Seventh Born

by Rachel Rossano

  “What are you going to do?” Renato’s taste interrupted my thoughts.

  “We have time. Their plans of creating greater talents by intermarriage are going to take generations to come to fruition. However, I need to begin working on a counter plan now. That is why I am speaking with you.” I stopped in the center of the path. The gatehouse rose before us, a gray solid shadow within the world of white. “Will you help me?”

  “Of course,” Renato replied as he squinted at me through the snow flecks on his eyelashes.

  “You cannot speak to anyone about this.”

  He shrugged. “I figured as much. What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t have time to study the previous movement’s tactics and philosophies. Study them and report to me anything of value. I need to understand them before I can find a way to defeat them.”

  He nodded. “Consider it done, master. I will make my first report tomorrow.”

  I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at my mouth. “I knew you would be a help to me.” We shook hands and then turned to enter the gatehouse.

  A rush of warm air greeted us as we crossed the threshold. The senior gatekeeper, a wizened old talent in his late seventies, closed the door behind us. Across the broad wooden floor at then end of a long trail of puddles, the High King’s envoy stood with his back to the fire.

  “This way, Sept Son, sir,” the gatekeeper instructed. I looked down on his wrinkled face and tried to recall his name. “Do you wish me to take your cloak?”

  “Hume,” Renato supplied.

  “No. Thank you, Hume. I prefer to keep it.”

  As we approached, the envoy stepped away from the fire. Executing a formal salute, he simultaneously produced a heavily sealed packet from a worn leather satchel. “Greetings from the Mesitas in the name of High King Honorus, may he live forever.”

  “May your message be good news, Envoy. May I ask your name?” I asked as I accepted the packet from his hand.

  “Orthius, master.” Surprised flickered behind his eyes, but he kept his features schooled into an expression of solemnity.

  “Hume, please take Orthius to the kitchen and see that he is fed well.” Then turning back to the messenger I said, “I shall review this immediately so that by the time you return I shall have an answer. Enjoy your meal.”

  “Thank you, master.” He saluted again before trailing after Hume in the direction of the stairs to the kitchen.

  Not waiting until they were out of sight, I broke the seven seals on the outer parchment and began unfolding. Three letters were enclosed: one with the seal of the Mesitas, one with the seals of the six lower kings, and finally, one with the seal of High King Honorus and the seal of death. The seal of death was affixed to both the inside and outside of the High King’s last wishes to be carried out after his death. As Sept Son, I was to be the one to see that his wishes were carried out.

  “Then it is time.” I looked up to find Renato staring at the last missive and the black wax seal.

  “It appears so.” Tucking the High King’s last wishes beneath my cloak in the pocket of my overshirt, I turned my attention to Mesitas’ letter.

  After two long paragraphs of the usual diplomatic wording, he finally got to the point. The High King was dying and would pass at any moment. He urged me to make great haste to the capital as soon as possible, for if I should miss the High King’s death, he would be forced to take on the role of proclaiming the next High King.

  The second letter from the six lower kings declared their intention to follow the Mesitas’ leadership until my arrival. They also requested that I notify someone who would be the next High King, so that they could begin preparations for taking the high throne.

  I was still mulling over all of this and trying to understand what it could mean when my eyes fell upon the date at the top of the kings’ letter, Hornatat III. It was Hornatat XX, three days to the high holy day of the goddess on the XXIII when the High King, ailing or not, observed the rituals in the temple of the goddess. If High King Honorus rose from his death bed to fulfill his duties, he would surely return to it dead or on the brink of death. I had three days to reach the capital.

  “Renato, inform Giles I leave immediately. Tell him to pack lightly for only two days of travel and then follow with everything else.”

  “You are leaving?”

  “I am returning with the envoy. The High King is dying and the Mesitas is attempting to strip me of my duties at his death bed by informing me too late.”

  “In that case, are you sure it is safe to travel with the envoy?”

  I lifted my face to find him watching me with worried brown eyes. I smiled. “If you are concerned for my safety, you may accompany me. I would welcome your company.”

  “I would be honored, master.” An eager light shone in his eyes.

  I could not help the smile. “Then do as I instructed you and then pack for yourself. Pack light for I intend to travel quickly by horseback. You do ride, yes?”

  “Practically grew up with a horse between my knees.”

  “Good. Now go. After I inform the envoy of my intentions, I shall return to my study to gather a few things. Meet me there.”

  With a swift salute, Renato gathered his cloak about him and rushed out into the cold. Left alone to my thoughts, I immediately reached out to my own Master. Almighty. You know the path that has been laid out at my feet and You see the end of every decision. Please grant me wisdom that I might choose Your will. May all this be to Your glory. Amen.

  Seeking out Orthius, the messenger, in the kitchen, I found him devouring a warm meal of stew and bread. Upon seeing me, he quickly rose to his feet, almost knocking over the chair in his haste.

  “Please be seated,” I entreated him. He shook his head as he attempted to swallow his mouthful. “I only came to tell you not to rush. I shall be accompanying you as well as a friend of mine on your return trip. It will take me a little time to pack; so, enjoy your meal and lay down for a short rest. Someone will come for you when my friend and I are ready.”

  “Very well, master,” he replied and bowed, but did not return to his seat until after I had left the room.

  After a brief trot across to my study, I shook off my cloak and began the preparations for departing. I was just stacking the last of the letters that needed my immediate attention when Tristan and Horace both burst through the door.

  “What is this about you leaving?” Horace demanded.

  “You cannot leave without an escort,” Tristan informed me, as he pinned me with his piercing eyes. “The prophecy alone is reason enough to be cautious.”

  “If the goddess wants him dead there is nothing he can do to prevent it,” Horace contested, turning to Tristan. “However he cannot be leaving now. It is the middle of the yearly hermitage. The Sept Son has never left the compound during the hermitage in all of our history.”

  “Forget the hermitage, Horace, and the goddess has no power here. That prophecy was just a cover. The Mesitas is just using it so he can assassinate Hadrian and then call it the goddess’ will.” Turning back to me, Tristan thumped his fist down on the desk, sending pages flying. “I am telling you, Hadrian, this is a plot to kill you off. How do you know the envoy isn’t an assassin?”

  Meeting his worried gaze, I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t Tristan. I told you already, my life is in the Almighty’s hands.” Horace made the sign of the goddess before his forehead and took a step back.

  “You know I believe in the Almighty, to an extent, but faith doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use your head, Hadrian. At least take an armed guard.” Tristan leaned forward. “Please, for my sake.”

  “I am taking Renato with me. He should be enough. I don’t want to seem arrogant, but I am an adult. I know how to handle myself.”

  “But can you watch your back?” Tristan asked.

  I met his worried gaze and smiled slightly. “I told you. I am taking Renato to do that.”

  Straightening, with a s
igh, Tristan frowned. “You always were a stubborn one, boy.”

  I grimaced at him. He was twenty years my senior, enough to give him right to call me boy.

  Seeing his chance to further his argument, Horace jumped into the fray again. “The Sept Son never leaves the compound during the winter hermitage,” he proclaimed.

  Closing my eyes, I sat down in my desk chair. “You are telling me that a High King has never died during the winter before? That seems hardly possible. The winter is called the dying time for a reason, Horace.”

  “At least not in his first year as Sept Son,” he protested weakly.

  Leaning forward, I looked up into Horace’s thin face. “I am leaving to attend the High King’s deathbed, Horace. If I do not do this, there will be no next year for me as Sept Son. Mesitas will flay me raw and then lay me on the altar before the goddess as a sacrifice, and the lower kings will cheer him as he does it. This is my final word. I am leaving and I am leaving now.” Buckling the flap of my watertight document pouch, I rose. “Farewell to both of you and pray that the Almighty will bless me and keep me.”

  Horace frowned, but he nodded his farewell. Tristan offered a formal salute. “May He guide your steps, Sept Son.”

  I recognized his blessing. “Thank you, Tristan. I shall see you both soon.” Then before either of them could offer another word of comment, I left the office for my quarters after leaving a message for Renato to meet me there instead. Tristan and Horace were only the first in the long line of differing opinions I would receive if I waited for Renato in my office. At least this way I would only have to deal with Giles’ complaining until he showed up at the door.

  Chapter VIII

  Zezilia

  “Just a little higher,” Candra called down from the tree house. I concentrated harder and the board lifted two inches. “Now a little to the left.” The board shifted. “Perfect.” The sound of metal striking metal rang out as she pounded one of the nails that Selwyn made us into the wood.

  “Hurry up,” I called. It wasn’t that holding the board in place was difficult. She was always quick with the hammer. However, I was eager to get back to our conversation. All afternoon I had been prodding her for information on Ilias, Errol’s elusive and mysterious former student.

  Usually, such questions got me nowhere. A family pact to tell me nothing useful about Ilias always stopped me from finding out anything interesting and Selwyn was a tomb, sealed tight about anything to do with his brother. I couldn’t even find out if Ilias was his older or younger brother. It was all extremely frustrating, and I was about to give up until this morning.

  Candra and I were working on the tree house as we always did on my days off. The structure was growing. We had a floor, well supported by the branches beneath and strategically placed braces. The walls progressed slowly though. Each board needed to be hoisted from the ground to the floor of the tree house. Then it took both of us to wrestle it into place. Once there, one of us had to manage hammer and nails single-handedly to nail it into position. After the twentieth or so nail dropping into the mud below, Candra lost it.

  “Stinking board, ornery nail, and slummy hammer,” she cried and let go of her end of the board. It fell to the floor, cracking my knee on its way down.

  “Ouch,” I cried. “What did you do that for?”

  “I am sick of this. Nothing stays still. We are going to have to quit because I am not going to keep losing nails like this. I will just have to beg Selwyn to help me tomorrow while you are studying.”

  “How could Selwyn help?” I asked as I nursed my throbbing knee. It was cold out, which made the pain worse.

  “He could matter lift them for me and then I would have both hands for the hammer and the nail.” She frowned at the board. “It will go much faster.”

  Suddenly she smiled. “You are matter lifting now aren’t you?” she asked slyly. “I know you are. Father mentioned it at dinner months ago that you had your first lesson. Lift the boards for me, please, Zez, please.”

  The Code of Talents filled my head. One of the first rules for trainees was the limitations on matter lifting. ‘A trainee is only allowed to lift, manipulate, or move matter when his trainer or a talent authorized by the trainer is present. This is for the protection of both the trainee and the non-talented.’

  “Please. You can do it can’t you?”

  “Yes,” I admitted reluctantly. I hadn’t disobeyed Errol before and I was nervous about it. But it wasn’t disobeying Errol. It was stretching a rule. Candra had grown up around talents. She knew the risks and she could take care of herself. Besides, I had done it perfectly every time in practice.

  “Please, Zez. I will give you anything in return.”

  That caught my attention. “You will tell me about Ilias? Answer any questions I have?”

  She looked uncertain at that. “I promised my father that I wouldn’t talk about him.”

  “Well, the code book says I shouldn’t matter lift things without your father here.”

  We looked at each other for a long time. Candra’s eyes moved to the board on the deck before us and then to the already placed two at the base of the wall. “Without doing it, this is going to take forever to finish this isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  She sighed. “I will do it if you will.”

  “Deal,” I agreed.

  That was five boards ago. We were working on the second wall and I had found out gobs about Ilias. He was the best tree climber that Candra had ever met, even better than Selwyn. He once sneaked off with Errol’s favorite writing pen and held it captive for ransom for three weeks. Errol finally paid the ransom, which was allowing Candra to go on the yearly camping trip with the trainees. Every time he sang, Eloine got all cow-eyed and drooled. And most important, Ilias was Selwyn’s younger brother.

  Now, as I lifted the next board, I planned what to ask next. I was most curious about where Ilias was now. After such a memorable career as a student and all the praise that Errol and the girls heaped on his memory, I dearly wondered what he might be doing now. I could imagine he was the second in rank to the Sept Son or one of the overseers that the Sept Son used to check on trainers. I always found it curious that no overseer ever came to look at what Errol was teaching me. According to what Errol was making me read me about the structure of the training system, an overseer should have stopped by over a month ago.

  “A little higher,” Candra called from above. She was perched above me, straddling the branch with hammer in one hand and a fist full of nails in the other. “Now to the right.”

  I nudged the board to the right. Suddenly a loud crack ripped through the air and jerked my attention from the task.

  “Zez, don’t let go of the board,” Candra yelled, but it was too late. The board fell forward, knocking Candra from her perch. She screamed as she fell, head first toward the ground. Her shoulder hit a branch with a snap that sounded like bone. The blow swung her body around, but not enough. She was still falling head first and would break her neck when she struck the frozen earth beneath the mud.

  Instinctively, I reached out with my amoveo and wrapped the energy around her middle. Remembering how it had felt when Selwyn had lifted me months ago, I tried to make the touch firm, but gentle, applying pressure over a wide area. For a moment I was frightened that I had done something wrong because she continued to fall, just at a slower rate. Then, as I concentrated, she stopped falling and hung in the air less than a foot from the ground.

  “Are you alright, Candra?” I called. My voice shook as I struggled to keep my concentration on both holding her and speaking.

  A muffled sob was the only response. She didn’t move.

  Not sure I could climb down and still hold her I gently lowered her to the ground. I slowly released my hold on her and her body relaxed against the earth. As her shoulder touched the ground, she let out a sharp cry and dissolved into sobs.

  “I am coming,” I called as I scrambled to climb down. My skirt and cloak
kept getting in the way and I jumped the last little bit. “I am sorry, Candra. I am so sorry.” I crawled through the rotting leaves and half-frozen mud to her side. A hard pressure formed at the back of my throat. I tried to swallow it, but it wouldn’t move. “Are you alright?”

  “Of course, I am not alright,” she finally responded. It was a yell more than an answer. Turning her face from me she continued to cry. “It hurts.”

  “What hurts?” I reached out to touch her, but she shooed me away with her good hand only to moan in pain. “What do you want me to do?” I asked in desperation.

  “Go get Father,” she demanded and curled up in a ball.

  I instantly obeyed. Scrambling to my feet, I lit out running toward the house. Once, years before, I had beaten three of the boys my age at running in a race. When I bragged about it to my mother, she made me promise to never race with the boys again. It wasn’t ladylike behavior and below my station. I hadn’t run in a race since, but I am certain that my feet barely touched the ground between Candra and the house.

  Barging into the kitchen, I found Galatea leaning over the stove. She looked at me as though I was possessed. “What is the matter, Zez?”

  I couldn’t speak. My lungs were on fire and if I did anything but breathe I coughed. It took me a minute to finally gasp out, “Errol.”

  “Study, but...”

  I didn’t wait until she finished. Stumbling through the door into the hall, I then careened in the direction of the study. Upon reaching the door, I pounded with all my strength.

  “What is the matter?” Errol demanded as he opened the door. Suddenly relieved of my support, I fell into the room and landed on my knees at his feet.

  “Candra. Hurt. Tree house.”

  “What?”

  I tried again. “Candra is hurt. Tree house.” Then in desperation I pictured Candra falling and then as I had last seen her, wretched and huddled on the ground beneath the tree house. Pushing the images at him hard, I willed him to understand.