He should make her admit it. He would...
He could not trust himself.
Surprised by this self-knowledge, he dropped to his knees in the sandy soil behind the chicken coop. Heat and power radiated from his skin, making the chill moonlit air feel luxurious.
A sound made him turn.
Aravelle stood there in her night shirt, wet hair down to her knees. She finished weaving it into a braid and flicked it over her shoulder. ‘Your gift was troubling you?’
Ronnyn lifted his hands. ‘It gets into my head. It changes the way I think and feel. I tell myself I won’t let it, but it does.’
‘You’ll learn to control it.’
He didn’t want to control it. He wanted to use it. ‘Go away.’
‘You’ve got to come inside.’ She took a step closer. ‘Dinner’s ready. They’re waiting for–’
He sprang to his feet, caught her arm and swung her up against the chicken coop wall; felt his gift surge.
Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Don’t do this. You’ll be sorry tomorrow.’
He was dimly aware she was right, but...
Something slammed into the back of his knee. His leg crumpled and he fell.
‘Back to the house, Vella.’ Asher’s voice was hard.
She ran off, but only a body length.
Ronnyn rose from a crouch, turning at the same time.
Asher stepped back, cane raised. ‘Do you want to break your mother’s heart?’
And the madness left him as his gift dissipated into the night.
With a groan, he sank to his knees in the cold sandy soil. Tears of shame burned his eyes, and silent sobs shook his shoulders.
‘The greater the gift, the harder it is to control,’ Asher said softly. ‘That’s why the T’En females separate the boys when they get to your age. The power surges. It clouds the mind–’
‘I hate it!’ Ronnyn said and, at that moment, he meant it. He rubbed his face, trying to catch his breath. ‘I’m sorry. I planned to leave in the spring.’
‘He did.’ Aravelle backed him up.
‘Too late. We’ll pack up and go...’
‘Ma can’t travel with the baby due.’ Ronnyn pulled himself to his feet, had to lean against the chicken shed. He felt tired and flat. ‘I should go alone.’
‘Alone?’ Aravelle echoed.
‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’ Asher reached out. Ronnyn felt a firm warm hand on his shoulder. ‘I know you can do this, son.’
‘I have to, don’t I?’ He sucked in a shaky breath, then looked to his father. ‘I’m all right now. Please don’t tell Ma.’
‘We’ll just tell her it’s time to go home.’
So he went inside, ate his dinner and, when it was time for bed, Aravelle made herself a nest in front of the fireplace, despite his offer to sleep on the floor.
As he lay down in the loft with the two little boys, who were already asleep, he thought he’d never drift off. At the same time, he was so tired, he couldn’t think clearly.
Ronnyn woke to a muffled noise. Had a possum climbed in and raided the larder again? His father would have to chase it around the cottage. No, Asher couldn’t run anymore. He would have to go down the ladder, catch the silly thing and...
His mother gave a ragged cry, alarming in its intensity.
‘Baby coming?’ he whispered, looking for Aravelle.
But she wasn’t there. The events of last night returned to him. He felt shame, but also relief now that their father knew.
Vittor sat up, rubbing his face, and Tamaron grumbled as he rolled over.
Ronnyn was going to tell them to go back to sleep, but an unknown male voice cut him off. Another unknown male voice answered.
Strangers in their cottage?
Had the brotherhood found them?
An angry curse made Vittor gasp and Tamaron sit bolt upright. Both little boys looked to Ronnyn, who lifted a finger to his lips. Vittor and Tamaron nodded.
He felt the weight of their trust.
Signalling for silence, he crept to the edge of the loft to peer down into the room below. No silver hair, or even copper.
They were Mieren.
Five men. He recognised Trader Kolbik, but none of the others.
So that was how they had been found... betrayed and hunted down by the trader. Ronnyn’s stomach clenched; one of them had Aravelle by her plait.
Another, a brute with huge shoulders and a barrel chest, held their father on his knees, with his arms pinned behind his back. The fourth, a youth with crooked front teeth, held a lantern high.
The last one was a mean-looking man with a thin, ferrety face. He advanced on their mother and tried to pull Ronnyn’s little sister away from her. Itania squealed as the stranger’s fingers pressed cruelly into her chubby arms.
‘Don’t hurt her,’ Sasoria cried in T’En, then switched to Chalcedonian. ‘Please, don’t–’
The ferret-faced stranger cuffed Ronnyn’s mother. She released Itania, staggering until she hit the wall. And there she stayed with one hand under her heavy belly to support the weight.
‘Sasoria!’ Asher roared, struggling against his captor. The brute forced him down, crushing his face into the reed mat, muffling his cries.
The others laughed, their strange, shallow eyes gleaming.
‘Bring me the Wyrd brat.’ Kolbik gestured. ‘Bring the lantern closer.’
Ferret-face presented Itania to the trader. Ronnyn’s little sister froze; she must have been terrified. As Kolbik turned her plump little hands over to count the fingers, righteous indignation filled Ronnyn and he burned to protect her.
‘She’s got the six fingers and the mulberry eyes, but,’ Kolbik dropped Itania’s hands disgustedly, ‘her hair’s copper. Only a half-blood, like the parents and the girl.’
Ferret-face thrust Itania into Sasoria’s arms and turned to confront the trader. ‘You said there was a full-blood. So where is he? We get five silver coins for a silverhead, and only one for a copperhead!’
‘What does he mean?’ Vittor whispered.
Ronnyn covered his brother’s mouth.
Too late. Kolbik’s eyes went straight to them.
‘There!’ Kolbik pointed. ‘There’s all the silverheads you could ask for!’
The Mieren looked up.
The brute grunted in surprise. ‘But their hair’s white.’
‘Be thankful it is,’ Kolbik said. ‘If it was silver, it would mean they’d come into their gifts. The children have no power.’
‘Then we don’t have to worry about looking into their eyes,’ ferret-face said.
‘Run, Ronnyn!’ Sasoria cried in T’En.
Ronnyn scrambled away from the ladder with Tamaron clinging to him. Vittor joined him at the far end of the loft. The only way to go was out the tiny window. He could push the others onto the roof, then crawl out after them, jump to the ground and run, but his little brothers would never reach the hide.
Besides, Ronnyn couldn’t leave his parents and sisters to the Mieren.
Ferret-face came up the ladder. He grabbed Tamaron’s ankle and pulled. ‘Got you!’
The four-year-old shrieked and clutched Ronnyn’s legs, his nails scraping.
‘Don’t hurt him!’ Vittor sprang towards the ladder, striking the Mieren’s head and shoulders.
Ronnyn grabbed Vittor and pulled him away. But ferret-face caught Vittor’s nightshirt and dragged him towards the ladder like a puppy. Vittor locked his arms around Ronnyn, holding on for dear life. Now that he was free, Tamaron launched himself at the Mieren, hitting his back and shoulders with tiny, furious fists. Ronnyn was so proud of him.
And so afraid for him; for all his family.
Ferret-face caught Tamaron. ‘Catch the cub, Kolbik.’
There were muffled noises from below as Tamaron was dropped into waiting arms, then ferret-face turned to deal with Ronnyn and Vittor.
‘It’s all right.’ Ronnyn squeezed Vittor’s arms. He glanced over to f
erret-face and spoke Chalcedonian. ‘We’re coming down.’
‘Sure you are.’ The man climbed up into the loft, hunching double beneath the roof.
‘Go on, Vittor.’ Ronnyn sent him ahead down the ladder.
Then he went next. When his chest was level with the bed, the ferret-face spoke. ‘Eh, silverhead?’
Ronnyn looked up and ferret-face’s fist slammed into his face.
Chapter Thirty-Four
ARAVELLE GASPED AS the Mieren punched Ronnyn. Her brother flew back off the ladder. The Mieren scattered. Ronnyn’s head and shoulders hit the kitchen table with a horrible dull thud. Her mother cried out in protest. The table creaked, then collapsed.
In the ensuing silence, Kolbik swore. ‘He’s worth five silver coins!’
‘He’s not worth anything if we can’t control him,’ the thin-faced one said as he came down the ladder, then stepped over Ronnyn’s legs. ‘Now he’ll think twice before he gives us trouble.’
Aravelle did not dare move, but she searched Ronnyn’s face. Blood poured from his nose. Was his chest moving? Yes. Relief made her dizzy and slightly nauseous.
Someone had put a bounty on their heads.
The ferrety Mieren stepped around the collapsed table and went over to where the brute held her father down. He grabbed Asher by the hair and jerked him up to his knees. ‘Where are they? Where’s the precious stones Kolbik told us about?’
‘Give them the torc,’ her mother said in Chalcedonian. ‘Vella, show them where it is.’
‘Show them, Vella,’ her father urged.
She understood why she should cooperate, but her heart was ripe with rebellion as she knelt in front of the hearth to remove the stone. First she pulled out the leather satchel with the brotherhood cards.
The trader exclaimed over these. ‘Very fine. But I saw gems, yellow gems. Where are they?’
Carefully, she removed the mat and the box.
The trader tucked the card satchel under one arm and snatched the box from her, shook it, then tried to pry it open. He thrust it at her disgustedly. ‘Open it.’
She wanted to defy him, but didn’t dare. Hating herself, she obeyed, springing the catch to reveal her mother’s torc.
At the sight of it all, the Mieren fell silent. One of them whistled.
Kolbik took the box from her and removed the torc. It hung from his fingers, a thing of palaces and princes, completely out of place in their driftwood cottage.
‘Now you have it, take it and go,’ her father said. ‘Leave us alone. We’ve never done you any harm.’
‘How much is that worth, Kolbik?’ the ferret-faced Mieren asked, eyes aglow with avarice.
‘As much as I can get for it. Half goes to me. That’s our agreement.’
‘Come on.’ He hauled Aravelle to her feet. ‘What else is in there?’
‘Nothing.’ Aravelle’s voice cracked.
The leader gestured to Kolbik, who dropped to his knees to search the space under the stone. ‘Nothing.’
‘There’s this.’ Ferret-face held up the tusk their father had carved. ‘That’s got to be worth something. And this.’ He lifted the cane.
‘I’ll take that.’ Kolbik claimed the cane.
‘Take it. Take it all and go,’ Asher urged. ‘Just leave us alone.’
‘Not likely.’ Ferret-face cuffed Aravelle. ‘Collect everything of value.’
On Kolbik’s orders, she dragged the quilt off her parent’s bed and piled everything onto it, the pots and pans, the crockery, her father’s poems, the zither, the inks and the spiced-wine herb chest. All the while she was aware of Ronnyn lying unmoving in an ever-increasing circle of blood on the collapsed table.
Meanwhile, the others drove the rest of her family outside. When she heard the hens cackling indignantly and the nanny-goat bleating, she realised the Mieren meant to take everything. How would her family survive?
Then it hit her. They weren’t staying. They’d been taken captive to exchange for a bounty of silver coins. They should have gone back to their people while they still could.
Ferret-face carried the quilt filled with all their possessions outside.
‘Now bring him,’ the trader told Aravelle, nodding towards Ronnyn, who had not moved.
She ran around the collapsed table and knelt next to her brother. Where he wasn’t covered in blood, he was pale. His nose was swollen and he breathed through his mouth.
‘Ronnyn?’ she whispered, hoping he was playing possum.
He did not stir. Her heart shrivelled with fear.
Kolbik laughed wildly and she looked up in time to see her parents’ bed catch fire. The base, stuffed with dried dune grass, burned fiercely. As she watched, the trader tossed a burning brand into the loft above.
Smoke quickly filled the cottage, making Aravelle’s eyes burn. But it was tears of rage that nearly blinded her as she slid her arms under Ronnyn’s broad shoulders and dragged him off the table, out the door and down onto the sand.
The brute had her father restrained on his knees and, further along, her mother crouched in the sand with the three little ones. One of the Mieren strode down the beach swinging squawking chickens by their legs. He tossed the birds into the boat. With their wings clipped, they couldn’t escape. She felt as helpless.
Aravelle dragged Ronnyn over to her mother, then knelt, holding his head so sand wouldn’t get into the wound. Her mother inspected his injuries, first his nose, then the back of his head.
‘Will he be alright, Ma?’ Vittor asked. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the flames.
‘Of course he will. Now sit still and be quiet.’
And he was satisfied, but Aravelle held her mother’s eyes. This was bad. This was...
‘I’ve seen men walk away with worse,’ Sasoria whispered.
‘What did he mean, five silver coins for a silverhead?’
Sasoria shook her head.
A particularly sharp crack made them both turn.
The cottage roof had caved in.
Itania clutched Aravelle’s arm. Flames painted her little sister’s sweet face in shades of orange, and the tear tracks glistened on her cheeks.
It was amazing how quickly the cottage burned.
Heat beat on Aravelle’s face, making her skin feel tight. The blazing building lit up the night, bright as the double full-moons. But unlike that lovely silvery light, this light was filled with crazy, leaping shadows. Everything had a reddish glow, as if stained with blood.
The Mieren backed off as the flames roared, reaching into the sky. Leaping and crackling, the fire spat and growled like a pack of caged beasts, the noise so loud it drowned out all other sounds.
Beside Aravelle, little Tamaron clung to Vittor. The four year-old’s shoulders shook with silent sobs, while the six-year-old stared at their burning home, the fire reflected in the depths of his furious mulberry eyes.
She had to look away. She couldn’t bear to see their home burn.
Glancing over her shoulder, down the beach, Aravelle noticed the Mieren’s fishing ketch. It was larger than her father’s and floated in the shallows of their sheltered cove.
‘Kolbik?’ her father yelled. ‘Trader Kolbik?’
The trader crossed the sand to Asher, who knelt at the brute’s feet. Due to the roaring fire, Aravelle couldn’t hear what her father was saying, but she could tell by the way he jerked his head towards the boat that he was telling them to take their booty and go.
Kolbik laughed and turned his back on Asher, approaching the rest of her family. He caught Aravelle’s arm, hauling her to her feet so quickly Ronnyn’s head slid off her lap onto the sand.
Sasoria sprang to her feet and tried to step between them, and Kolbik raised his hand to her mother. Miraculously, her father pulled the trader off them. But the brute caught her father by the shoulders and swung him around. His bad leg collapsed under him and he fell, sprawling.
When Sasoria tried to help him up, the brute shoved her aside s
o that she fell in the sand next to Asher, who clutched his thigh, grimacing in pain.
Vittor tried to go to their aid, but Aravelle grabbed him. Tamaron and Itania sobbed inconsolably.
‘Stay, Vittor.’ She spoke into his ear so he could hear her over the roar of the fire. ‘Look after Tam and Tani. Stay with Ronnyn.’
He nodded. The ferret-faced Mieren had hauled her mother upright. Now he swung Sasoria around by the neckline of her gown. The material tore as she staggered, falling in the soft sand.
Vittor tugged on Aravelle’s arm, pointing to Ronnyn, who stirred.
She dropped to her knees and leant over him, asking if he was all right. He pushed away from her and sat up blinking, much to Aravelle’s relief.
Blood drenched the shoulders, back and chest of his night shirt. He blinked as if having trouble focusing.
‘My head,’ he mouthed, then lurched to his knees to bring up his dinner.
She rubbed his back as he wiped his mouth. The fire’s roar was dying down now. ‘Are you all right?’
He nodded, then winced. ‘But the fire...’ He slurred his words. ‘The brotherhood’ll find us.’
Had he lost his wits?
‘Too late. The Mieren already found us.’
He looked confused.
‘The trader betrayed us. Don’t you remember?’ She moved out of his way and gestured to the Mieren, who were silhouetted against their burning cottage.
Ronnyn swayed on his haunches and blinked, as though the world did not make sense to him.
The ferret-faced Mieren hauled their mother to her knees. Her long copper braid had unravelled and her hair fell forward, covering breasts exposed by the ruined nightdress.
‘Don’t look,’ the brute warned. ‘They say Wyrd women can ensnare the unwary!’
‘Only if you let them,’ Kolbik said. ‘I recommend cutting out their tongues!’
Asher tore loose from the brute. Charging the trader from behind, he pulled Kolbik’s knife from his belt and stabbed him in the back before anyone could move. Even before the trader’s body hit the sand, Asher launched himself at ferret-face, knocking the youth flying as he passed. The lantern went spinning.
Exile Page 37
