Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered

by Orullian, Peter

  Maere!

  Tahn knew it instinctively from the stories told at Northsun: a Quietgiven creature from deep within the Bourne, formed of shadow and broken promises.

  The dim morning light pulsed and shifted through it, giving it the appearance of a shadow on the surface of a lake rippled by the wind. Mira pulled up short, and Tahn nearly piled into her.

  Vendanj came around to the front to confer with Mira, but they had only just begun to speak when the Maere reared and bolted toward them with startling speed. It came smoothly, coursing over the river bottom without a bob or jounce. As it bore down upon them, Tahn felt a cold wind begin to blow, as though the Maere pushed intent and malice before it. Jole reared, and the other horses began to tug at their reins and dance at the sight of the Maere—all but Vendanj and Mira’s mounts, which stood placidly. Mira jumped to the riverbed and drew her swords. Vendanj cupped one hand under his right forearm and held a fist out toward the Maere.

  “Will and Sky,” Braethen muttered. “Maere.” A dark awe edged his words.

  The thing traversed the distance with savage speed, and Tahn nocked an arrow, preparing to pull, when the sun lit the morning from the top of the towering yews, sending shards of coruscating light down upon the riverbed, erupting there in a thousand sparkling shimmers. As the streams of light fell upon the Maere, it vanished, gone like an exhalation of breath. Tahn looked through the space it had occupied, his arrow falling from his bow as he gaped in amazement. Precisely then, another howl lit the morning and four Bar’dyn crashed through the bulrushes behind them.

  Their strange skin shifted loosely over the muscle and sinew beneath, but their deep-set eyes shone with brilliant hatred over the protruding shelves of their cheekbones. One pointed, and they all surged forward. Powerful legs propelled them in huge strides. Two Bar’dyn drew swords no less than five feet long. Over their shoulders, the other two hefted spears with dual prongs in preparation to throw them.

  Mira leapt to her horse from her stance, both swords still in hand. “Go!” she screamed. The horses uniformly obeyed, and Tahn grabbed a fistful of Jole’s mane to prevent himself from falling off as his horse bolted. The Bar’dyn stayed close as they fast approached a soft bank near the bridge. Tahn knew the horses would never make it up before the Bar’dyn pulled down Sutter and Braethen from behind.

  They reached the bank and started to climb, the Bar’dyn mere strides behind. Tahn looked back to see Sutter and Braethen reach the steep bank and start up. Sutter’s horse reared, and he almost fell. But his friend’s hands were strong from working the earth. He held the reins tight, even as his feet slid from the stirrups. At that moment, a bright light exploded from Vendanj’s hand and shot into the bank like green and blue shards of lightning. “Ride!” he yelled. Sutter got his feet back in his stirrups just as Braethen reached the top.

  The Bar’dyn loosed a collective howl and began clawing their way up the riverbank.

  A strange rustling began in the trees and brush around the creatures, like a fall wind through stalks and husks, whistling and groaning with an eerily human voice. Suddenly, roots leapt from the bank and limbs twisted toward the climbing Bar’dyn. Still knotted and gnarled, the branches, vines, and grasses laid hold of the beasts. Many tied around their feet, but others sought their wrists and legs. Still others shot into their mouths, stifling screams. One Bar’dyn hacked helplessly at the sinewy twists of vegetation, but for every one he severed, three more came on. The profusion of growth came alive and folded around the struggling Bar’dyn, muffling their cries. Animated with a hundred arms, the riverbank brought down the large creatures.

  Mira slapped Jole’s rump and Tahn held on as the stallion bolted for the road and headed north. The others came up behind, and Mira again found her place at the head, riding with one sword still drawn.

  They rode north. A myriad of war drums pounded across the countryside, finally beginning to beat in unison. The strange high-low wail of the Bar’dyn rose on each third strike and the world seemed alive with a rhythmic, soaring chant. Tahn drove Jole on, and as the sun lifted free of the forests and rose strong into the eastern sky, he and his sister and friends followed the Sheason and Far girl up into the high plain meadows away from their home.

  * * *

  All morning they galloped, slowing to a walk at times and resting the horses before again pushing the pace. Shortly after reaching the road, Vendanj began swaying on his mount. In the stark light of day, his face looked more deeply lined, his skin drawn tight. His eyes were red and darkly ringed. Mira saw him, and looked as though she meant to jump to his horse and ride with him to keep him in his saddle. But the Sheason raised a hand and, by force of will, sat upright. He looked the way Wendra had when the tremors and fever had come upon her, but he kept on, his hands white upon the reins.

  In the sunlight, along the road, a profusion of hyacinth showed in bright colors near pools of water. Scrub oak and low cedars dominated the rest of the terrain. The road had begun to dry, birds gathering at the muddy pools to drink and bathe until the horses’ approach sent them fluttering into the air. They rode until midday, when Mira took them a good distance into the trees to take some rest.

  But not right away.

  After they dismounted, Mira had them all stand in a line with their new weapons in their hands, and taught them the fundamentals of steel. The Far loaned Tahn one of her blades to practice with. Some of it came back to Tahn and Sutter and even Wendra fairly quickly from some few sessions with Balatin years ago. Braethen struggled a bit more; he seemed to know better where to hold the weapon and how to position his arms—as though recalling pictures in one of his many history books—but the movements and feel came slower to him. After an hour of lunging, blocking, swiping, and stabbing the open air, the Far let them collapse and mop the sweat from their faces.

  All except Tahn.

  She pointed him to a field close by and supervised several dozen shots with his bow. That, at least, came easier. Balatin had been rigorous with Tahn in his practice of the weapon. Always it had seemed a means to an end—providing meat for coin or other food. But suddenly the care for judging the wind, elevation, and depth of pull all took on new meaning. Tahn didn’t miss often. He wondered if his father had been preparing him for something more than shooting elk.

  Again he recalled the dreams of the faceless man who likewise seemed often to be teaching Tahn to draw with the strength of your arms.…

  It was that rote phrase he always needed to recite, and the image of himself drawing his bow in his dreams—questions and dreams about himself—that wouldn’t let him alone even as he fled his home in the Hollows, chased by the Quiet.

  That faceless man, leaving Tahn with a sense of more than mere hunting.…

  But thinking about it never helped. It only upset him.

  Mira dismissed Tahn after he’d shot and collected three rounds of his quiver. The Far seemed pleased, and Tahn didn’t mind showing some prowess in front of her. He thought he saw a smile of appreciation at one point, but wasn’t sure. His pulse quickened, regardless. Tahn walked back into the shade of some trees to check his fletching and tips, but mostly to rest.

  Sutter found him. “Almost went to the earth back there, Tahn. Just another root-digger rejoining his worms.” He clapped Tahn on the back, merriment writ large upon his face.

  “Good thing you didn’t, Nails, because I’m getting hungry. Go dig me something to eat.”

  “Just can’t escape my past, can I?”

  Sutter laughed aloud. It was nervous laughter, but it felt good to pause in the midst of all this and kid as they always had.

  “I’ve only seen the High Meadows once in my life, Tahn. And I ate standing up for a week when I got home.” Sutter pointed to the seat of his pants to indicate the lashing he’d received for straying so far from home.

  Tahn felt little of the wonder Sutter showed at the sight of the North Plains. There were too many unanswered questions. The only thing certain was that the B
ar’dyn sought them. Tahn wasn’t sure anymore if the Quiet weren’t really after Vendanj … except that for some reason he believed the Sheason. Traders in the Hollows often stopped by to barter for fur or dried meats. The talk usually turned to the League, and one would say that another Sheason had been put to death. Even small towns like Bollogh had seen the public execution of a renderer. And usually the traders spoke of the lynchings as good things. But Vendanj had healed Wendra, and it brought him no gain to do it. And more than that, when Vendanj chose an action, Tahn always somehow internally agreed, even when his reason cried against it.

  “Why do you think we’re going to Recityv?” Tahn asked Sutter. His friend had the uncanny ability to guess at such things.

  “Recityv,” Sutter repeated, clearly awestruck by the very thought. “Great Will and Sky, that’s—”

  “A long journey,” Mira finished.

  Tahn jumped in surprise. The Far was right behind them, kneeling at a small spring filling her waterskin, and they’d had no idea she was there. “Several weeks’ journey, so pace yourselves.” She lifted her waterskin and drank. Tahn heard mild reproach in her words, as if she were twice as old and much wiser, though she appeared slightly younger than they were.

  “Don’t wander too far when we stop to rest. And don’t leave anything behind, do you understand? I wish you knew how to walk lightly.” She surveyed the ground they’d passed over, and shook her head. “A child could track you. Watch your strides. Choose rocks to step upon when you can.” She plugged her waterskin and turned back toward the horses. Tahn watched her go, each footstep placed quick and light, her cloak filled as a sail in a high wind.

  “Forget it,” Sutter said. “You and a Far? Never. She’s too busy bustling about and swinging her swords. Besides, have you seen her smile? Even once?”

  Yes, Tahn thought, once.

  “Recityv,” Sutter continued. “I don’t think anyone in the Hollows has ever been there. We’ll be legends.”

  “Legends,” Tahn repeated, distracted. “They say Recityv is one of the largest cities east of the Divide. It’s the home of the regent. And you heard Mira, it’s weeks from here. Why is Vendanj taking us there?” He paused, considering. “Sutter, what of our Standing? Who will steward us if we are gone so long? You talk of legends, but until we Stand, we are still melura.” Tahn stopped and looked toward the vast plain before them. Balatin had told him stories of places beyond the Hollows, but the tales had long since blended so that he could no longer tell truth from fable. Staring into the distance and thinking of the threat of Quietgiven and unanswered questions and the risk that he might never Stand, he finished, “It is of no consequence if we die. Our choices have no bearing.…”

  “That’s a cheery thought. Anyway, speak for yourself. I shall be missed.” Sutter doubled his fists and placed them on his hips.

  The familiar posture made Tahn laugh out loud. They turned back to the horses, jumping from rock to rock and chuckling as they went.

  When they reached the horses, they found Vendanj sitting upon a large boulder and Braethen seated on folded legs before him. Wendra leaned against her horse, resting her head against its neck as she listened.

  “Drawing on the Will is not given to all, Braethen. Haven’t your readings taught you as much?” Vendanj took the waterskin from Mira and drank slowly.

  “They have, Vendanj,” Braethen said, his eyes bright with the opportunity to discuss such things with an actual Sheason. “But it is not written how the ability to direct its power is conferred on someone.”

  “Wisely so.” Vendanj returned the water to the Far and closed his eyes a moment, resting. “It was never meant for a renderer to bestow the power of calling on the Will except by the prompting of his own surest feelings. The art and ceremony of conferring this gift is passed down by tradition. It was thought that if it should need to be written down, that man would have failed to fulfill the reason he was created at all, and so ought to perish.” Vendanj spared looks for all those in his company. “I do not believe we have arrived at such a time, but there are those who believe we have.”

  “Who are these?” Wendra asked, still leaning against Ildico, her horse.

  “They are many, Anais Wendra. Some of whom caused our flight from slumber this very morning.” Vendanj stood, throwing a short shadow in the meridian of the day. His dark cloak fell to the ground in long folds.

  Braethen stood likewise.

  Vendanj appraised A’Posian’s son, staring at him in the same manner he had stared at Tahn in the Fieldstone, as though reading the man like a book. An eerie silence settled among them, the wind gone with the clouds, replaced by a high sun that brought the first touches of warmth. The Sheason took a step toward Braethen and spoke. “You are a danger to me unless you understand Forda I’Forza as though they belonged to you as parents. And why, Braethen, did you not become an author? Why play at Sodality in the home of your father?”

  Upbraided publicly, Braethen shrank, unable to answer.

  “You fail again. What value are you to me if you don’t speak and do so honestly? You must be a bitter disappointment to your father.” Vendanj strode away.

  Braethen’s lips parted, but the words came late and sputtered in a whisper.

  “He’s a charmer,” Sutter muttered.

  Braethen slunk onto the practice field and began to weep. Tahn started after him, when Mira caught him.

  “Leave him be. Self-healing is better this time.” The Far gave Tahn a thoughtful look.

  Tahn brushed past Mira and followed Vendanj toward the horses.

  As he came up behind him, he watched the Sheason deliberately stride from horse to horse, softly feeding each a small sprig from the thin wooden case Tahn had seen before. “Strength to you, Solus,” he said, feeding Mira’s horse. “And to you, Suensin,” he finished, proffering a sprig to his own mount. He stroked the horse’s muscled neck and, without turning, said, “What is your question, Tahn?”

  Tahn sputtered syllables, looking for his words. “Why do you assume I seek you with a question?”

  “You’ve come only to talk then?”

  Tahn approached cautiously, deliberately, coming to stand near Suensin’s saddle. There was only one question, a single thing he wanted to know from the strange man who had come into the Hollows with so much knowledge and led them out just ahead of the Bar’dyn. But he needed to frame his question right.

  “You agree to let Braethen come, then you tear him down. You compliment Sutter on his vocation, but question his character. And you tell me I must leave my home to save it. Why the contradictions? Why should we follow you another stride?” Then Tahn came to his real question. “Tell me, why are we going to Recityv? Does it have something to do with why the Quiet invaded the Hollows … invaded my home?”

  Vendanj continued to stroke his horse for a moment. He finally stopped. Behind them, Mira had the rest of the group taking to their mounts. “Tahn,” Vendanj said evenly, “you must trust me for now. You must all trust me. There will be time to speak of these things. But your ignorance is still a protection to you. Only watch. Take care in your choices. Your Standing is soon, and we’ve a long road to Recityv. Stay close to Mira.” He looked at Tahn with his focused stare. “And don’t ever let your feelings—even for those you love—get in the way of the correct path, yours or another’s. Such distractions are a weakness that will undo us.” Vendanj paused, his eyes momentarily distant. “Such is like an interrupted song, whose melody, once lost, leaves you in an awful, deafening silence … forever.”

  Done speaking, the Sheason looked away. He walked Suensin forward and prepared to ride. Tahn turned in anger and took Jole’s reins. He tried to hide his frustration—Sutter saw right through him.

  “What’s gotten under your saddle?”

  Tahn shot Sutter a cold look, and kicked Jole into a canter toward the road. The others came after, Mira soon flanking him. He turned the same cold look on the Far, but her stoic countenance robbed him of his ire.
He thought he saw the trace of another thin smile on her face before she rode ahead to check the road.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Harbingers

  The North Plains rose and fell in long waves, as the road turned gradually northeast. They rode for the better part of two days. Vendanj allowed them a few hours sleep deep in the night, and each time they stopped Mira lined them up to drill with their weapons.

  At dusk the second day, they saw the lights of Bollogh far in the distance.

  “By all my Skies, Tahn, look at that.” Sutter’s face shone with wonder.

  Vendanj rode forward and spoke briefly with Mira. She nodded and again took them off the road, leading them several hundred strides into the trees. “We will rest here,” the Sheason said, coming to the front of the party. “I will return before the dark hour. We will move when I see you again. Braethen, follow me.”

  Vendanj and Braethen rode in the direction of Bollogh, which drew comment from Sutter. “I think maybe I want to be a sodalist,” he said.

  Mira dismounted. “The Bar’dyn are close, so wear your boots to sleep and keep your weapons at hand.”

  “Yeah, this little sword of mine is going to help me if the Bar’dyn stroll into camp looking for a meal,” Sutter said, his sarcasm given with a tired voice.

  “Leave your horses saddled, but loosen the cinches,” Mira said, performing that exact task, removing her cloak, and setting out to scout the outlying area.