Starborn

by Lucy Hounsom

  22

  ‘Nediah, is that—?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got her.’

  ‘Has the Madness taken her too?’

  ‘No, but she’s badly injured.’

  ‘Then they’ll want to question her. Master Alandred said—’

  ‘I don’t care what he said. Kyndra is in no condition to talk. Open that door and then leave me alone with her.’

  ‘Nediah, the girl must know something. Four masters—’

  ‘Right now what she knows or doesn’t know is irrelevant. I need time to heal her and silence to work in.’

  Everything was pain. Nediah’s face swam in and out of focus. Where was she? Where was Medavle? Somewhere beyond Nediah, she heard more words and the sound of a door closing. Nediah laid her down on a bed whose hardness she recognized: she was back in her room.

  Golden fire climbed up the walls and ceiling – the only things Kyndra could see. It assaulted her eyes between each slow blink. Heat beat down on her body. She could almost pretend that she lay in lower Wym field with Jhren and Colta at her side, letting the sunlight coax her into a doze. Those summer mornings spent at idle, timeless play. Running through wood and meadow until their tired lungs demanded rest. And always the hot, teasing sun that watched them while they slept. She had known those years would end with the Inheritance Ceremony. But so too had her life in Brenwym.

  Kyndra caught her breath, as sharp, skittering pains pulled her mind back to her burned body. Solar energy condensed on her skin, travelling through the broken flesh and into her bones. She gritted her teeth so that she wouldn’t cry out, but then it stopped. The wall of heat receded and in its place washed a wonderful coolness. She let go of the breath she’d been holding and sighed.

  ‘These wounds have been treated against infection,’ Nediah murmured. Kyndra turned her head to look at the Wielder, whose sunlit corona had begun to fade. She had no idea how much time had passed, but if Nediah was able to heal her, it must be a new day.

  Kyndra peered tentatively down at her legs, and her eyes widened. The burned skin was gone. New pink tissue covered what had not long ago been a ruin of blood and blisters. Her head was rapidly clearing too, each thought crystallizing with new intensity. She looked at Nediah, astonished. ‘How did you do that?’

  Nediah ran a hand through his hair. ‘I only hastened your body’s natural healing process. It seems you cope well with trauma.’ Shadows gathered on his face and he came to sit on her bed. ‘But, really, I should be asking you that.’

  Kyndra frowned. ‘Ask me what?’

  ‘How it is that you’re alive. I know my calling. You shouldn’t be.’ He paused. ‘It’s as if these injuries don’t really touch you. They are real and they should, but something in you is stronger, something that makes mortal wounds behave like flesh wounds. Healing you is too easy.’ Nediah met her eyes and Kyndra flinched at a chill suspicion beginning to surface there. ‘You still haven’t found your affinity,’ the Wielder concluded bleakly.

  It wasn’t really a question, but Kyndra shook her head.

  ‘What happened on the platform?’ Nediah asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Three Wielders are dead and the last is unlikely ever to wake up.’

  Kyndra stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The Madness took them during the test,’ Nediah said. The green barely showed in his eyes, so dark had they become. ‘It was instantaneous, violent. Worse than either Mardon or Rush. Magat threw herself over the precipice. Two more were restrained before they could join her, but they didn’t survive. The last is in the annexes.’

  Kyndra’s mouth was dry. ‘I … I can’t remember.’

  ‘But you remember Medavle?’

  She drew breath and eased up to a sitting position with her back against the rough wall. ‘You know about him?’

  ‘He was the one who told me where to find you. Begged me to help you.’ Nediah shook his head. ‘He didn’t have to beg, of course. I came straightaway and carried you here.’

  ‘He brought me down from the platform,’ Kyndra said faintly.

  ‘The Council don’t know that. Well – they know someone brought you down, but the two Wielders he immobilized couldn’t say who’d attacked them.’ Nediah stared at the opposite wall. ‘I wish I knew what all this was about. How is Medavle here in the citadel? Why did he help you?’

  ‘He said –’ Medavle’s deep voice echoed back to her – ‘I was his hope, or something.’

  On the end of the bed, Nediah shifted uneasily. ‘Or something?’

  I have to tell him, Kyndra thought. But what if Medavle’s story was just another lie? Janus surely didn’t want her dead. She frowned. Something didn’t sit right. When Janus had come to the archives, hadn’t that scroll he’d shown Hebrin carried the Council’s seal?

  Kyndra bit her lip. Nediah had warned her about Janus and so had Kait and she’d chosen to ignore them both. Finally, she swallowed and began to speak. First, she told Nediah about the book she’d ‘found’ in the archives, the book with the missing page in which she’d read about akans. She described Janus’ conversation with Hebrin, how the novices had suggested following him down to the seventh gallery. Kyndra inwardly winced. It all sounded so obvious now. And far too easy. She kept the part about meeting Kait in the archives to herself.

  When she told Nediah what Medavle had said about the white akan, the Wielder stood up, alarm in the hunch of his shoulders. He glanced at the door and when he spoke, it was in a tight, doubtful voice. ‘How do you know it’s the truth?’

  ‘I don’t. But why else would Kait risk coming up here to take it off me?’

  Nediah’s look was sharp. ‘So that’s what she was doing when she grabbed you?’

  ‘She warned me not to use it. And when I said the akan was my only chance, she stole it.’

  The Wielder dropped back onto the bed, paler than before. ‘And all of this so Janus could get rid of you without suspicion.’

  ‘That’s the thing, though.’ Kyndra leaned forward. ‘I can’t make myself believe it was his idea. When he asked Hebrin for permission to visit that spiral, he showed him a scroll stamped with the Council’s seal. Could he have forged it?’

  Nediah shook his head. ‘Those seals only work for Council members. The scroll at least will have been genuine.’

  ‘Then he must have brought something back to help Rush,’ Kyndra reasoned. She met Nediah’s gaze. ‘Have you seen anything like that?’

  ‘Lord Loricus did visit with an artefact retrieved from the archives,’ Nediah said, ‘but it made no difference.’

  ‘Then he was covering himself,’ Kyndra insisted. Now that she had her theory, she was reluctant to let it go. Because it makes sense, she thought, but another voice – a voice she tried to crush – whispered that she just didn’t want to think ill of Janus. Even if it wasn’t his idea, he knew what he was doing when he planted that book, she argued back. Or did he? Perhaps Janus had truly believed he was helping her and they were both victims of manipulation. Before the silence became too impenetrable, Kyndra said, ‘I think the Council gave Janus that scroll so I could follow him and find the akan.’

  For the first time, Nediah seemed truly alarmed. Again he glanced at the door, as if frightened that someone had their ear pressed against it. ‘That’s a serious accusation.’

  ‘And Medavle said that the akan unleashes a counterattack.’ Kyndra felt a shock of cold. ‘Whoever meant for me to use it was prepared to hurt Wielders.’

  Nediah didn’t reply. She could see him struggling to even consider the possibility.

  ‘Surely it’s not impossible,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ Nediah agreed after a reluctant pause. Then, ‘If it’s true, it might not involve the whole Council. All have use of that seal.’

  ‘So you’re saying one of them is acting alone?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m saying.’ Nediah stood, took a couple of distracted paces. ‘Why would the Council ris
k harming their own? None of this makes sense.’

  Kyndra looked down at her legs. ‘I heard you talking to that man – before you healed me,’ she said softly. ‘They want to question me. They think I have something to do with those Wielders’ deaths.’

  ‘No,’ Nediah said sharply, turning from his scrutiny of the wall. ‘The Council want to know who managed to access the platform without being seen. And they want to know where that person took you and why.’

  ‘As if I’d tell them,’ Kyndra said, trying to seem unconcerned. ‘Do they think I’m likely to betray the one who rescued me?’

  ‘They don’t see it as rescuing, Kyndra. The test is a necessary part of becoming a Wielder.’

  Kyndra let that statement pass, though it stirred her anger. ‘What if they’re wrong?’ she said, gazing fixedly at her new scars. ‘What if I did have something to do with those Wielders dying?’ A memory buried in her subconscious had resurfaced. She recalled feeling a black rage right before the test and she’d spoken to the Wielders, warned them not to touch her. Striking me down will be the last thing you ever do.

  Kyndra clutched handfuls of blanket and squeezed her eyes shut, but the words expanded to fill that sable space, and, on top of them, echoed Medavle’s and Nediah’s. Each asked a question she couldn’t and didn’t want to answer.

  You don’t remember, do you? What you did.

  How is it that you’re alive?

  Nediah had hold of her upper arms and was shaking her gently, but she couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t look into his trusting face. I don’t know, she answered him silently. I don’t even know who I am any more. Because then there was the man whose memories she shared: the man who proclaimed himself the instrument of peace, who had stolen a book kept on the ninth spiral, who had stood in front of Solinaris’s Sentheon and offered them his alliance. Who was he? Why did he haunt her? And what power did he have that allowed her to pass through shielded gates, to go where others could not?

  ‘Kyndra,’ Nediah said firmly, ‘what’s wrong?’

  Finally she opened her eyes. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I think I’d like to rest now.’

  Nediah considered her for a moment. ‘It’s what you need.’

  What I need, Kyndra thought, is to get out of here. She nodded at Nediah and gave him a weak smile. ‘Thank you,’ she told the Wielder. But perhaps you should have let me die.

  The lamp burned steadily through its wick and the dancing shadows danced unceasingly across the wall. She had slept, but now that sleep had left her, she felt alert, clear-headed – as she hadn’t done in days. For the first time, she knew what she had to do.

  And, like a well-laid plan, chance favoured her.

  ‘Kyndra.’ It came as a whisper through the door, a young woman’s voice hissing her name. Gingerly, Kyndra climbed out of bed, but the pain wasn’t as bad as she feared, just a dull ache in her shoulders and legs. Surprised to find the door unlocked, she cracked it open and saw Irilin’s pale eyes staring at her.

  The novice glanced back at the empty corridor and then slipped inside. She smiled at Kyndra. ‘I’m making this a habit, aren’t I?’

  Kyndra smiled back and closed the door. ‘So you didn’t have any problems getting out of the archives the other night?’

  ‘Never mind that now. What about you? Was it the Madness that killed those Wielders during the test? Did you use the akan?’

  Kyndra didn’t reply. The memory of the sinister threat she’d made whispered in her ear, refusing to be banished. She shook her head and met the novice’s eyes. ‘Irilin,’ she said quietly, ‘I need your help.’

  ‘For what?’

  Kyndra kept her gaze steady. ‘To get out of the citadel.’

  Irilin stared at her, mouth slightly open. ‘I don’t understand. Why would you want to leave? You belong here.’

  ‘No I don’t,’ Kyndra said firmly. ‘And by now, the Council will have realized that. They won’t let me go, Irilin. I have to escape before … before they decide to get rid of me.’ And before anyone else dies because of me.

  Irilin’s denial withered on her lips. She knew, Kyndra thought, what the Council would do. What they may have already tried to do. ‘There’s more,’ she said aloud. Swiftly, she told Irilin what she’d learned about the white akan. Although she chided herself for it, she kept Janus’ part to a minimum, making it sound as if the Council had planned it all.

  Even before she’d finished speaking, Irilin was shooting fearful glances at the door, as if she half expected the Council to blast it apart at any moment. Nediah had been the same, Kyndra remembered. She watched Irilin’s darting eyes and wondered how three people had managed to gain such control. Had the days when all Wielders ruled jointly died with Solinaris?

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Irilin said finally in a hushed voice. ‘Why give you another chance and then plot to kill you?’

  Kyndra shook her head. ‘Perhaps the second test was just a ruse. Perhaps they already knew I wasn’t a Wielder.’

  Irilin didn’t look convinced. ‘If they knew that, they wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. They have the authority to execute you anyway.’

  Kyndra grimaced. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Sorry. I was going to say you’re crazy to run, but … I guess it’s what I would do.’

  Surprised, Kyndra looked up. ‘So you’ll help me?’

  Irilin’s face was sober. ‘They’ll punish us both if we’re caught.’

  ‘I’m not going to sit here and wait for whatever the Council has planned,’ Kyndra said stubbornly. Besides,’ she added, ‘this is the last thing they’d expect. They’re used to people doing what they tell them to.’

  Irilin gave her a faintly sceptical nod. ‘I suppose you want to go tonight.’

  ‘I want to go now.’

  ‘Now?’ The novice took a step back. ‘It’s broad daylight, Kyndra. Are you sure you haven’t lost your mind?’

  ‘Nediah said they want to question me. They probably think I had something to do with what happened last night.’

  Irilin shook her head. ‘That’s nonsense. The Madness killed those Wielders.’

  Kyndra looked away. ‘Even if it did, the Council will ask me about the person who rescued me from the platform. Would they believe me if I said I didn’t remember?’

  Irilin’s silence was answer enough.

  ‘And then I’ll be locked up while they decide what to do about me – probably with more than just an ordinary key.’ Kyndra gave the door a significant glance.

  ‘They’d already locked you in just now and taken away the key,’ Irilin said, a little colour returning to her cheeks. ‘But I borrowed Shika’s pick.’

  Kyndra smothered her apprehension in a laugh. ‘What happened to you, Iri?’ she asked. ‘I thought you followed the rules.’

  ‘So did I,’ the novice said with a rueful shake of her head. ‘But that was before you came.’

  The same fortune that had brought Irilin to Kyndra’s room stayed with her as, head bent and disguised uncomfortably in a spare set of Irilin’s tiny robes, she passed through Naris. Few Wielders spared a glance for two lowly novices hurrying about their studies, and hurry Irilin did, taking Kyndra on a convoluted route to one of the citadel’s lower gates. Disaster almost struck when they bumped into Alandred backing out of a doorway. The Master of Novices, however, wore a rumpled, preoccupied air and spared them barely a glance. Probably looking forward to my questioning, Kyndra thought darkly.

  It wasn’t her only dark thought. She hated to leave Brégenne and Nediah without a word, but the success of her plan depended on speed and secrecy. Both would try to stop her, not because they wished her harm, but because they, too, were under the Council’s control. She’d watched Nediah struggle to accept her story about the akan – she’d seen those doubtful, frightened glances. Kyndra knew that Nediah would never betray her, but she couldn’t trust the Wielder to let her go.

  ‘I’m taking you to the gate that the Murtan miners use,’ Ir
ilin whispered out of the corner of her mouth. ‘It’s the only one not usually watched. From there, the path winds up around the mountain until it reaches the bridge. That’s the only way across the chasm.’ They had already dropped a few levels and Kyndra’s ears popped at the steep gradient. Gradually the floating fires disappeared until only torches cast their yellow eyes on the stone. ‘No one comes down here,’ Irilin said, ‘except novices – Gareth sometimes tries to swipe food from the kitchens when the Murtans aren’t looking.’

  ‘What’s the arrangement with the Murtans?’ Kyndra asked. ‘I thought they couldn’t see the citadel.’

  ‘They can’t. But they’re given a token – I suppose it’s a bit like the one Master Hebrin gave Janus – that gets them across the bridge and down the path into the citadel. Once they’re inside, they see the same as us, but they have to keep to the under-levels.’

  They scurried past the kitchens where the yeasty smell of baking bread warmed the air, and Kyndra drew it deep into her nose. It was a smell that stirred her familiar yearning for home, a yearning that – with escape looking ever more possible – grew stronger. She imagined walking down the road that led to The Nomos. It was early summer … her mother would be outside, whitewash in hand, and Jarand up on the roof, teasing out some winter-welted thatch. She would wait for them to pause in their work, to look up and see her where she stood watching – just like before, as if nothing had ever happened.

  The vision shattered when Irilin yanked her to a stop. ‘Shhh,’ the novice hissed. They stood in a narrow, curving passage that – in a few more steps – intersected with a much larger one. Before Irilin pulled her back around the bend, Kyndra felt a gust of fresh air and her heart leapt. Now she could hear the unmistakable squeak of an axle in need of grease and the irregular, puffing breaths of men at work.

  ‘That wheel always squeaks,’ Irilin whispered near Kyndra’s ear. ‘I recognize it. They’re taking away a cartload of ore. The Murtans mint the gold themselves.’