Not far from the sacrare, Sardeon lay sprawled, as if he’d been running towards her. He was bleeding from the back of his head. Reoden knelt beside him.
Imoshen sank next to her. ‘He’s–’
‘Unconscious. He’ll come round.’
Imoshen glanced to Lyronyxe.
Reoden shook her head.
Imoshen’s raedan gift left her with no defences. In that instant, she felt what Reoden felt. It hit her like a blow and she curled up.
‘Ma?’ Iraayel came to her side.
She shielded to shut out Reoden’s pain.
‘I’m fine,’ she whispered, coming to her feet.
Reoden had already moved off to see to the others. Imoshen went to the door. Outside, a crowd had gathered, and she gestured to three of the Malaunje. ‘Come here. See to the wounded.’
‘What is it?’ an elderly brotherhood scholar asked.
‘There’s been a tragedy. The sacrare–’ Her voice broke.
Imoshen recognised a T’En youth who had been sent to the brotherhoods only last winter. ‘Tamaron, go up to the sisterhood quarter and tell them I need a dozen gift-warriors, the healer’s voice-of-reason and two dozen Malaunje with stretchers and healing kits.’
He took off.
‘Can we help?’ the elderly scholar asked.
She considered. ‘It might be better if no brotherhood men come in. In fact, make sure you stand well back from the sisterhood gift-warriors when they arrive.’
With that, she went inside. Now Reoden was kneeling next to the two injured Malaunje. Imoshen could feel the healer’s gift as she worked on them.
Imoshen was so grateful Iraayel was unhurt, and that made her feel guilty. She searched for him and found him standing over a brotherhood warrior. The man’s stomach was covered in blood, but the wound wasn’t bleeding; Reoden had already worked on him. He blinked in shock.
‘What happened here?’ Imoshen asked.
The blankness left his eyes. She saw panic rise and felt the surge of his gift. There was something wrong with it.
She pulled Iraayel away. ‘Don’t go near him.’
‘They didn’t expect to die,’ Iraayel said.
‘What?’
‘They didn’t cut their hair.’ He pointed to the three dead brotherhood warriors. ‘They didn’t expect to die.’
She shook her head and went to check on the sisterhood scryer. One of the Malaunje held a bloody cloth to her face. With so many injured, Reoden was concentrating on the life-threatening wounds first and then going only so far as to begin the healing process.
The scryer raised stricken eyes to Imoshen. ‘How’s Lyronyxe?’
Imoshen shook her head.
The scryer moaned, and Imoshen rubbed her back. There was silence, but for the whimpers of the injured, the soft lap of the lakewater and the distant call of birds.
‘I failed her,’ the scryer whispered.
‘We all failed her.’
Next, Imoshen checked on Reoden’s hand-of-force. Dead. The other gift-warrior, Cerafeoni, was unconscious. She had a crushed cheekbone; she’d probably lose the eye.
Iraayel was helping Sardeon to sit up. Sardeon thrust his hands aside and crawled to Lyronyxe’s body. A high keening noise came from him as lay beside her, his head pressed to hers.
Tears stung Imoshen’s eyes.
Iraayel went to draw Sardeon away, but Imoshen caught his arm. ‘Let him mourn.’
Iraayel gestured to Lyronyxe. ‘The brotherhood warriors were waiting for us. They grabbed her. She got away, tried to run. Fell. That was when the other brotherhood warrior fled and I chased him.’
‘You chased an adult male warrior? What were you going to do if you caught him?’
A laugh escaped Iraayel and turned into a sob. He wept in her arms.
Moments later, Imoshen heard voices. Reoden’s voice-of-reason entered the boathouse along with several sisterhood gift-warriors and Malaunje, with healing kits and stretchers.
‘We have three dead brotherhood warriors and one injured,’ Imoshen said, releasing Iraayel, who turned away to compose himself. ‘Take the dead outside.’ She pointed to the brotherhood warrior Reoden had healed. ‘Don’t go near that one. There’s something wrong with his gift.’
‘No, no!’ A female voice, close to panic. ‘Don’t touch me.’
It was Cerafeoni, backing away from the healer.
‘Heal the sacrare,’ the gift-warrior insisted. ‘Don’t help me, help her.’
‘I can’t,’ Reoden said in a flat voice, reaching for the gift-warrior.
‘No.’ Cerafeoni backed up until her shoulders hit the wall.
Reoden looked lost.
‘Ree!’ Her voice-of-reason, Nerazime, pushed through the crowd to join them. ‘Oh, Ree.’
As Nerazime reached Reoden, the healer went down, legs crumpling.
Nerazime caught her.
‘She’s exhausted herself,’ Imoshen said.
‘Some help here,’ Nerazime called.
Imoshen could feel the anger brewing as the sisterhood gift-warriors took in what had happened; their surging gifts made the hairs on her arms rise.
‘There will be no unsanctioned reprisals,’ Imoshen said.
‘You’re not our all-mother,’ one of them snapped.
‘No, but your all-mother chose to heal the wounded brotherhood warrior. Respect her wishes. When we have clearer heads, we will discuss this.’
They looked to their voice-of-reason. Nerazime nodded.
Imoshen stepped out into the sunshine, blinking. Colour had washed out of everything. Emotion had washed out of everything. Nothing felt real.
Mieren were being herded through the causeway gate. They shuffled in a long line of short red half-capes, whispering and pointing.
The gathered T’En and Malaunje stood in solemn groups and watched as the injured were taken to the sisterhood quarter.
Everyone avoided the dead brotherhood warriors and the all-father and his seconds who stood over them. She was reminded that one of the attackers had gotten away.
Her gift flexed as she approached them, and she read Kyredeon. He was angry and disgusted... not shocked and horrified as he should be.
‘These were your men. They–’ she began.
‘They were acting under their own initiative,’ he said. ‘They thought to win stature. I would never have sanctioned the killing of the healer’s sacrare.’
‘There will be an all-council,’ Imoshen said, because if there wasn’t, there would be chaos. ‘You will bring the warrior Reoden has healed, and the one we chased back to your sisterhood.’
‘They were acting alone,’ Kyredeon repeated. ‘They–’
‘Their fate will be decided at the all-council. Do you understand? This is why the covenant exists. When stature is put ahead of the lives of children, the sisterhoods must intervene.’
For a heartbeat, grief and anger threatened to overwhelm her gift control. She had to walk away.
Inside the boat-house, it was much less crowded now.
Iraayel came over and took her hand, drawing her towards Reoden’s children. ‘There’s something wrong with Sardeon. He’s unconscious again.’
Imoshen’s heart sank. Ree mustn’t lose both children. She sank to her knees beside Sardeon. He was completely still, barely breathing. A wave of sadness swept through her and her vision shifted to include the empyrean plane. She saw her choice-son’s nascent gift stirring within him. Sardeon registered as having no gift, but she remembered Reoden saying his gift was starting to develop. There should be...
Realisation came to her. Sardeon was so attached to Lyronyxe, he’d segued to the empyrean plane.
‘Sard?’ Iraayel reached out to touch him.
‘Don’t, you’ll be dragged through to the higher plane, too.’ Imoshen struggled to form words. One thing was clear. Sardeon had no training. If she didn’t go after him, he’d be devoured by empyrean beasts. It was a wonder he hadn’t been killed already. She ha
d no choice. She had to go now. ‘Stand back. Don’t let anyone near. I’m going after him.’
Imoshen placed her hand on the boy’s forehead. The shift was instantaneous.
Under Sardeon’s untrained gift, the empyrean plane had taken the form of a nightmare, all vague shapes and shadows. He stood not far from her and she was surprised that he was shielding his gift. It had to be instinctive.
Imoshen sensed his urgency as he searched for something. She lunged and caught him, and they segued back to the earthly plane.
One child saved.
One child lost.
Lost forever, because Lyronyxe’s shade would have been confused by the violent death. Without training, she would have had no defence from the empyrean beasts. She would have needed an escort to reach death’s realm.
This was what Sardeon had tried to do. At risk to his own life, he had gone after Lyronyxe to see her safely across.
Brave boy.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
‘ARE YOU ALL right?’
Imoshen looked up and realised she’d been ignoring her devotee as Frayvia unpinned her hair, freeing it from the formal style.
She summoned a smile. ‘Ree says Sardeon is subdued. Not surprising, since he saw his choice-sister murdered. Despite being lost on the empyrean plane, he seems to have all his wits. We’ve been lucky.’
‘I’m glad, but you know very well I’m not talking about Reoden’s choice-son.’ Frayvia gently pushed Imoshen’s hair to one side and undid the clasp of the raedan torc.
Imoshen was glad to be rid of it. She resented the weight of it on her neck and shoulders.
‘Stand.’ Frayvia stepped back.
Imoshen rose and her devotee steadied her as she slipped her feet free of her jewelled sandals. ‘I can undress myself.’
‘Indulge me.’ Her devotee slid the calf-length brocade robe off her shoulders. ‘Was it horrible?’
‘Kyredeon strangled them slowly while we looked on. What do you think?’
Frayvia hung the robe without comment.
‘I’m sorry, Fray,’ Imoshen whispered as her devotee came back.
Frayvia gave a little shake of her head and began undoing the clasps of Imoshen’s fitted vest.
Words spilled from Imoshen’s lips. ‘The brotherhood leaders chose the punishment. I think it was meant to punish Kyredeon as much as those he executed. We... the sisterhood voted for death, but not there in the empowerment dome. We didn’t want it sullied.’
Frayvia nodded as she finished undoing the clasps and slid the vest off Imoshen’s shoulders.
‘We all filed out of the dome and watched from the steps while Kyredeon led them both down to the street. They knelt facing us, and he went around behind them. He killed the initiate first, the one Iraayel and I chased back to the brotherhood’s palace. But before he started, they acknowledged their fault, absolving their brotherhood and its leader of blame. They claimed it was all their idea to make a bid for stature, claimed they only meant to abduct the sacrare, to prove they could. The idiots...’ Imoshen’s voice faltered. She had wept so much these last four days, she felt utterly drained. ‘It’s all so stupid, such a waste... I don’t know how Ree can bear it.’
Frayvia hugged her. Imoshen clasped her devotee’s hands and they stood there for a while, saying nothing. Frayvia’s hands went to Imoshen’s waist, loosening the ties that held up her silky pleated trousers.
‘And the other one, the one Reoden healed... The one with the corrupt gift–’
‘Paryx,’ Imoshen said. ‘The gift-wright confirmed his mind and gift were both unstable. There was a chance she could have healed him with time, but he was to be executed. He wept softly, but died bravely in the end.’
Frayvia began to plait Imoshen’s hair.
‘It reminds me...’ Imoshen began.
‘Of our sacrare’s death. I know.’
‘When will it stop?’
‘When we are dead and can no longer feel pain.’
‘Oh, Fray, you are such a cynic.’ Imoshen took her shoulders in her hands. ‘You know I love you... but I meant, when will the feud between the sisterhoods and brotherhoods stop? I used to think it was cruel to take the T’En children away from their fathers. I believed Rohaayel was trying to do the right thing when he kept me, even though he did wrong by me. Now, I think we need to protect the children from the men. Yet, he...’ She shook her head, unable to go on.
‘I can feel how much it hurts you to remember. Don’t keep it bundled up inside you. Turmoil will corrupt your gift. That’s what a devotee is for.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Imoshen felt fresh tears slide down her cheeks. ‘You are so much more to me.’
‘So tell me.’
‘I’m not the great all-father-killer. At the end, when we were both on the empyrean plane and I was ambushed by the brotherhoods’ gift-warriors, Rohaayel dragged several of them to their deaths to save me.’
‘Oh, Imoshen.’
SORNE WRAPPED THE instrument in a length of material from Khitan. It was a deep purple silk embroidered with silver thread in swirling patterns. He’d bought it eight years ago, and he’d kept it all this time. The instrument was from Maygharia. It had a wooden base, inset with metal bars of different lengths. Its name translated to thumb-player. He’d tried it, and the notes rang out clear and pure; Valendia would be delighted.
As he crossed the plaza, he looked for the half-blood spy the Wyrds had planted on him, but couldn’t spot the man. Either the spy was hiding, or he had better things to do than follow the Warrior’s-voice around. Sorne had timed his visit so that Zabier would be busy.
Assistant Utzen waved him through, and Sorne unlocked the narrow door. He found Valendia alone on the balcony, picking grubs off the vegetables.
‘Where’s Mother?’
She gave a little jump, then laughed, her gaze going straight to the object in his arms ‘Sleeping. She’s not feeling well today. What is that?’
‘A gift for you. Well, two gifts really.’ He put it on the table, unwinding the material with a flourish. ‘First, there’s silk from Khitan to make you a beautiful robe.’
‘Lovely.’ She ran her hand over the fabric, but her attention was on the instrument.
Sorne grinned and showed her how to play it. ‘And this. It’s called a thumb-player, from Maygharia.’
‘But it’s not my birthday until after summer’s cusp.’
Sorne shrugged. ‘I couldn’t wait. You hold it like this, and play it with both thumbs.’
She began to experiment with the sounds, tilting her head and listening. Within a few moments, she had a simple tune, something he remembered Hiruna singing as she rocked Valendia’s cradle.
‘Do you miss not having friends your own age, Dia?’
‘I’ve never had any, so I don’t know, do I?’
He smiled, content to sit and watch her. ‘What would make you happy?’
‘I am happy.’
But what would become of her?
‘Listen to this.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘It’s little mice, running across the floor.’ And she produced a string of notes.
‘So it is.’ He laughed.
‘Oh...’ She put the instrument down and came over to sit in his lap. Pulling his arms around her, she tucked her head into the crook of his neck.
A little surprised, he pressed his lips to her head. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I just... Since you came back, you’ve felt like a stranger to me. But just then, when you laughed, I remembered you and Izteben together. And it made me sad inside, because we can never go back.’ She lifted her head, magenta eyes gleaming with tears. ‘We were happy there, weren’t we?’
He nodded, unable to speak. Despite Oskane’s scourging and the penitents, he’d been happy.
‘Why aren’t we happy here? It seems like I’ve waited all my life for you to come home, and now–’
‘What are you doing?’ Zabier demanded. He strode onto the balcony, grabbed Valendi
a’s arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘Go inside.’
‘Why? What did I do wrong?’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong,’ Sorne told her.
Zabier glared at him. ‘Don’t contradict me. I’m her brother.’
‘Why are you angry with Sorne all the time?’ Valendia asked. ‘We’ve waited so long for our brother to come home, and now–’
Zabier shook with frustration. ‘He’s not our brother.’
‘Of course he is.’ She glanced to Sorne for confirmation.
He shrugged. ‘Technically–’
‘He’s not family. You shouldn’t sit on his lap.’
‘Why are you being horrible?’
‘Zabier,’ Sorne protested. ‘You’re making something out of nothing. I think of Valendia as my sister. She’s not twelve yet. As if I’d–’
‘She was in your lap, in your arms.’
‘She was sad.’
Zabier rolled his eyes.
Sorne drew himself up. ‘I’m a priest. We’re–’
‘Celibate?’ Zabier rounded on him. ‘We all know what priests get up to. This secret love-nest was built for the high priest’s mistress.’
‘Oskane would never–’
‘Not Oskane. The previous high priest.’
‘I just want to know one thing,’ Valendia said, chin trembling as she fought her tears. ‘If Sorne isn’t our brother, then who is he?
‘You are my family,’ Sorne told her. They were all he had in the world. ‘You and Hiruna will always be–’
‘He’s the king’s unwanted half-blood son. Mother was paid to be his wet-nurse.’
Sorne winced. ‘Zabier...’
Valendia turned betrayed eyes, not on Sorne, but on Zabier. ‘How can you be so mean?’
He lifted his hands. ‘I’m the one who’s kept you safe all these years. He comes back, and in no time you’re crawling all over–’
Valendia fled inside.
‘Why did you do that?’ Sorne rounded on Zabier.
‘I have to protect her. You saw what they did to the she-Wyrd. Dia’s all legs right now, but in another year she’s going to be beautiful. If I put her out on the street, how long do you think she’d last?’
Besieged (The Outcast Chronicles) Page 38
