Kindred and Wings (28 page)

Finn’s voice was one she could have picked out from amongst a thousand—well, at least since he had brought back all the memories of him she’d elected to lose. That was the kind of man he was. Irritating. Frustrating. Unforgettable.

She glanced to her right and caught Wahirangi flex his wings once, and then shutter them around himself. Perhaps some kind of dragon amusement, Talyn wondered as his tail wrapped tightly around the rock on which he perched. It was sometimes easy to forget that he was Kindred on the inside, but in this moment she could almost feel the creature of chaos watching her, peeling back the layers of her soul, even from this distance.

So she simply strode away from his regard, and toward where she could hear Finn talking. It was not much better walking that way, since her stomach was clenched like it had been punched, and she had a strangely dry mouth. She and the talespinner had not parted on the best of terms, considering she had him as her prisoner and he had managed to escape.

She could not guess how he would respond to her turning up, asking for a favor from his dragon—but she knew she was going to quickly find out. Her boot heel caught in one of the loose boards of the rickety walkway and she slipped up to her knee. Being so engrossed in worry cost her the usual gracefulness of the Vaerli. As she was swearing and trying to untangle herself, she heard him speak words she could easily make out—mainly because he was standing only feet from her.

“I trust you haven’t hurt yourself?”

Talyn jerked her head away from her predicament and toward the man standing in the doorway to the plaited room. His golden blond hair was scruffy as ever, but his eyes had changed. The hardness she saw in them was not the only change in the talespinner; there was a pride in his eyes now.

He stood braced in the doorway, legs slightly parted, hands above his head, holding onto the ropes. She should have expected he would be so nimble in this place. After all, this was where he had trained in his craft. For all intents and purposes this was his home.

She dropped her eyes away, and struggled and jerked her leg free of ropes. “I am all right, though I think there should be some more attention paid to the repairs in this place. It’s practically a death trap.”

“And you would know all about those,” he replied, not moving from his place. At his back she caught a glimpse of more figures, the ones he had been conversing with.

Talyn might have hoped for a private audience with Finn, but she was obviously not going to get one. For a moment she felt suspended over more than the ocean. Should she go forward and embrace him, or would he take that as an insult? She had never much cared for others’ impressions of her—at least, not for decades—so she was at a total loss how to proceed.

The boy who wriggled his way under Finn’s arm to stand on the rope bridge between them at least broke the awkwardness of the moment a little. He had the same light hair as Finn, and with a sharp indrawn breath, Talyn’s first thought escaped her. “Finn, you have a son?”

He had never said anything to her about such a thing before. The wriggling, burning sensation in her stomach . . . could it be jealousy?

The talespinner’s eyebrows drew together, and he shot a look over his shoulder. It was indeed a woman behind him, but Talyn could not make out her features. The urge to turn about and stride away was almost overwhelming, but the Vaerli held her place.

“Ysel is not my son,” Finn finally replied, but his tone said he would offer no more on the matter. Instead he asked her bluntly, “Why are you here, Talyn?”

She had not considered how to answer that question. The Phage had told her to manipulate the talespinner, but she did not have much experience with such things. Though she knew she should not launch into asking him to burn the damn scroll, she had not considered what she would say was her reason for tracking him down.

A lie would be easiest, but if she were found out, it would destroy any hope she had of his help. So a half-truth then, something that would not show on her face. “I heard you were here, and I didn’t like how it ended.”

“You tried to take him to the Caisah,” said the boy who looked about twelve mortal years old. His green eyes were far too knowing for her liking—much like the Phage child’s.

If Talyn had little experience with lying, then she had even less with children. The only ones she had contact with were the spoiled brats of the Caisah’s court, or the weeping ones she tore off their parents’ bodies. She licked her lips. “Yes, I admit I did that, but I am no longer in thrall to the Caisah. I broke with him when I discovered that the puzzle—which he said held the answer on how to set my people free—was a lie. The only image it showed was Putorae’s, she who was the last seer of the Vaerli.”

“And how do you think that was a lie?” The woman who had until this moment lurked in the background stepped around Finn. Talyn took a step back, nearly falling into the gap she had only just extracted herself from.

“You are Vaerli!” She thought it ironic that she was about to die right in front of Finn. Maybe that would calm his rage.

Yet there was no flare of heat in her muscles, no dire ache in her bones, and she knew immediately what this woman had done. “You went to the mountain . . . like my father?” Talyn could still not quite believe that anyone would do such a thing.

The Vaerli, who had the faintest streaks of silver in her long dark hair, nodded. Her eyes were an eerie brown. “Some must always sacrifice themselves for the future.” She dropped her hand onto the head of the boy beside her. “I am Fida. I was your father’s brother’s wife, but you probably don’t remember me.”

Talyn shook her head slowly. “Many of those memories I chose to abandon.”

“No doubt,” Fida said, but her voice showed no real hatred, which was a definite surprise.

Talyn did not like the silence that followed, all four of them swinging slightly on the rope bridge, trapped in the uncomfortable moment. “So why did you go?” Talyn asked, merely because it was the first thing that came into her head, and not because she was wondering. Indeed, she could feel Finn’s eyes on her like burning marks.

Fida glanced down at the boy called Ysel. “You will find out, niece.” With that she guided the boy past Talyn, leaving the once-Hunter and the Fox standing together.

“Are you here for my head?” Finn finally spoke. “Because this would not be the place to take it.” He gestured to the foaming water below.

“No,” she replied, reminding herself to keep to the facts as best she could. “I parted company with the Caisah. I really have. I heard you were here, and I had to come.”

The man’s eyes raked over her, and she recalled that as a talespinner he could probably discern much about people from their expressions and gestures. It came in handy when a public house turned ugly.

“Why?” he asked mildly.

She cleared her throat and considered. When she’d been the Hunter, she had been used to taking men to bed for mere pleasure. It had been something to sate her own physical needs, but she had never kept the memories. She had thought perhaps that was why she had discarded memories of Finn—but when he returned them to her, she recalled it had not been the case. She’d cast away the memories of their time together because to her, loving a Manesto, or indeed loving anyone, was a waste of time and devotion. Her one aim had always been to save her people.

“I . . .” Talyn stammered, “I . . . I don’t—”

“I have someone you must meet,” he interrupted her, holding out his hand. “I think she might help you clear your head a little.”

It was a moment of trust; a test that she had to pass. Somehow, with everything she had been through, this felt like a turning point. Reaching out, Talyn took his hand, and knew everything was about to change.

Byre and Pelanor had obviously been taken as some kind of honor guard for the stranger, and had also been allowed to pass. They reached the spot where the Pact of the Oath was carved in the salt. Here the Caisah paused, looking it over. If he was a stranger, Byre suddenly realized that he would not understand it.

Perhaps if he understood the words, he would understand the Vaerli. Byre stepped up closer to the new arrival. “It says—”

“—I know what it says,” the Caisah replied sharply. “It is the pact between these people and the gods of this world.”

Gods? Byre was for a moment confused. He had to mean the Kindred, but they were not gods. All the gods had been stripped from all the peoples that passed through the White Void.

“Gods hate oath breakers,” the Caisah muttered, before striding on deeper into the carved salt corridor.

Pelanor caught at Byre’s hand as he made to follow. “Don’t we know enough?” she whispered to him. “Shouldn’t we go now?”

She didn’t understand the nature of this punishment. Byre looked down at her, and for the first time felt the real difference between them. She might have his blood flowing in her veins, but she could never truly comprehend in any meaningful way what was happening. Besides, curiosity had already exchanged places with fear within Byre. The Caisah’s talk of gods and oath breakers had done that.

He looked at her with real pity in his eyes, feeling the superiority of the Vaerli race for the first time. “We need to see the whole thing to understand.”

Then he walked away from her, quickly, before he lost sight of the Caisah. He hoped she would follow, because he would need a witness to all this.

Ahead the corridor began to widen to a chamber, and it also grew dimmer. The light from above was being lost in the depths. Torches were now spaced out along the walls, and his Vaerli hearing could make out voices ahead. They were angry voices, and one of them he recognized enough to make his heart race.

Mother.

The Caisah had stopped in the shadows so abruptly that Byre almost ran into him. Only the gleam of the eagle on his staff gave any hint he was there. The soon-to-be tyrant’s head was cocked to one side, like a child listening intently to parents having an argument. Byre stood at his side and listened, too.

At first he couldn’t make out the words that were being exchanged like barbs, but gradually he could discern some. He recognized “Phage,” which he had heard before. The only time had been a mention from his father when he was little. Retira had called them a “dangerous sect.” Then he heard “Kindred” and “Pact” being bandied around.

Finally the words seemed to die down.

“Yes, that is good,” the Caisah whispered. “Now is the time.”

As he strode forward, Pelanor tugged on the back of Byre’s hood. “Are we just going to let him go in there?”

He knew what she meant. What was coming was nothing less than the Harrowing itself. Byre licked his lips, feeling how dry his mouth was. The witch was asking how prepared he was to watch the destruction of his people, but what choice did he have?

“It’s already happened,” he whispered back to her, his eyes never leaving the retreating back of the Caisah. “As Ellyria said, the future cannot be rewritten, and we are only observers.”

“I will abide by your decision,” she replied, and slid her hand down from his back to rest inside his. Ahead, all sound was abruptly cut off, so Byre led her after the Caisah at a brisk run. He might not want to see what happened next, but he also did not want to miss it.

Their sudden arrival was barely noticed as they trotted into the council chamber. The Vaerli who were its members had risen from their seats around the carved wooden table, and were staring fixedly at the Caisah.

Byre could understand their sudden silence; they were going through the very same range of emotions that he had experienced. While they did, Byre allowed his eyes to trail around the gathering. There were seven of them. The same as the number of Gifts that they had been given by the Kindred.

He did not know any of those present, except one. His mother was among them. He’d known that she would be there. He’d been in this place before, and seen what happened—what would happen—to her after.

The rational part of Byre’s brain could quite easily understand his reaction to her being there, but it was not easy to stop his eyes filling with sudden hot, bright, tears. She had not been an easy mother, he could still remember that, but he had loved her; both he and his sister had. To see her now, standing in the council chamber, outrage and bafflement on her beautiful face, hit him in the center of his chest.

Suddenly the words he had only just spoken to Pelanor seemed empty. It took every ounce of his strength to stop himself from running over to her, and getting her, whatever way he could, out of this room.

She looked very like Talyn would look one day. They called her Kourae the Light, and he could understand why now. She represented the singers on the council, but her hand was on the hilt of her sword, which was half out of its sheath.

Naturally, it was his mother who recovered first. When she spoke, her voice was bright and melodic despite the situation. “Who are you to intrude in this sacred space?”

“Not so sacred,” the Caisah spoke while he leaned heavily on his staff. “No Pact means no sacred places for the Vaerli—at least not in this land.”