Exile (51 page)

They lay amidst almond-scented candles that had burned down to puddles of wax. They lay in each other’s arms, the devotees’ head on Vittoryxe’s shoulder, united in death as they had been in life.

Imoshen heard a ragged intake of breath from behind her. ‘Yes, Vittoryxe chose death over exile.’

‘There’s not a mark on their bodies,’ Saffazi whispered.

‘She was a gift-tutor,’ Imoshen said. ‘She chose to die by the gift, taking herself and her devotee to the higher plane. Making the passage like that means they stood a better chance of reaching death’s realm.’

‘Poor thing,’ Iraayel whispered.

‘It was their choice,’ Saffazi said, an edge of contempt to her voice.

Iraayel gestured to the devotee. ‘What choice did she have?’

‘There’s always choice,’ Imoshen insisted. ‘As long as there’s life, there’s hope.’

‘Exactly,’ Saffazi supported her. ‘They were weak.’

Imoshen was inclined to agree, but... ‘They could not bear the thought of exile. I wonder how many times this has been enacted in other crypts, and been quietly sealed over.’

‘We’ll know by the missing faces,’ Iraayel said.

‘And now we’ll have a new gift-tutor.’ Saffazi was pleased. ‘One who doesn’t make learning a chore.’

Imoshen swore, startling them. They looked to her in surprise.

‘Our sisterhood has no other gift-tutor.’ Imoshen gestured to Vittoryxe. ‘At sixty-seven, she was in the prime of life; she hadn’t begun training someone to replace her.’

‘Then it was selfish of her to kill herself,’ Iraayel said in his calm, measured voice.

Imoshen sighed. ‘Come on. The others will be wondering where we are.’

Leaving almond-scented death and defeat behind, Imoshen stepped out into crisp, autumn sunshine.

She told the Malaunje with the cartload of gift treatises to head off. Then she mounted up, turning away from the sisterhood’s palace, and away from minds too rigidly bound by custom to accept a new life. ‘Come on.’

All-mother Ceriane’s sisterhood was headed down the causeway road. Imoshen guided her horse beside the slowly moving carts and wagons, aiming to catch up with the tail end of her sisterhood.

It was hard to tell, but she thought the last of her people would be out of the city by the early afternoon. When they left, the gates would remain standing open. It felt wrong to leave the city vulnerable to the Mieren.

They passed under the causeway gate, moving from the shadow of the tunnel into sunshine. The horses’ hooves clopped on the stone causeway and the wagon wheels rattled.

The first seventeen years of her life had been spent on Lighthouse Isle, a prisoner of All-father Rohaayel’s brotherhood. For nearly thirteen years now, she’d lived in the Celestial City, a prisoner of the sisterhoods’ expectations and the brotherhoods’ resentment.

Imoshen sat a little straighter in the saddle. Ahead of her, at the end of the causeway, the barons and their men watched them pass. The townsfolk watched from windows and balconies.

In a way, Vittoryxe was right. Exile would force change on her people, and Imoshen would be the architect of that change. She was going to oversee the end of the T’Enatuath, at least the T’Enatuath as the old ones knew it.

Imoshen felt as if she’d been set free.

S
ORNE FELT AS
if he’d come home. He’d had no trouble finding his way back to Restoration Retreat, and when he saw the wisp of smoke drifting from the chimney of the main building, he knew he’d guessed correctly. Zabier had re-opened the retreat without telling anyone. Valendia had to be here.

As he rode up the steep switch-back road, leading the second horse, he was prepared to bluff his way past Zabier’s assistant, past the penitents to Valendia herself. After all, he wore Oskane’s ring.

He half expected someone to call out to him when he approached the gate, but no one did. Above the wall, he could see the autumn leaves of the maple tree, and he could imagine the courtyard, filled with dappled sunlight and fallen leaves.

The problem was Utzen. Zabier’s assistant had never liked him, and might not believe anything Sorne said. In that case, Sorne was prepared to incapacitate the old man and spirit Valendia away before the penitents realised what was happening.

He swung down from the saddle and knocked on the gate. The last time he had been here, the gate had stood open, the retreat had been deserted and he had laid the she-Wyrd’s bones to rest. He had not been able to save her, but he would save his sister.

A bird cried overhead.

He waited.

When nothing happened, he rapped on the wood again. ‘Open in the name of the king and the high priest of Chalcedonia.’

The eye-slot slid back. He couldn’t see the person who studied him from the shadows, but after a moment, he heard the bolts being drawn and the gate swung open.

Before he could enter, Valendia threw her arms around him. ‘Sorne, it is you!’

He was a little startled, as he’d expected a penitent to open the gate, but this was even better. He hugged her, pressing his lips to her forehead, whispering, ‘I’m here to set you free. Play along with me.’

She pulled back with a laugh. ‘I am free, silly. There’s just us here. Come in.’

After bolting the gate, she led him out of the shadow into the light of the courtyard, where he tried to assimilate the long-legged, gangly twelve-year-old he remembered with this statuesque young woman, who was only half a head shorter than him.

He dropped the horse’s reins and turned to her. ‘Let me look at you. I’ve been searching for you since autumn. When no one knew where you were, I thought you’d died the night of the riots.’ He finally registered what she’d said. ‘What do you mean, you’re free?’

She looked behind him to the three-storey building that had belonged to the True-men when he lived here.

Sorne turned to see a dead man standing in the doorway.

‘Grae?’ The world spun, and he found himself on his knees in the courtyard.

Next thing he knew, they’d were both helping him to his feet, laughing and chiding each other. Valendia drew him over to the table under the maple tree, while Graelen sat opposite. He’d never seen the T’En adept light-hearted, and he had trouble reconciling this Graelen with the hard-eyed assassin from Kyredeon’s brotherhood.

Valendia sat next to Sorne. She was so happy she seemed to glow. ‘When you told us to open in the name of the king and the high priest, we thought they’d found us. Grae was ready to deal with any threat, but then I saw it was you and... It’s so good to see you!’ She hugged him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ll explain in a moment. First...’ He met Graelen’s eyes across the table. A leaf fluttered down, landing in a patch of sunlight between them. ‘Last time I saw you...’ He didn’t want Valendia learning that Zabier had sacrificed their kind. ‘You segued to the higher plane, taking your physical body. I thought you were dead for certain.’

Valendia laughed. ‘He came and freed me.’

Sorne met Graelen’s eyes. ‘How is that possible?’

The adept reached across the table, but he wasn’t reaching for Sorne. He clasped Valendia’s hand as he spoke to Sorne. ‘When I left you, I believed I was going to die and I thought of Dia, of what a waste it was to have found her only to lose her. My gift took over and our bond took me to her side. She’s my devotee, Sorne.’

‘Devotee?’ Sorne repeated. First Frayvia, now Valendia. Was every person he loved destined to be stolen from him? ‘But... when did this happen?’

‘In the crypts, when I was being held prisoner before the sacrifice,’ Graelen said, and Sorne remembered the powerful gift-working he’d sensed.

‘I found Grae,’ Valendia explained. ‘When Zabier caught us together, he was very angry. He hit me.’ She touched her cheek, saddened by the memory.

Graelen took up the story. ‘Before they dragged us apart, I imprinted my gift on Valendia. She–’

‘She had no defences.’

‘Don’t be angry, Sorne,’ Valendia pleaded.

‘It was pure instinct.’ Graelen lifted his hands. ‘The devotee link is the ultimate expression of the bond between T’En and Malaunje. It makes us both stronger, and it saved my life.’

‘He saved me from Utzen and the penitents,’ Valendia said.

Sorne frowned. ‘You’re bound to him for life. Did he tell you that?’

She laughed. ‘I love him. I’m bound to him for life anyway. I don’t need saving from Grae, Sorne.’ She hugged him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. ‘Be happy for me, brother.’

Graelen’s features hardened. ‘If you can’t be happy for us, then ride away and leave us alone.’

‘I can’t.’ Sorne wondered where to start. ‘Have you heard anything of the war on the Wyrds?’

‘We’ve seen no one since winter cusp last year.’ Graelen tensed and sat forward. ‘Are you saying you didn’t–’

‘...warn the city in time. No, Zabier drugged me. But it wouldn’t have made a difference in the long run. The T’Enatuath have been exiled. The king gave them until winter cusp. After that, anyone who remains behind will be hunted down and executed. I’m here to take you back to your people.’

But Graelen was already shaking his head. ‘I can’t go back. I broke my vow. I swore to serve my brotherhood until the day I die, but I was weak. I chose to stay here with Dia, even though I knew the Mieren king had declared war on my people. I am without honour.’

‘Nonsense,’ Valendia told him. ‘What difference could one T’En warrior make?’

Graelen caught Sorne’s eye. ‘I bet Sorne is hungry. Do you have any of that pie left over?’

‘Not the pie our mother used to make?’ Sorne asked.

Valendia beamed. ‘You wait here. I’ll bring lunch.’

As she left them, crossing to the main building, Sorne noticed his horses were feeding on some weeds.

Graelen leant close, dropping his voice. Now he looked like his old self: intense, worried and determined. ‘If I go back, All-father Kyredeon will execute me.’

‘The city was under siege from winter cusp to spring cusp. After that, there was limited access, but you weren’t to know that. Any reasonable–’

‘Kyredeon is not reasonable.’

‘You can’t stay here. You’ll run out of supplies, and when you go looking to trade, the Mieren will string you up.’

‘If I go back, Kyredeon will do the same.’

‘Then change brotherhoods.’

‘Your brotherhood is for life, Sorne. Occasionally one brotherhood is taken over by another, but...’ He shrugged. ‘No other all-father would want me. I have a reputation.’

‘I’ll speak to the causare.’

‘We have a causare? Let me guess, to negotiate with King Charald?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Who is the causare?’

‘Imoshen.’

‘Ah...’ He nodded. ‘She’s a woman, Sorne. She has no say in brotherhood business.’

‘Swear loyalty to her.’

‘A man can’t serve an all-mother.’

‘A man can serve the causare. I do.’

‘You’re Malaunje.’

‘So I don’t matter?’ Anger sharpened Sorne’s voice.

Graelen lifted a hand in apology. ‘To someone like Kyredeon, no.’

‘Here it is.’ Valendia came out of the building with a laden tray and a jug. They took the tray and jug from her, and she went back inside for more.

‘You can’t stay here, Grae,’ Sorne said softly.

‘I know, but... these have been the best days of my life.’

Valendia returned with a zither. ‘You eat. I’ll play.’

‘Aren’t you hungry?’

She laughed, not bothering to answer. While they ate, she plucked a tune that started out sad and grew happier.

‘Another of your songs that tell stories?’ Sorne asked, when she came to the end.

‘Yes. It tells our story.’ Instead of putting the zither down, she ran her fingers over the strings, absently plucking lilting phrases from them.

Sorne caught the look she sent Grae, and the way she made him smile. He was happy for them, but they were safest with the brotherhood. ‘As far as Kyredeon knows, you could have been kept prisoner in the crypts, Grae. By the time we get back to port, he’ll be there. Tell him you’ve just escaped with Valendia. How is he to know otherwise?’

Graelen put his wine down. ‘That could work.’

Valendia covered the strings with her palm and the sound died. ‘We have to go back, don’t we?’

Graelen met Sorne’s eyes.

‘Yes, back to the T’Enatuath,’ Sorne said. ‘But not back to life as it was, Grae. Exile will change things.’

‘At least we have until winter cusp,’ Valendia said.

‘No. We have to leave tomorrow. The truce is with King Charald, and he’s failing. We have to reach port before the rest of your people sail.’

At that moment, the sun went behind clouds and rain drops fell. Valendia and Graelen grabbed the food and ran inside. Sorne led the horses into the stable, where he found a covered cart and two ponies. He was happy for Valendia. And to think he used to be worried about her future. Zabier had kept her locked up from the age of four until...

He turned to find Graelen behind him, grabbed him and shoved him up against the wall. ‘She was only fifteen.’

‘I didn’t know. It was life and death. I didn’t think to ask her age and she looks like a woman. By the time I knew...’ He lifted his hands, palm up. ‘I’d die for her, Sorne.’

There was no doubting his sincerity. Sorne let him go.

That night, they repaired the covered cart and packed up. There wasn’t much to pack: Valendia’s musical instruments, some supplies and the chickens. They left the next morning. Sorne and Graelen rode, while Valendia drove the cart. It rained all day.

T
HREE DAYS LATER,
it was still raining and Sorne found the ford he had crossed on the way to the retreat was impassable. The stream had turned into a river, running deep and fast. Impatience ate at him. He had no idea how long it would take Imoshen to pack up her people and reach port, but he knew time was running out.

‘There’s a bridge, one day’s travel to the east,’ he told Valendia and Graelen. They wore cloaks and hoods, but the rain had worked its way through after the first day. He was cold and wet, but at least he wasn’t hungry.

As they went east along the river bank, they came across other travellers going west. There were three of them on horseback. Sorne couldn’t tell what business they had travelling the foothills, and they carried themselves like men-at-arms, which made him wary.