Besieged (The Outcast Chronicles)

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  ‘Denat threw Sorne’s shirt in the mud.’

  Oskane shrugged.

  ‘Then Joaken got involved.’

  Oskane tensed. ‘That man is too quick to resort to violence.’

  ‘Today he got what’s coming to him. Kolst knocked him off his feet. Broke his nose.’

  Oskane chuckled.

  ‘SO MUCH BLOOD,’ Imoshen whispered. She wasn’t a mid-wife, but even she knew Karokara had lost too much blood.

  The baby mewled and tried to kick the blanket off. Imoshen tucked him in again, fetched the last blanket for Karokara and tried to staunch the bleeding.

  During the birth, Imoshen had been totally focused on Karokara, and found herself somehow sharing her pain. Even now, her stomach ached.

  At least Karokara was no longer in pain. She seemed to be drifting in and out of sleep. Her eyes would flutter open, then close. Her face was white, lips colourless.

  Imoshen glanced to the baby boy. He’d screamed at first, but now he blinked sleepily and sucked his fist. Should she run across the island to fetch the cook? Could she leave Karokara that long? Should she take the baby?

  ‘Pass me Iraayel.’ It was the barest whisper as Karokara reached for the baby. ‘Is he...’

  ‘Perfect,’ Imoshen assured her. As her aunt didn’t have the strength to hold him, Imoshen placed him on her chest.

  With great effort, Karokara lifted one hand to his head. Tears slid down her face. ‘Promise me...’

  ‘Yes?’

  Karokara held Imoshen’s eyes. ‘Promise me you’ll look after him.’

  ‘I promise.’ Imoshen licked her lips. The baby wriggled and almost slid off his mother’s chest. Imoshen moved him to one side, placing him beyond the puddle of blood, then turned back. ‘But you’ll get better. I’ll fetch the cook. She–’

  ‘...shen?’ Unable to keep her eyes open, Karokara lifted a hand, blindly seeking her.

  ‘I’m here.’ Imoshen took the hand between both of hers. So cold and weak.

  ‘You eased my pain.’

  ‘It didn’t help. I’m sorry, I–’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Tell them what?’

  Karokara’s eyes flickered open in surprise. ‘This was the first time your gift’s moved?’

  Imoshen didn’t understand the question, didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Are you a woman yet?’

  ‘No...’

  Karokara nodded wearily, lids closing. ‘Doesn’t always coincide.’

  ‘I don’t under–’

  ‘Listen. Hide your gift from the T’En men for as long as possible.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Once your gift surfaces, they’ll fear you.’

  Imoshen tried to pull away.

  But the dying woman held on with surprising strength. Karokara forced her eyes open. ‘Don’t trust them. This island is your prison.’

  Shocked, Imoshen broke free and sprang back to her heels. Karokara was raving, like the kitchen lad when he got a fever.

  ‘You’re not thinking straight. I’ll go fetch the cook. She’ll know what to do. I’ll take Iraayel with me.’ Imoshen scooped up the baby. She’d been kneeling in an ever-growing puddle of blood and her wet breeches clung to her legs. She adjusted the baby, making sure he was well-wrapped, for she could hear the wind keening outside.

  Going down on one knee, Imoshen touched her aunt’s cheek. ‘I’ll send help, Karo.’

  No response, nothing. An empty husk.

  Shock held Imoshen immobile. Fishermen had been lost at sea, and her mother had drowned, but you never saw the bodies. She shuddered.

  Dipping into the part of her that had woken tonight, she tried to find a spark of life, but she was exhausted and had nothing left.

  So she leant forward to listen to the woman’s chest. No heart beat under her ear.

  How could life be there one moment and gone the next? Where did it go?

  The baby stirred. Imoshen slipped out of the cottage, shut the door and set off for the lighthouse.

  ‘HOLD ON, IRIAN.’

  He turned to see Ardeyne enter the chamber at the base of the lighthouse. Irian gestured up the steps. ‘I’m going to check Imoshen’s bedroom. The cook can’t find her. She wasn’t in the walled garden or...’

  The voice-of-reason closed the door and came across to the bottom of the steps. ‘I think we need someone new to report on Imoshen.’

  Irian came down the steps until they were side by side. ‘Why? We have the cook.’

  ‘I want someone who knows what life is like in the city, someone who is closer in age, someone she’ll confide in.’

  ‘Ah.’ Irian understood. ‘Someone she will confess her first gift stirrings to. That person’s loyalty must be beyond question. You want my Karo.’

  ‘She was going to stay here for the next five years anyway. It’s not like she’s your devotee. Even if the baby is stillborn, she should stay here. Imoshen will trust her and confess her gift stirrings. We can’t afford to let Imoshen grow into the full extent of her power. We need to get a sacrare from her before that happens.’

  He had already agreed to let Karo have those years with their son. But if there was no son, then he would be five years without her for nothing.

  Not for nothing, for the brotherhood. The brotherhood was everything, his duty and his life. ‘Of course.’

  Ardeyne nodded. ‘Go, bring Imoshen down.’

  Since it was almost dark now and cold, he guessed Imoshen was reading, so deep in a treatise she hadn’t heard the fuss. When he reached the top bedroom, it seemed she hadn’t even thought to light a lamp, as there was no light coming from under her door.

  Smiling, he thrust the door open. ‘Reading in the dark?’

  Her room was empty, childhood gifts laid out carefully, precious treatises stacked next to the bed.

  Troubled, he headed down the stairs, going straight to the house at the base of the lighthouse where the dining room had been turned over to the T’En. As he approached the door, he heard the cook speaking.

  ‘...I’ll send for Imoshen. Dinner won’t be ready for a while. We didn’t look for you for another–’

  Irian thrust open the door. ‘Imoshen’s not in her room.’

  The cook spun around. She was a big woman, with a strong jaw. Sensible, he’d always thought.

  ‘Not in her room?’ Rohaayel came to his feet. ‘Where could she be?’

  ‘Roaming,’ the cook said. ‘She’s become rather wild since we... we’ll look for her.’ She bustled towards the door. ‘I’ll have spiced wine brought in, with bread and cheese. That should hold you ’til dinner’s ready.’

  ‘Roaming?’ Ardeyne repeated after the cook left.

  ‘Two days before twin full moon,’ Gift-tutor Bedettor said. ‘If her gift’s troubling her, she’ll be drawn to the moonlight. If her gift’s troubling her already, she’ll be powerful as an adult.’

  They all went very still.

  The two gift-warriors came to their feet. Shield-brothers, they were used to defending each other on the empyrean plane. They were well and truly able to take down an untrained T’En girl. For that matter, any of them were.

  In theory.

  ‘Is she a threat?’ one of them asked.

  Irian felt their power rise and his own gift stirred in response. In defence of Imoshen, which surprised him.

  ‘We saw her at summer’s cusp,’ Rohaayel said. ‘There was no sign of her gift then.’

  ‘We must watch for her hair beginning to darken to silver-grey. It’s a sign the gift is maturing.’ Like the shield-brothers, Bedettor was new to the inner circle. He had replaced the old gift-tutor, who’d known Imoshen since she was a baby. This was his first visit to the island, and he thought they were underestimating the danger Imoshen presented. ‘You haven’t tried to test her, have you? The threat of your gifts could trigger hers.’

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ Rohaayel insisted. He sought Irian’s gaze.

&nbs
p; ‘I’ll go see what I can find out.’

  ‘Torekar.’ Ardeyne signalled his devotee.

  The young Malaunje warrior followed Irian out of the dining room and down the hall into the kitchen. Irian thrust the door open. The Malaunje fell silent immediately. He wasn’t wanted here. This was their territory.

  He stood in the doorway. ‘When did you last see Imoshen?’

  ‘Lunch time,’ the cook said, coming towards him. ‘She took her meal out in the garden.’

  Irian gestured Torekar past. ‘He’ll help you.’

  ‘Very good.’ The cook sent Torekar to join the others, and ushered Irian into the hall. ‘Everyone I can spare is out looking for her. Go back to the dining room. She’ll be here any moment, full of apology for keeping you waiting.’

  Instead of going back to the dining room, Irian went out the front door, out into the night. Clouds scudded across the sky, their edges painted silver by the twin moons’ light. Nearly season’s cusp and double full moon.

  From the island’s high point, he could see lanterns bobbing on the path down to the bay, where the fishing boats were kept. More lamps wandered like lost stars across the night-dark fields. When he’d come from the eastern side of the island, he hadn’t seen Imoshen. Mind you, he hadn’t been looking for her, but if she’d seen him, she would have called out.

  He went around the main building, past the row of cottages, threading through the barn and storehouses to look west. All dark.

  No... a lantern bobbed on the path to the rocks.

  Surely she would not be down there? The cliffs, the rocks, the restless, pounding sea... he took off at a run.

  He had to slow down as clouds passed across the moons and he risked losing the path. The lantern bobbed as though the person who carried it knew the path by heart. At length, he came up the rise towards him, a lean lad of sixteen or seventeen who recognised Irian, signalled and kept coming.

  Irian tried to remember the lad’s name. ‘Aric, have you seen her?’

  He shook his head. ‘Thought she might be on the rocks.’

  ‘On the rocks?’

  ‘She likes to stand there, daring the waves to sweep her away.’

  ‘What?’ Not only was she foolhardy but... ‘That doesn’t sound like Imoshen.’

  But there was no reason for him to lie. What if Imoshen had been swept off the rocks? If anything happened to her – Irian’s heart lurched – it would tear him apart.

  What was he thinking? She was a means to an end.

  She was the six-year-old who had sat on his lap and advised him which cards to play with great seriousness.

  She was a means to an end.

  She was the ten-year-old who had discussed the growing of beans, quoting a Sagora treatise on inherited traits.

  She was a means to an end.

  His duty was to the brotherhood. He must armour himself against her. Irian swallowed. ‘She dares the waves to take her?’

  He nodded. ‘That, or she wanders on the cliff edge.’

  ‘You know this because...’

  ‘I follow her, to see that she’s safe. She’s been lonely this summer, since Cook told us we’re not to talk to her.’ He looked troubled, then a smile tugged at his lips. ‘When she thinks no one is looking, she dances on the dunes.’

  Irian needed to get this lad off the island.

  ‘Come with me.’ He took the lantern and led the way. When he passed the walled garden and entered the quiet lea of the barn, he found half a dozen Malaunje at the kitchen door reporting to the cook.

  Torekar jogged over to him. ‘No sign of her.’

  Irian nodded grimly. What had started out as a curiosity was fast becoming troubling. He returned the lantern to Aric. ‘Help them.’

  The island was not large, but it was too large to search by night. Where was Imoshen? Had someone warned her against them? Who would do such a thing? Only a small group of Malaunje lived on the island, and only the brotherhood members he approved were allowed to visit.

  If she hadn’t been warned and she had begun to act strangely, then her gift could be moving. That would complicate things.

  When he returned to the dining room, everyone looked up.

  ‘No sign of Imoshen.’ She could have been swept off the rocks.

  The cook bustled in with her entourage, bringing food to the table. When everything had been laid out, she stood waiting to be dismissed.

  ‘Does Imoshen do this often?’ Rohaayel asked.

  ‘Run away at night?’ Gift-tutor Bedettor qualified.

  The cook lifted her hands. ‘How would I know? We sleep down here. She sleeps in the lighthouse. I thought she was in her room all this time. We’ve done as you ordered, All-father Rohaayel, and maintained the proper distance this summer. It was hard at first. She was so small when her mother went, we’d grown into the habit of treating her like one of us. When we tried to maintain the proper distance, she didn’t understand. I told her it was time she grew up, but–’

  The door opened behind Irian. Wind swirled in, bringing the scent of the night, moonlight and blood. He turned to find Imoshen standing there.

  Her hair was wild and wind-blown, her vest and breeches drenched in blood and her bare feet blue with cold. In her arms she carried a rolled up blanket, and her eyes were wide with shock.

  Those haunted eyes went straight to him. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her teeth chattered so badly she could hardly talk. ‘I couldn’t save her. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. I tried–’ The bundle wriggled and wailed.

  ‘Karo?’

  ‘I would have fetched the cook, but there wasn’t time...’

  Irian thrust past her, running for the door.

  IMOSHEN TURNED TO her father and Uncle Ardeyne. The birth had been quick and violent; never had she felt more helpless in her life. ‘I did everything I could.’

  One of the new T’En males stepped closer to Rohaayel. ‘All-father, such an experience could trigger...’

  ‘You’re covered in blood,’ her father said, his voice rough.

  Were they offended? The cook always made sure she was bathed and well dressed when they visited.

  Rohaayel gestured to the cook. ‘See that a bath is drawn. Take the–’

  ‘No.’ Imoshen pressed the baby boy close to her chest. Tonight, she’d fought death and lost. Now she held new life in her arms, and she wasn’t giving him up. ‘Iraayel stays with me. I promised Karokara.’

  ‘All-father?’ the cook asked.

  Rohaayel’s face was hard, eyes sharp; he didn’t look like himself. Tonight, everything was strange. Imoshen felt on edge and she didn’t like it. She wanted it to be like it was before the cook told her she had to grow up.

  She reached out to Ardeyne. ‘Uncle...’

  He came over, but instead of taking her hand, he slid an arm around her shoulders, avoiding skin contact. Karokara had been right about that. Why had she never noticed before?

  Because they had never distanced themselves from her before.

  ‘Sit here.’ He guided her to the chair by the fire and knelt next to her. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Don’t think I can.’ She looked up to see the others watching her with wary eyes. ‘Father?’

  Rohaayel gestured to the cook. ‘Bring what’s needed for the baby. Bedettor, come here, see if she’s taken a chill.’

  ‘I’m fine. Nothing that a warm bath and rest won’t fix.’

  But Bedettor knelt next to her. ‘Give me your hand.’

  It seemed a strange way to see if she had a chill – usually the cook felt her forehead – but Imoshen complied.

  His large hands enclosed her hand completely. As soon as he touched her, his eyes took on a faraway look. She didn’t like him, and she instinctively raised her defences. She concentrated on the warmth of the fire burning in the grate, how it reminded her of winter evenings, singing and stories.

  She yawned. ‘Sorry, so tired.’

  Bedettor stood. ‘There’s no sign of... a chill.’

/>   The men visibly relaxed.

  ‘Well, that’s that, then. The food’s going cold. Can’t let it go to waste,’ one of the big men said, sitting at the table. The other two joined him, leaving her with Rohaayel and Ardeyne.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ Imoshen told them softly. ‘I want to come home and live in the city, with our brotherhood.’

  Her father went very still.

  ‘That’s... not a good idea,’ Ardeyne said. ‘You are the all-father’s daughter, and Rohaayel loves you. Rival brotherhoods would threaten you to undermine him.’

  So there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she lived here on the island.

  Just then, the cook returned with blankets and warm water. She spread a blanket on the floor in front of the fire, and held out her hands for the baby. Imoshen knelt and placed him in the blanket. He yelled as she unwrapped him.

  They both laughed at his indignant cries. The cook showed her how to bathe him and dress him. When they were done, she produced a milk-sop for him to suck on. Imoshen remained on the floor, near the fire.

  ‘He’ll need a wet-nurse,’ the cook told the all-father. ‘One of the fishermen’s wives–’

  ‘I know someone suitable,’ Ardeyne said. ‘I’ll send for her tomorrow.’

  Meanwhile, Rohaayel wrapped a blanket around Imoshen’s shoulders and sat in the chair beside her. She leaned against his knee.

  ‘Was it terrible?’ he asked softly.

  She nodded. Tears stung her eyes and she had to swallow before she could speak. ‘I couldn’t do anything to help.’

  ‘She’s no healer, then,’ Bedettor said.

  The others laughed, and Imoshen wondered how they could be so callous. How was she expected to heal? She had no training, unlike the cook.

  ‘Will Uncle Irian be all right?’

  She saw Ardeyne and Rohaayel exchange a glance.

  ‘I’ll send Torekar after him,’ Ardeyne said. ‘At least he hadn’t...’ He ran down.

  ‘Hadn’t what?’ Imoshen asked, but no one answered. She felt sick. Karokara was right, they were keeping things from her. But it had to be because they wanted to protect her. They loved her; she knew that for a fact.

  Imoshen manufactured a convincing yawn. ‘Sorry. So tired. Would you mind if I went straight to bed?’