival, she’d barely had time to drop her belongings and wash her hands and face, before attending the Council’s summons. But in the scant hour she’d been absent, somebody had come here.
Whoever it was had underestimated her. She knew this room and its few possessions as well as her own name. She had long ago devised a system to combat the unthinking cruelty of novices who borrowed her things. The first few times she’d searched the dormitory for hours, asking the same people whether they’d seen a hairbrush or that fossilized rock loaned from the archives. Her careful organization didn’t stop them, but it did mean she knew when and what they had taken.
Brégenne shut the door and began to move deftly around, running her hands over familiar items: the tall vase she kept full of fresh flowers, the three-tiered bookcase that held her journals and a glass figurine of a wolf captured mid-leap, which Nediah had blown for her. The bed was neatly made with the ancient patchwork quilt she’d brought from home, her mother’s scent fading over the years. Sentimental, Brégenne thought, knowing she would never part with it. Her feet sank into a carpet woven by the skilled fingers of the archipelago.
One of the wardrobe doors was open, only a fraction, but she knew immediately where the intruder had been. More alarming was the gap in her travel sack. Brégenne ran her fingers over the hooks that hadn’t been fastened. The sack was another precaution. Two dozen closures disheartened even the most patient of thieves. Whether or not the intruder had deliberately failed to cover their tracks, Brégenne could only guess. There weren’t many in Naris who’d have dared to enter here, let alone remove something from the room. Rank was seldom disrespected.
Brégenne knelt on the thick carpet. Nediah had described it to her: blue slashed with crescents of crimson, the edging looped chaotically in ribbons. The colour held no meaning for her, but her knees welcomed the soft threads.
She pulled the travel sack towards her, ran her fingers over its fastenings and slowly undid the rest of the buttons. She packed only what she needed in here – Nediah carried the rest – so the sack was almost empty. She was a poor target for thieves, Brégenne thought wryly, if they stopped to realize it.
As she searched, a prickling began to creep down her spine. By the time she’d pulled out everything except the item she sought, gooseflesh peppered her all over. Brégenne sat back on her heels and wished in that moment for light.
The pouch with the red earth was gone.
‘So that’s why Argat came after us,’ Nediah said later, when evening had fallen. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d stolen it?’
‘I’m telling you now,’ Brégenne said testily. ‘And how was I to know he’d follow us? I’m sure he has no idea what it is.’
‘Well, neither do we.’
She frowned at the silvery shadow sitting in her chair. ‘I know, Nediah. But someone does. Why else would they come here?’ Her voice shook a little with the outrage she’d suppressed.
‘What puzzles me,’ Nediah said after a moment, ‘is how they knew where to look.’
The question was one of the first Brégenne had asked herself. Who in Naris knew where they’d been and on which airship they’d travelled? How could they have known the captain of that ship had in his possession a small bag of earth? And, more to the point, how did they know she had taken it?
The moonlit figure that was Nediah uncrossed its legs and leaned forward. ‘Brégenne, you need to be careful.’
She nodded absently, still absorbed in her host of questions.
‘I mean it,’ Nediah said. ‘Not everyone in Naris can be trusted. There are factions that work for their own ends.’
Brégenne frowned. ‘You can’t mean the Nerian? They don’t have one rational brain amongst them.’
Nediah didn’t smile. ‘Maybe so, but they have their own agenda.’
‘Nediah, their agenda is born of a madman’s ravings, which haven’t an ounce of truth or sanity.’
‘You know as well as I do that they wouldn’t respect your rank. They would steal from Lord Gend, if he had something they wanted.’
Brégenne couldn’t think of a reply. Nediah was right about the Nerian. It felt like the sect had always been there, eking out a stunted existence in the Deep – that labyrinth of tunnels far beneath the citadel. Their beliefs were heretical and ludicrous, and yet they had drawn away some of the citadel’s best Wielders. Those who joined the Nerian lost their rank, their influence and their friends. And an exile to the Deep was forever. Apart from the occasional propaganda, the Nerian kept to themselves, their numbers too small to cause the Council any real concern.
‘I can’t see how this has anything to do with the Nerian,’ she said aloud, ‘but I won’t rule out the possibility. I don’t know what’s in that bag and I don’t like it that someone else does. We need to find out more about it.’
One of Nediah’s silver-limned eyes flashed. ‘Now that is something I can do.’
Brégenne smiled. ‘I thought so. See if you can dig up anything in the archives. Don’t ask Hebrin too many questions, though. He’s sharper than he looks.’
Nediah grinned briefly. ‘Where should I start?’
‘Speak to Kyndra,’ Brégenne said. ‘She’s the one who touched the earth. And ask her about the visions. It sounds like the two might be linked.’
Nediah looked at her and for a moment she was distracted by the shaded planes of his face, the dark fall of hair over his forehead. She shook herself and quickly rose to her feet.
Nediah stood up too. ‘I’ll go and see her now.’ He paused. ‘Do you remember what it was like when you first came here? The dark, echoing halls and heavy stone ceilings … All I could think about was sun and sea and the screeches of the cliff gulls I woke up to every morning as a child.’
Brégenne turned her face away. ‘I tried not to think,’ she said.
They’d put her in a room no bigger than the curtained alcove she’d liked to sit in at home. Kyndra perched on the narrow bed – the room’s only piece of furniture – and wondered what was going to happen to her.
Earlier, she’d crossed the slim bridge that spanned the chasm, trying not to glimpse its terrible depths. A dozen or so people waited on the other side. They wore strange, parted robes, which left the legs fre
e to move, girdled with various belts. Some were simple bands of leather while others were tooled in silver or gold. The robes were brown and spun from a common cloth. But as they led her through the gates of Naris, Kyndra spotted other observers dressed in robes of the richest gold or silver. Brégenne had already told her that garments in Naris were an indication of rank, that she should be polite and answer any question put to her.
Kyndra resented being given orders, but fear of the unknown kept her lips sealed. They left the horses in the care of a boy and moved on into a long hall full of floating fires. Kyndra watched them wide-eyed and edged away when any came too close.
She’d attracted quite a retinue by now, mostly comprising young men and women in brown. Brégenne and Nediah walked to either side of her, and their presence made Kyndra feel a little better. Beyond a second archway, the rough stone fell away and she found herself in a cavernous chamber – so vast that the far walls disappeared in a hazy light. Hundreds of small fires drifted through the air.
Kyndra blinked. As her eyes adjusted, she began to make out groups dotted around the chamber, the nearest of which had ceased its conversation to look at her. She felt each stare keenly, reminded of her walk to the tent during the Inheritance Ceremony. But there were no flaps here to duck beneath, no canvas to shield her from their eyes.
Brégenne and Nediah stopped and Kyndra came to a halt between them. Talk died completely. The followers in brown kept a respectful distance, for every person in the great chamber wore gold or silver.
‘I see that you’ve not returned alone.’
Brégenne’s head whipped towards the voice. A man of middling height in silver robes emerged from the haze. ‘Alandred,’ Brégenne said, and the man smiled.
‘Your ears are as sharp as ever, Brégenne.’ He came to stand in front of her and made a gesture that Brégenne performed a heartbeat later. ‘We’ve missed you,’ Alandred said quietly and Kyndra saw Nediah scowl.
‘And Master Nediah too, of course,’ the man in silver said, his smile growing wider. Nediah’s face darkened and he opened his mouth.
‘There will be time for pleasantries later,’ Brégenne said.
Kyndra, watching the two men, suspected that the thunderclouds on Nediah’s brow would lead to words which were not at all pleasant. He kept silent with a visible effort of will.
‘Kyndra,’ Brégenne said then, ‘meet Master Alandred of the Lunar. He oversees the testing of those who show promise as Wielders.’
Numbly, Kyndra held out her hand. Alandred stared at the hand, as if confused, before laughing and shaking it. ‘I forget how quaint these rustic greetings are,’ he said, wiping a pretend tear from his eye.
Nediah gave Kyndra a tiny nod of sympathy.
‘Kyndra, is it?’ Alandred asked and she nodded, an even smaller movement than Nediah’s.
‘Excellent. I won’t question Brégenne’s judgement. If she says you show promise, then promise is what you show. We’ll schedule a time for your test.’
Kyndra wrapped her arms around herself. ‘What exactly does this test involve?’
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Alandred said, waving a hand. ‘You’ll be given instruction before it’s carried out.’
Whatever Nediah was about to say appeared to stick in his throat. A young man in brown had just hurried breathlessly up to Brégenne. His honorific gesture was so enthusiastic that it unbalanced him and he stumbled where he stood. ‘Master Brégenne of the Lunar,’ he panted. Brégenne turned her head towards him. ‘You are summoned to an immediate audience.’
Although he didn’t say with whom, Kyndra saw Brégenne’s lips tighten. This was her only reaction.
Nediah looked far more concerned. The blood fled his cheeks, emphasizing his green eyes, and Brégenne seemed to sense his discomfort. ‘Don’t worry, Nediah,’ she said. ‘I’ll speak with you later.’
Nediah did not look consoled and the messenger was still there, bobbing nervously in front of Brégenne. ‘Please advise the Council that I will be with them shortly,’ she told him, and the boy sped off. His belt bore a tiny silver thread, like a snake’s tongue.
‘Master Alandred will show you to a room, Kyndra,’ Brégenne said and Kyndra’s heart began to beat faster. She hadn’t realized it before, but she found Brégenne’s presence reassuring. The small woman had been there in Brenwym and she had seen Kyndra’s home as it was before the Breaking. In this underground city, full of strange people with stranger powers, she and Nediah were the only ones who knew who Kyndra was and where she’d come from. Kyndra wasn’t sure why this mattered, but it did. Distracted by the irony of this thought, she only realized she was alone with Alandred a few moments after Nediah’s farewell pat on her shoulder.
Now Kyndra lay back on the bed, which wasn’t especially comfortable, given its size, and stared at the black ceiling. Two hours had passed since Alandred had left her and she was beginning to feel the day catching up with her. There were no floating fires here to soften the dark stone. Instead, an old lamp hissed through its wick on the opposite wall, and by its spluttering light, Kyndra watched Wielders preparing for war.
… Gold-and silver-clad people hurry before her eyes, as she stands invisible amongst them. It’s a feverish hurry that smells of fear. Carts roll through a small archway into the citadel, heaped for a siege with bags of oats, dried meat and fruit. A dozen young people in brown carry two pillars, which they position on either side of the great glass gates. There are markings in the marble floor that match the markings on each thick pole. After a moment, these runes begin to glow and the young people step back. Their faces are lit by the twin powers now activated in the wards.
The atrium blazes in the sun that streams through its crystal dome. And this glass curves right to the ground, so that all four walls are windows on the world. The floor portrays a night sky, studded here and there with gems.
An awful clarion note strikes the crystal and the Wielders halt as one, turning to the clear western wall. Beyond the glass, the land slopes away into a valley, its earth red as blood, as red as the armour of the force that advances, marching to that terrible horn. Their chants ring out in a counterpoint across the distance still to cross, to where the people of the fortress of the sun stand in horror – faces distorted behind their beautiful walls …
11
The door opened and the vision shattered into the rough black stone of her room. The space behind Kyndra’s eyes filled with flame and she cried out, clutching her head. A click, footsteps over rock: someone was there. It felt like fire was falling from her eyes, scorching her cheeks.
‘Hush, Kyndra, it’s me, it’s Nediah. You’re safe.’ The voice was a whisper, but she recognized it through the pain. She didn’t want to open her eyes, or she’d see that great force marching implacably forward, bringing death with them.
Her face lay against something soft. She lifted her head, keeping her eyes closed. ‘Where is the army?’ she heard herself say.
‘You were dreaming.’
Kyndra cracked open her eyes and Nediah flinched, as if he had seen something there to frighten him. ‘I don’t think it was a dream,’ she said slowly.
‘Another vision?’ Nediah’s green gaze was sharp with concern and something else; a question, perhaps. He let go of her shoulders and, suddenly awkward, Kyndra shuffled away.
‘Maybe,’ she replied. She didn’t trust her legs to hold her, so she remained on the bed. Her eyes stung, as if from smoke. She rubbed them.
‘Actually, I came to ask you about the visions,’ Nediah said, ‘but it can wait.’
‘No.’ Kyndra looked up. ‘Go on.’
Nediah scrutinized her for several moments. Then he stood to lean against the wall and, for the first time, Kyndra noticed his clothes. ‘You’re wearing gold,’ she said without thinking.
Nediah raised an eyebrow. ‘And?’
‘Well.’ She hesitated. ‘Brégenne made it sound like the people in gold and silver were … you know, much older
.’
‘How old do you think I am?’ Nediah asked, sounding amused.
Kyndra blushed. ‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled. ‘Twenty-something?’
‘Try twice that,’ Nediah said and Kyndra failed to hide her astonishment. He smiled. ‘Wielders age more slowly than other people,’ he explained, ‘and live longer. Perhaps because it takes a long time to learn how to use our power.’
Kyndra found herself smiling too. ‘So how old is Brégenne?’
‘It’s rude to ask a lady’s age,’ Nediah said disapprovingly.
‘You can ask mine.’
‘I know yours.’
She glanced down. ‘Unfair.’
‘I was only raised to the gold last year,’ Nediah confessed, plucking at the heavy robes. ‘And it’s still a bone of contention. Certain people like to forget it actually happened.’
Kyndra raised an eyebrow. ‘Alandred?’
Nediah looked away. ‘Always poking his nose into matters that don’t concern him, talking to Brégenne as if he were her equal, as if—’ He broke off, drew a breath and let it out slowly. ‘Anyway, I came to ask about the earth you found in Argat’s saloon.’
‘Why?’
‘Someone just stole it from Brégenne’s quarters.’
Kyndra gaped at him. ‘Brégenne took it from Argat? When? Why?’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ Nediah ran a hand through his hair. ‘What matters is that somebody here knew that she had it. And they gave her rank no thought before breaking into her rooms.’
‘Her rank? Why would that stop them?’
Nediah folded his arms. ‘You should know that Naris is governed by a strict hierarchical system. We earn our place through ability and deeds of merit. Brégenne is highly respected. She’s found and brought many novices here and this theft is serious.’
