by Lucy Hounsom
‘Let me go!’ she shouted, outrage clear in her voice. ‘Get off me!’
‘They are here to suppress any rash ideas,’ Loricus said coolly. ‘Your part in this interview is over.’
‘I’ve failed your test. You can’t stop me from leaving!’
Kyndra’s words dropped into a silence that flowed from the black walls. ‘You will find otherwise,’ Loricus said, his silken tones sinister. ‘And the Council does not wish to discuss it. The test will take place one week from now. Be sure to use the time wisely, Kyndra Vale. There is no guarantee you will wake from a second failure.’
Brégenne was certain she would shout at the Council and struggle against the arms that pulled her away, but Kyndra surprised her. Eyes blazing, she allowed herself to be led from the chamber and the doors slammed shut.
‘This is monstrous.’ Brégenne rounded on the Council. ‘Her wounds are barely healed. How can that be your decision?’
‘Isn’t this the outcome you wanted, Brégenne?’ Loricus asked, and she heard the smile in his voice. ‘You believe she still has potential … and we agree.’
The guilt that had tormented Brégenne since that morning rose up anew in her throat. What had she done?
‘The girl has been granted a period to recover,’ Helira said, as if she sensed Brégenne’s distress. ‘During which time she will receive suitable preparation, but not from you.’
Brégenne felt a strange dread. ‘It’s my responsibility.’
‘Was your responsibility,’ Loricus said. ‘You have lost the right.’
‘It is a shame, Brégenne.’ Gend’s husky voice, seldom heard, resonated in her chest. ‘You were one of our finest. Your actions disappoint us.’
Brégenne didn’t miss his use of the past tense. ‘I’d have liked to have seen you in my place. Would you have done any different?’
‘Enough.’ Helira’s voice cracked across the chamber and Brégenne realized she already had the answer to her question. It was bitter. Not one of them would have stepped in to save Kyndra in Brenwym. Their rules were worth more than her life.
‘You may keep your rank,’ Helira said, ‘but you will be stripped of certain privileges. You will not leave the citadel without our permission, not even to visit Murta.’
This was no more than she expected, Brégenne told herself. Her activities in the world would be curtailed, as would her search for new potentials. She tried to harden herself against the disappointment.
‘You will no longer be attuned to Master Nediah.’
It took a moment for Helira’s words to sink in. When they did, Brégenne felt a cold ripple of shock. ‘What?’
‘We feel you need to be linked to someone more disciplined,’ Loricus said. ‘Someone with a greater willingness to curb your … enthusiasm. You will therefore drop Nediah and take on Janus.’
‘But Janus isn’t even a master!’ Brégenne cried. Stop it, she scolded herself. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
‘Correct,’ Helira said. ‘But he will be raised to the gold tomorrow morning. You will attune yourselves when his ceremony is complete.’ She paused. ‘We believe there is mutual benefit to this match. Janus will profit from your experience and you would do well to imitate his conduct in regard to Naris’s laws. It seems you are in need of a reminder.’
Brégenne didn’t trust herself to speak. It was an insult. She might not have lost her rank officially, but this pairing with a novice would lower her in the eyes of the citadel. And Nediah … A sickness rose in her chest and wrapped itself around her heart.
‘The Council’s decision is admirably fair.’
Until he spoke, Brégenne had forgotten Alandred was still in the room. The smug expression she could only imagine made her blood boil. She felt the heat in her cheeks. Her punishment was his reward; he had always despised Nediah. Nothing would please him more than to see them un-attuned.
‘Be quiet, Alandred,’ Helira said. ‘Remember that you have behaved most unfittingly.’
‘I regret my actions,’ Alandred said smoothly. ‘I will forfeit my post if the Council desires it.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Helira replied, and Brégenne was too numb to feel outrage at this injustice. ‘If you have nothing else to say, either of you, then consider yourselves dismissed.’
Brégenne let her body perform the honorific, and then fled from the chamber.
Brégenne stood high on one of Naris’s dark spires, watching dusk sharpen the landscape beneath. Across the chasm, lights flared in the town and a snatch of singing came to her on the wind. She stretched out her arms, drinking in the twilight, taking the night into her body. This was her favourite time of day. Her power waxed, as the moon disembarked from the land. Brégenne could see its bright rim cresting the hills in the east. Soon it would be free of the earth, a galleon sailing solitary skies until dawn.
Thoughts crowded her mind and so she’d climbed up here – but whether to make sense of them or to run from them, she didn’t know. Although she’d expected to be confined to the citadel, the reality was a bitter brew to swallow. Finding potentials was an integral part of her life as a Wielder. She had spent years searching this peaceful, settled world for the flickers of discord that tended to surround potentials. She’d saved a dozen children from homes that ostracized or feared them, or even – in Kyndra’s case – tried to end them. And if some of those children didn’t understand why they had to leave, she’d tell them the story of the pale-haired girl with eyes that saw too much, until those eyes were burned and blinded by people who said they loved her.
Brégenne felt the swell of her Lunar energy like a night tide. She let the moon rise under her skin, until her hands wore shining gauntlets of light.
Wielders had lived in secrecy for five hundred years, serving none but themselves. Their only concession to the world was the Breaking – they would monitor it, they would try to understand it and they would work to prevent deaths if possible. But is that enough? Brégenne found herself wondering. If we became part of this world, potentials wouldn’t have to suffer. It would take time, but eventually we could be accepted. Wasn’t it like that before the war?
Brégenne let her power fade. For the first time in all her years of service, she felt distanced from Naris and its laws. She had built her life around them, woven them into a cloak to protect her from … what? She breathed the night and gazed at the lonely moon. Those rules were there to guide, to safeguard. That they could betray her too was something she had never considered.
There’d been a ruling Council in Naris ever since the Deliverance. In the desolate wake of the war, the three surviving masters had taken charge, gathering in novices like lost sheep. Solinaris, the great fortress of the sun, had been utterly destroyed. Its subterranean tunnels were all that remained, and these were further excavated until they formed a labyrinthine complex. The first Council renamed it Naris and everyone in those broken days was thankful for their leadership. That leadership had turned to absolute authority was natural and inevitable – Naris needed authority and it needed structure. Successive Councils provided both, until the citadel was – if not restored to its former glory – again a place of strength. But what was this strength founded upon? Brégenne asked herself. Despair, she thought, sensing the depths beneath her feet, and fear of the future.
‘Brégenne?’
She leapt at the voice, turned too quickly and had to grab at the spire’s low parapet for balance. The open tower top looked more like a crag with its floor of rough stone and crumbling supports. Nediah stood at the top of steps that descended unevenly into the mountain. ‘Curses,’ Brégenne gasped, letting go of the parapet. ‘Why must you sneak up on me?’
‘Didn’t you feel me coming?’
She looked at him. Knowing each other’s location was the chief attribute of Attunement. Once she and Janus were paired, the Council would always know where she was. And Brégenne was under no illusions – Janus lived in the Council’s pocket. She turned her face
away from Nediah. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said quietly.
‘Do you think they could stop me?’
She felt a brief flash of exultation at his words. ‘No, but I could.’
Nediah shifted his weight and plunged his hands into his pockets, much like he’d done when he was younger and she was his mentor. ‘Why do you do this to yourself, Brégenne?’ he asked finally. ‘Why do you isolate yourself? This involves me too.’
‘Not for much longer,’ she said.
‘How can you say that? Has no one considered my feelings?’
‘No,’ she answered bluntly. ‘Why would your feelings have any bearing on the Council’s decision? You forget that this is a punishment.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Nediah said, finding comfort, it seemed, in righteous anger. ‘Why would they—’
‘They wish to monitor my movements without appearing to do so. I will not find an ally in Janus.’ She sighed. ‘Nothing has gone right since we arrived. First that earth is stolen, then Kyndra’s test … And I keep thinking of that story Argat told – about the Breaking happening in two places at once. I know it’s probably ridiculous, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a link.’ She didn’t mention the fourth thing – how she had begun to see Kyndra without needing to channel Lunar energy.
Nediah looked as if he couldn’t care less about the Breaking. He opened his mouth and closed it, shifted his feet on the black stone.
‘I’m not allowed to have anything to do with Kyndra,’ Brégenne said. She swallowed. ‘You must ensure she knows as much as possible before she takes the test again. I am counting on you, Nediah.’
The wind blew at her back and the darkness spread further west. Nediah nodded and fixed her with his gaze, as if steeling himself for something. ‘The Council can’t stop me from seeing you,’ he said. ‘And I’ll need to let you know if I find out anything about the earth.’
She studied him a while before replying. His face had firmed into the stubborn mask he wore whenever he was unsure of himself. Brégenne knew it would lead to trouble. ‘You must be careful,’ she told him. ‘You are young and talented. Do not give them an excuse to restrain you.’
Nediah frowned and took his hands out of his pockets. ‘You always say that,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not that young, Brégenne. Many years have passed since I came here … since I met you.’
She gazed at him and her heart began to beat more quickly. A crack appeared in the stubborn mask that covered his face and for a moment she saw a knot of emotions there. They frightened her.
‘You know what I want to say, Brégenne.’
‘Stop this.’ It emerged as a whisper.
He hesitated and then raised his hand. She felt him brush a few pale strands of hair away from her face. His fingers were warm on her skin. ‘I don’t think I can,’ he whispered.
Fire flashed through her, hot and terrifying, and she jerked away. His hand fell from her face, and with it died something wondrous, a fleeting joy she both feared and wanted.
‘Then you will live in misery.’
The harsh words surprised even her. Nediah looked as if she had slapped him. His cheeks darkened. He stared at her, eyes wide, and sudden shame welled up in her throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, ‘I didn’t mean—’
He turned away.
‘Nediah, please—’
‘Don’t say that you’re sorry,’ he said to the darkness. ‘I don’t want to hear … Goodnight.’
She watched him descend the spiral stairs with an ache in her chest, half fear and half – she didn’t know. The black rock of Naris swallowed him.
The wind teased out more strands of hair and Brégenne stood there for a long time, letting them blow across her face. Somewhere far below, the bell for evening repast would be ringing.
She climbed slowly down from the tower, wracked by a mingled tide of guilt and relief. Brégenne kept her head high and let the moon guide her back to her quarters. There, alone in the darkness, she also found regret.
14
Kyndra felt as if she had been in Naris for weeks already and had to remind herself that only two days had passed since she’d walked through the great iron gates. On her return from yesterday’s hearing, she’d found some plain, ill-fitting clothes piled on the bed in the tiny room. A young novice had told her quite brusquely that she would not be moving to a dormitory. I’m a prisoner then, Kyndra thought, noting the new lock and bolt on the outside of the door.
As she followed Alandred down the veined passages, she tentatively touched her ribs. The wounds caused by the Solar beams still tingled painfully and it felt as if sparks of sunlight had lodged in her skin. Despite hours of sleep, her eyelids were heavy and her body ached all over. And on top of that, a constant, nagging fear had moved into the back of her throat.
She had almost died.
When those thugs tossed her out of yesterday’s hearing, Nediah had appeared and seized her in a hug. Kyndra decided not to ask him what he’d witnessed up on the platform that morning. The unguarded relief on his face said plainly that he’d never expected to see her alive again.
Her wonder at setting foot in a secret citadel, magically hidden from the world, had gone. She’d lost it up on the cliff when that same magic pierced her body and left her to choke on her own blood. Kyndra found herself thinking of the stories she loved, the ones that sang the glory of adventure. How wrong those stories were.
‘Keep up,’Alandred snapped at her over his shoulder. It was the first day of Kyndra’s ‘preparation’ and she had no idea what to expect. She trailed after the Master of Novices, listening to the deep quiet within the stone. It was a strange kind of quiet, a quiet that transported echoes of violence to her across the millennia. The mountain was ancient, pushed up from the low places of the earth by terrible pressure. Was she just imagining those subterranean cries? Kyndra tried to picture how the mountain had once looked with the great glass citadel rising from its slopes. And then, with a jolt, she remembered the dreams she’d had on her Inheritance day and the visions both here and in Market Primus. She didn’t have to imagine what the mountain had looked like before the Deliverance – she had seen it.
Alandred stopped and Kyndra almost walked into him. Catching herself just in time, she stumbled and pulled her attention back to the present. They were standing outside a door set back in the stone. Alandred knocked once and then opened it without waiting for a response, and Kyndra peered warily over his shoulder.
The space beyond was more cave than room. Three long tables hosted a mixture of girls and boys, none of whom looked over the age of fifteen. Every eye stared at her as Alandred pushed her forward. ‘This is Kyndra Vale,’ the Master of Novices announced, and a gold-robed man rose from behind his desk at the front. ‘Vale, this is Master Rush. He instructs the Initiated.’
Kyndra looked around the room and met the unabashed eyes of a little girl. They were huge and brown and they couldn’t belong to a child older than eight. She blinked at Kyndra. Other children sat on either side of her, a girl of about twelve and a boy with ugly eyes that watered as he stared. ‘Are you sure I’m supposed to be here?’ she whispered to Alandred. ‘They’re all children.’
To her horror, Alandred gave a boisterous laugh and said loudly, ‘Children they might be, Vale, but they know a lot more than you do.’ His voice filled the chamber and Kyndra shrank away from it. Some of the eyes no longer looked as friendly and an older girl smirked at her from one of the tables.
Alandred turned to the other Wielder. ‘Master Rush, the Council requests that this girl –’ he placed heavy emphasis on the word – ‘joins the Initiated for at least a couple of lessons. She must be better prepared for her test.’
‘That is rather inappropriate,’ Rush said, but Kyndra hardly heard him over the anger that bubbled up inside her. She stared at Alandred’s grizzled face with burning eyes.
Alandred rubbed his cheek, frowned and dropped his arm. ‘You understand that this instruct
ion comes from the Council, Rush? I am well aware that the arrangement is unsuitable. The girl knows nothing, so she can’t be put with the Inferiate Order and Master Brégenne –’ his voice caught on her name – ‘has been forbidden from preparing her.’
The two men stood in silent opposition for several moments before Rush sighed and laid his hands on the desk. ‘Very well, Alandred,’ he said.
Perhaps it was the missing appellation that darkened Alandred’s face. ‘I’ll leave her in your capable hands, then, Rush. I’ll also need you to make a report to me at the end of today’s session. For the Council.’
‘It will be as you say.’
‘Vale, find a place to sit,’ Alandred said curtly. ‘You are Master Rush’s charge now.’
Kyndra opened her mouth to say that she was no one’s charge, but Alandred turned on his heel and jerked the door shut behind him. Kyndra stood alone under the room’s scrutiny.
‘What’s your name again?’ Master Rush’s voice was softer than Alandred’s and Kyndra liked to think it sounded kind. She gave her name, trying to ignore the stares. Children could stare like no one else.
‘Settle down, everyone. Once Kyndra finds a place – move up there, Cail – we will continue.’
There was nothing else to do but sit beside the watery-eyed boy. Cail pursed his lips and pointedly moved as far to the left as he could. Kyndra lowered herself onto the end of the bench and tried not to appear so tall.
‘We were learning about the sources of cosmosethic energy,’ Rush said to Kyndra, who nodded and looked down at the table. The wood had names burned into it. Old black ash had settled in the larger grooves, making some names darker than others. She wondered whether Nediah had sat here.
‘Solar and Lunar are the twin manifestations of cosmosethic energy,’ Rush said. He began to walk up and down behind his desk. ‘There are some who claim the dominance of Solar, arguing that the Lunar power comes from the sun. True, Lunar is a reflection of Solar, but here the powers are equal. Solar Wielders can’t channel the sun’s energy in its reflected state, just as Lunar Wielders can’t touch it in its primary state. The powers are balanced just as day balances night.’
