Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (15 page)

Most people scorned her, though some simply didn’t know what to say to her and so kept their distance. But Wendra had begun to feel more like herself again, and settled back into her life with smiles and brightness in the small tasks she set herself about. That’s what her father and mother would have done. If she’d learned anything from them, it was that life will come upon you with awful change; how you choose to live with that change is the measure of your worth and happiness.

Wendra had succeeded at that … until the Quiet fell upon her, and coaxed her child from her womb.

The horror of the recent violation caught in her throat as she lay staring into the darkfire. She could still feel the rough hands of the beast on her ankles, hear its guttural voice growling commands as if it knew something about childbirthing. Wendra could feel the passing of the baby into the world, knowing who received it, and that moment ached in her like no other.

She should have done something, but hadn’t been able to.

And then there’d been Tahn.

Wendra had been delirious with fear and pain, but still she thought she saw her brother draw his bow on the Quietgiven but then relax his aim, never shooting. Confusion and anger roiled in her at the memory of it. Had Tahn been too frightened by the sight of the Bar’dyn? Had his friends come in so fast that he feared hitting them? It was a blur in her mind, but more than anything, she remembered the look in her brother’s face. He looked as if he bore some shame, some unnamed, private shame.

Now it hung between them, and she didn’t think she could simply let it go, even though she loved Tahn. Balatin had made it clear before he went to his final earth that when he was gone they must hold to each other above all else. But it would take time for this wound to heal. She knew, eventually, she would find it in herself to let this go. But not today. Her own body still thrummed with its physical loss.

The only other thought that entered her mind was why the Sheason had brought her along. Was it as simple as keeping her and Tahn together? Would she have been in danger if she remained in the Hollows? Though these questions offered some relief from more bitter thoughts, they likewise plagued her.

So she put her songbox on the floor before her eyes and hummed its melody. It reminded her of Balatin, and that was a comfort.

Soon she departed the familiar tune and wove melodies of her own as she often did, allowing them to escape her lips so softly that none might hear. These new airs came darker, mournful, and with a tinge of real anger. Something in them soothed Wendra’s beleaguered mind enough that she fell into dreams, though they were haunted by the events of the day.

A shrill cry woke her from her doze. Blackness still cloaked the room. She sat up, her eyes staring wide into the emptiness around her. Braethen immediately stood and drew his sword. A loud thud struck the floor behind them. Wendra whirled to see Sutter had fallen from his sitting slumber. He smiled sheepishly. Mira was gone, her chair empty. Again the cry tore the silence of the predawn, this time louder and closer: “Bar’dyn!”

CHAPTER TEN

A Maere and Training

The door to the cabin slammed inward, falling from its hinges to the floor in a resounding crash. A figure filled the doorway, his cloak swaying behind him. “Come! Now!” Vendanj ordered, his voice low but intense. Tahn pulled Wendra out the door into the twilight. Mira had unlashed the horses and held them at the ready. Sleep still fogged Tahn’s eyes, but he climbed atop Jole as the others clambered onto their mounts. Mira helped Wendra up.

“No talking, just ride. Follow me,” Mira said as she returned their reins to each of them. In an instant she leapt onto her own horse and led them down the ravine that paralleled the road. Tahn tried to wait and come last, behind Sutter and Braethen. Vendanj came alongside him and grabbed Jole’s tack.

“Stay close to Mira.” There was no room for argument in the Sheason’s voice. Tahn looked at Wendra. “I will watch her,” Vendanj said, and pulled Jole forward.

The renderer and Wendra came after, leaving Sutter and Braethen at the rear. In the sky to their right, the sun strengthened beyond the horizon. They tore through scrub oak and trees overgrown as a result of generous rains. Tahn kept one arm before his eyes, protecting them from errant limbs, as they galloped into a shallow tributary to the Huber River. Mira veered right, following the stream toward the north road. The water splashed up around them as the horses picked up speed. The stream widened, strips of rock and sand emerging for them to travel on. They raced toward the sunrise as battle cries rose into the morning stillness around them. The din shook the very leaves of the trees, seeming to vibrate up from beneath them. A bridge appeared around a wide bend in the tributary, the horizon behind it now bright with the imminent arrival of the sun. From beneath the other side of the bridge, deep in the shadows of a stand of tall yews, a darker shadow appeared.

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 Bar’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.