Quintana of Charyn (14 page)

Finnikin stood and Froi followed him back to the others. He stoked the fire, although it was fine as it was. An owl hooted and Froi wished that everyone would just turn in.

‘Perhaps we can have a word, sir?’ Finnikin said to Gargarin.

Froi shook his head in warning. First mistake.

‘I’m not a sir,’ Gargarin snapped.

‘Can I draw you something?’ Finnikin said, retrieving parchment from his pack. ‘An idea I have for a drainage system I want to introduce to the Flatlands in my kingdom.’

Gargarin didn’t respond. Finnikin glanced at Froi, who nodded. A lack of response from Gargarin was not a bad thing, all things considered. Especially when someone was speaking about drainage.

Finnikin sketched for some time and then handed the parchment to Gargarin. Lirah looked over Gargarin’s shoulder to study what was there.

‘Where did you get the idea from?’ Gargarin asked. Froi could see he was impressed.

‘The ancient Haladyans,’ Finnikin replied.

‘Those goat swivers,’ Lirah said.

Gargarin chuckled. ‘I’ve never quite believed those tales. Remember, they were written by Aristos, Lirah. Not much of a fan of the Haladyans.’

‘Aristos was jealous,’ Finnikin said, glaring at Lirah, and Froi could see he was bristling on behalf of the Haladyans.

‘I’ve always said that those who underestimate the worth of the Haladyans are fools indeed,’ Gargarin said.

Finnikin made a sound of satisfaction and looked at Trevanion. ‘Have I not always said that?’

‘Are they the ones who lost?’ Trevanion asked.

‘Not quite lost. It was all about the surrender,’ Gargarin said.

‘A surrender for a surrender,’ Finnikin confirmed and Gargarin nodded.

They seemed to be the only two interested in a Haladyan battle that ended when two sides surrendered to each other.

‘Ridulous,’ Perri muttered, walking away.

Finnikin turned back to Gargarin. ‘My wife claims the Haladyans were a bunch of men in skirts who made too many mistakes,’ he said. ‘And that the surrender-for-surrender battle is a myth made up by men who enjoy crying over campfires and telling battle stories.’

Gargarin made a hissing sound of irritation. ‘Ah yes, that wife.’

But the conversation had broken the ice, and the two spoke well into the night while Froi penned a letter to the Priestking and to Lord August, laughing when Lirah said something to irritate Finnikin. Froi had always respected his king’s intelligence, but had never appreciated it as much as on this night. He hadn’t
seen Gargarin so relaxed in conversation before. There was nothing forced between these two men. In another life they would have been friends.

‘Can you sketch something else, Finn? And take it back to the Priestking with this letter?’ Froi asked.

Finnikin nodded, pen poised to begin.

‘This,’ Froi said, removing his cap and showing them the markings on his skull.

He heard Lirah’s gasp and suddenly they were all around him, tracing the lettering with inquisitive fingers.

‘You’ve been injured,’ Perri said, not the least bit interested in the lettering. Froi felt Perri’s fingers on the dent caused by the arrow.

‘I ran into a bit of trouble weeks ago. All good now,’ Froi said.

He watched Finnikin copy the lettering.

‘How did you possibly catch a bolt to the head?’ Trevanion asked.

‘It was an ambush,’ Gargarin said. Regardless of how little Lumateran Gargarin understood, it was clear what was being asked.

Finnikin looked at Gargarin. ‘What’s he not telling us?’ he demanded. ‘About this ambush?’

‘There’s more,’ Gargarin said. Froi grimaced, shaking his head.

‘It’s finished,’ Froi said. ‘I’m cured. Leave it.’

‘I told you,’ Perri said to Trevanion. ‘He never favours his left from right and there was no reason for him not to have held onto the branch.’

The five waited and Froi reluctantly removed his tunic and undershirt. They stared in horror.

Gargarin reached over and traced his hand gently across the scar on Froi’s chest.

‘He sewed you.’

‘He thinks he’s a genius,’ Froi said and laughed reluctantly. There was a pained smile on Gargarin’s face.

‘Gargarin has a brother who is a physician,’ Froi explained to the others. ‘They look the same, you know,’ he couldn’t help adding. ‘Twins. I’d never seen twins before.’

‘We have a pair on the Rock,’ Finnikin said.

‘You should never have trusted anyone,’ Trevanion said.

Froi covered up quickly, shivering. He noticed that Perri’s stare was back on Gargarin.

‘How is Lucian faring?’ Froi asked, trying to take Perri’s attention away from whatever it was that seemed to irritate him about Gargarin.

He noticed the uneasy look between Trevanion and Perri.

‘Finn?’ Froi asked, praying that nothing had happened to
Yata
or any of Lucian’s lads.

‘Lucian lost Phaedra of Alonso,’ Finnikin said. ‘They were close to reconciling and he lost her.’

‘She went home to her father?’ Froi asked.

Finn shook his head and suddenly Froi knew the truth.

‘Dead?
Dead?
How?’

‘The plague in the north. It’s been a bleak time in the valley for the Charynites.’

And still Perri stared at Gargarin, and Froi knew that if Perri wanted to strike, there would be no stopping him.

‘He’s not a threat, Perri,’ Froi said, a plea in his voice. ‘On my life he’s not a threat!’

Perri’s stare didn’t waver until he turned to Froi.

‘My Charyn is weak. Can you fill in my words?’

Froi was confused by the request but nodded.

‘In the first days after we took back Lumatere,’ Perri began, ‘I escorted the impostor King and his men to the dungeons.
Inside one of the cells was a Charynite, half-starved and mad, and I thought nothing of it and locked them up together. Later it occurred to me that if the man was in the dungeons, the impostor King must have placed him there. So I returned to the dungeon and moved the Charynite into another cell, intending to come back the next day to find out why he was imprisoned.

‘But one morning, as we know, the impostor and his men were poisoned.’

‘By who?’ Gargarin asked, listening to the translation.

‘Not your concern,’ Finnikin responded.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘I discovered the Charynite was innocent of any crime against Lumatere,’ Perri said. ‘So thankfully he escaped death.’

Froi couldn’t understand why Perri was telling this story, but he realised how much he missed the blunt way Perri spoke.

‘I sent for the Priestking and he and this man spoke for hours. The Charynite had a strange tale to tell about a child long ago smuggled out of Charyn, and how this man had been travelling through Lumatere to Sarnak to retrieve the boy, who was then five.’ Perri looked up. Suddenly, he had the audience he deserved. Gargarin and Lirah exchanged glances and Froi’s heart was hammering.

‘The prisoner had taken that journey thirteen years ago.’

Froi was beginning to understand. The Charynite was the messenger Simeon had spoken about, who had never arrived in Sarnak to retrieve Dafar of Abroi. Froi realised why.

‘He became trapped by the curse?’ Froi asked.

Perri nodded. ‘In the early days of the curse, the Charynite prisoner had hid in the forest between the borders of Sendecane and Sarnak. He even made Tesadora’s acquaintance and was one of two men who hid the novices of Lagrami. Remember, the novices were smuggled out of the palace village one night and
Tesadora hid them with the novices of Sagrami. The prisoner was found by the impostor King’s men and arrested, mistaken for a traitor back in Charyn. They placed him in the palace dungeon and he stayed there for ten years. The second man, a young soldier named John who helped the prisoner save the novices, was hanged.’

Finnikin was intrigued. ‘I remember this. The Priestking petitioned Isaboe to have a prisoner released on religious grounds. He was the first Charynite we sent home.’

Froi remembered Tesadora telling him the story.

Perri pointed at Gargarin. ‘He had your face.’

Froi stared at Gargarin, speechless.

‘What did he say, Froi?’ Gargarin demanded. ‘What?’

Froi couldn’t respond. He thought of the fury Gargarin and De Lancey had felt for all those years they were unable to find Arjuro. He thought of the Charyn word for traitor scorched on Arjuro’s back.

‘Froi!’ Gargarin asked. ‘What did he say?’

‘Arjuro,’ Froi whispered. ‘Arjuro was trapped in Lumatere for ten years in a bid to bring me home, and the impostor King and his men imprisoned him for all of that time … because they thought he was you.’

Lirah covered her face with her hands. Gargarin stumbled to his feet, staring at Perri, stunned. Then he turned and walked away. Moments later they heard the roar of fury and the sound of Gargarin’s staff striking the tree. Froi turned to see the splintered pieces. He heard Gargarin’s grunt of rage with every blow and Froi went to stand, but felt Lirah’s firm grip on his wrist.

‘Leave him.’

Finnikin watched Gargarin. ‘Well, that makes better sense. Now I see the resemblance.’

The next morning, Perri handed Froi the reins of his horse, Beast.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Perri. He’s yours.’

‘I’ll be home in three days. You won’t.’ Perri said. ‘I’ll ride with Finn.’

‘No, you’ll –’

‘Take it,’ Lirah said and when Froi didn’t, she reached for the reins. ‘It’s a Serker horse, did you know that? The King ordered the slaughter of the Serker people and the army took the horses. The King’s army invaded Lumatere on these horses as a show of strength.’

Froi stared at the reins and before he could speak, Perri walked away and mounted Finn’s horse.

Overwhelmed and unable to speak, Froi handed Finn three letters. They embraced quickly. Finn held out a straight hand to Gargarin and Froi wanted to laugh at how rigid it seemed.

‘Sir Topher of the Flatlands is the smartest man I know,’ Finnikin said. ‘And Froi seems to think you’re a smart one yourself. One would like to think that a collection of smart people can put their heads together and do something right for once in this cursed land. Not just for their own kingdom, but the whole of Skuldenore.’

Gargarin was silent. He had said very little since the news of Arjuro, but Froi could see the strength of the handshake between the two men.

‘Walk with us, Froi,’ Trevanion said, and Froi obeyed, feeling the Captain’s hand on his shoulder. At first he believed the Captain wanted to speak, but as always with Trevanion his silence spoke loudly. At his horse, Trevanion handed him a quiver of arrows.

‘You know where your home is,’ the Captain said, mounting his horse, and then they were gone.

Yet Froi didn’t know where home was anymore. He wanted
to return to Lumatere and he wanted to stay in Charyn. What strangeness was that? To belong in two kingdoms. He felt a sob rise within him that he swallowed hard the moment he felt Lirah and Gargarin at his shoulders.

‘They think they own you,’ Lirah said.

They do
, he wanted to shout. Half of his heart.

‘Where to?’ he asked instead.

‘We go to the Priests of Trist,’ Gargarin said. ‘I need to see my brother.’

 

 

T
hey reached Sebastabol two days later and Froi felt as if he had been gone for an eternity rather than merely a week. Although he had a fair idea where he and Arjuro had exited the underground community of Trist, it was Gargarin who led them to the entrance on the outskirts of the province, knowing the exact words to speak to the Sebastabolian who lived in a cottage above it. The woman signalled for them to follow with their horses to the stable outside. When the horses were settled, she showed them back inside wordlessly and led them down into the basement.

‘Something’s wrong,’ Froi whispered to Gargarin and Lirah as they climbed down the shaft. Gargarin didn’t respond. Froi glanced at him, wondering what his relationship with the hidden Priests was. A fury remained in Gargarin after his reaction to Arjuro’s imprisonment in Lumatere. Froi had no idea when it was going to unleash itself.

Froi knew exactly where to find Arjuro’s cavern, hurrying through the strangely quiet passageways that he had last seen bustling with voices and life. But Arjuro’s chamber lay empty.
His books and surgical instruments were still there, but Froi sensed that the room hadn’t been inhabited for days. He wondered if Arjuro had returned from accompanying him, or had the Priestling met foul play somewhere on that ghostly road that cut across the kingdom?

Froi watched Gargarin pick up one of Arjuro’s medical chronicles. They heard a sound behind them and Marte was there. She beckoned with a hand, but didn’t speak.

‘Marte, what’s happened here?’ Froi asked as they followed her down the passageway. But she didn’t respond. ‘Marte, speak to me!’

Gargarin placed a finger to his own lips to quieten Froi. He pointed to the inside of one of the caverns they passed and Froi saw a couple huddled together, weeping quietly.

‘They’re in mourning,’ Gargarin whispered. ‘It’s forbidden to speak outside a private chamber.’

Although Froi could see no sign of destruction, his memory of Tariq’s compound made him fear the worst. They reached the residence of the
collegiati
, where the young men and women were huddled in individual cubicles, heads down solemnly. One looked up, curious to see Gargarin. Marte hurried along and they followed her to the tunnel that Froi knew would lead them to Simeon’s chamber down in the next level.

The girl left them there and Froi climbed down before helping Lirah and Gargarin.

Simeon was seated at his desk, head bent over his correspondence. He continued with his work, not indicating he knew they were there.

‘Where’s my brother?’ Gargarin demanded, his voice abrupt.

Simeon finished what he was writing and only then did he put down his quill.

‘What’s happened here, Simeon?’ Froi asked, giving Gargarin a warning look. ‘Why the silence?’

The Head Priest finally stood up and Froi saw emptiness in the man’s stare.

‘Gargarin says you’re in a state of mourning.’

Simeon glanced at Gargarin, ignoring Lirah completely.

‘Who’s dead, Simeon?’ Froi asked. ‘Where’s Arjuro?’

‘Arjuro has gone to sing home the spirits of the dead. I don’t know when he’ll be back. Last time he was sent on a mission he didn’t return for ten years.’

Before Froi could speak another word, Gargarin hobbled to Simeon and pressed the Trist leader to the wall of the cave.

‘I came here and begged to know where my brother was,’ Gargarin hissed, close to Simeon’s ear. ‘And all those years you told me nothing.
Nothing
.’

Froi stood between them, shoving Gargarin away gently. After months of contained silence, suddenly Gargarin had turned into a madman.

Simeon pushed past them and walked back to his stool.

‘You were last seen in the palace throwing the Oracle and a child to their deaths, Gargarin,’ the Priest said calmly. ‘Witnessed by your brother. Regardless of what I know now, how could I possibly have trusted you when you came searching for Arjuro?’

‘Because he was my brother and I had the right to know he was trapped in Lumatere.’

Simeon rubbed at his jaw and poured water from the pitcher.

‘Ten years ago when you came searching for him, we had no idea where Arjuro was. We suspected he had reached Sarnak and that he had been forced to travel the long way home back to Charyn because of the Lumateran curse.’

He took a sip of his water and Froi noticed his trembling hands.

‘We never imagined Arjuro was trapped inside Lumatere, let alone imprisoned. Most of us hoped he had found the boy and kept him safe all that time. We were shocked when he returned as skin and bones with no idea of Dafar’s whereabouts.’

But Gargarin was shaking his head and if it wasn’t for Lirah’s hand on his shoulder, Froi knew he would have attacked Simeon again.

‘You know what I think frightened you, Priest?’ Gargarin spat. ‘That I would have searched and found him. That I would have convinced him to stay away from this cesspit of a kingdom. You Priests were no better than the palace. You wanted to own the most powerful spirits in this kingdom and you weren’t willing to let Arjuro go.’

Simeon’s stare stayed impassive.

‘We see events in different ways, Gargarin,’ he said. ‘You say we wanted to own, and we say we wanted to protect. From the very beginning the palace wanted what the godshouse nurtured. And what they couldn’t possess, they destroyed. There’s nothing more frightening to those in charge than learned people; it’s why the palace always strikes at brilliant young minds and those who teach them.’

Gargarin made a sound of disgust.

‘Your weakness, Gargarin, was your ambition. Did you know the Oracle didn’t trust you and would have done everything to keep Arjuro away from his brother in the palace?’

‘Oh, she told you that, did she? After your elders snatched her from her people when she was thirteen? Don’t talk to me about ambition, old man.’

Gargarin’s eyes blazed with emotion. ‘My weakness was my brother,’ he continued, ‘and nothing awed me more than his blessings. My ambition sprung from wanting his respect. And you didn’t trust me with the truth of where he was because you
would have done anything to sever the tie between us.’

Simeon waved away Gargarin’s words.

‘All the same, we’ve finally found a use for you.’

Froi bristled at Simeon’s tone and words. He had never seen Gargarin as the lesser brother, but until Gargarin’s time in the palace as a young man, it seemed he had always come second to Arjuro. Especially in the eyes of those in the godshouse.

‘The Provincari are meeting in Sebastabol city as we speak,’ Simeon said. ‘To decide the fate of the kingdom and to determine if there is truth in the mad Quintana’s words. Yet there was no invitation to those of us who represent the godshouse.’

Simeon’s lips thinned with displeasure. ‘Charyn cannot start anew without the blessing of the godshouse. It’s a good thing you’ve arrived at this time, Gargarin. The Provincari will listen to you. If you want a place for those like your brother in the new Charyn, you go and see them. Talk on our behalf.’

Gargarin shook his head. ‘I’m here to collect Arjuro, not to be sent on a fool’s errand for the godshouse. Haven’t my brother and I given enough for Charyn?’

‘We all have,’ Simeon said, and Froi saw a flare of pain in the old man’s eyes.

‘You Priests all hid the moment you could and let this kingdom go to ruin,’ Gargarin accused.

‘Yet you trusted us with the lastborn all those years ago,’ Simeon reminded him. ‘We must have been worth something once, Gargarin.’

‘Necessity. Nothing else.’

Simeon nodded, his eyes suddenly on Froi.

‘It’s a good thing, then. Because despite everything, our lastborn was clever enough to stay alive. And if we are to believe Arjuro, Dafar has done more than stay alive. He’s fathered a cursebreaker.’

‘So you’ll take credit for that now?’ Gargarin asked. ‘Are you writing your letters to Priests across the kingdom, Simeon?’ he added, looking at the quill and parchment on Simeon’s desk. ‘Congratulating yourself?’

‘No, not at all,’ Simeon said. ‘I’m writing a letter to my daughter to advise that the corpse of her son is lying in the grasslands beyond Serker with his eyes gouged out by vultures. His spirit perhaps lost for eternity. You see, my grandson Rothen was a dreamer, Gargarin. He dreamt of a Charyn for smart men and women who didn’t live like rats underground. He dreamt of his paintings adorning city walls. He dreamt of a godshouse that would become a school to educate men and women about the glory of Charyn’s past. All under the eye of a benevolent future king.’

Froi’s eyes went to the three words written in gold on the ceiling.

‘Don’t talk to me about sacrifice,’ Simeon said, his voice pained. ‘Eight scholars left this cave in search of hope and the bodies of seven have returned.’

‘Rafuel?’ Froi asked, heavy with the grief for seven men he never knew.

Simeon looked away. ‘Arjuro has travelled with one of the Priests who knew the lads, in an attempt to work out who is not accounted for. Arjuro hopes to sing them home. Perhaps a spirit has strayed behind, lost. We know for certain they did not die where they lay and that it may have been some weeks back, perhaps months.’

‘Is Arjuro powerful enough to bring home their spirits if their deaths are not recent?’ Froi asked.

‘Who knows what he can do?’ Simeon said. ‘He’s there more for our peace of mind.’

Froi couldn’t help thinking that the scholars had been forced
to stay in the Lumateran valley because of him. Finnikin and Isaboe had insisted that Rafuel was not to be released until Froi returned from his mission. Rafuel’s companions had refused to leave without him.

‘Rafuel was held captive by my people because of an incident with one of our women,’ Froi said quietly. ‘Perhaps it saved his life.’

But Simeon’s attention was on Gargarin. ‘What have the Provincari sacrificed for Charyn?’ Simeon asked him bitterly. ‘Nothing. If anyone buried their heads in the ground, it was them, and now they join to take control of this kingdom. If you love your brother, Gargarin, give the godshouse a voice in the new Charyn.’

‘I came here for my brother. Nothing more.’

Gargarin turned and walked away from the chamber. Froi could see he was shaken by the news of the seven deaths despite his anger.

Lirah went to follow.

‘Talk to him,’ Simeon said.

‘I can’t control Gargarin,’ Froi said.

‘But she can,’ Simeon said, acknowledging Lirah for the first time. Lirah turned back with the disdain she showed most people.

‘You don’t know Gargarin of Abroi if you think he can be controlled by another,’ she said. ‘Any more than the Priests or the Oracle could control Arjuro.’

Lirah left, but Froi stayed. He was worried for the old man. Despite his cold nature, Simeon had softened each time he spoke about his grandson Rothen.

‘Your loss is felt,’ Froi said, ‘but the brothers have given enough for this kingdom. Leave them to their peace.’

‘Do you know how Charyn will have peace, Dafar? With one
of the brothers in the palace, and the other in the godshouse. Without that sort of peace, the little King she claims to carry will not survive. That mad girl’s son will not stand a chance.’

‘That mad girl has a name,’ Froi said. ‘It’s Quintana, and soon she’ll be the mother of a king or cursebreaker. If you want honour in this kingdom, Simeon, preach to the people of Charyn that the mother of their king endured everything to break their curse.’

Simeon shook his head disbelievingly.

‘Sometimes you sound like a simpleton,’ the Priest said, his voice scathing.

‘Then so be it,’ Froi said. ‘The father of your future king is a simpleton and the mother is mad. But Charyn has a better chance with whatever Quintana and I created together, than with any other.’

In Arjuro’s cave Gargarin was surrounded by the
collegiati
who had once tended to Froi, their voices hushed.

‘Your face is thinner,’ one said to Gargarin, reaching out to touch it. Gargarin flinched and moved away.

One young man, Corris, showed Gargarin pages of drawings.

‘For the godshouse,’ Corris said, excited. ‘Arjuro promised that if there’s peace in Charyn he will return to the Oracle’s gods-house and bring it back to what it once was. The most powerful place of learning in this entire land.’

‘Yes, well, the Belegonians will love to hear that,’ Gargarin said. ‘They believe they’re the smartest.’

‘And the Osterians?’ Marte said.

There were snorts. ‘Their godlings know nothing compared to us Priestlings,’ one pompous lad said.

‘Who says you’re a Priestling anyway?’ Corris asked.

‘Hush. We grieve the lads,’ another said.

‘Rothen and the lads would be the first to agree,’ Corris
said. ‘The Osterians are idiots.’

Marte was the only one to notice Froi. ‘Did you see the way he sewed up the Lumateran?’ she asked Gargarin. There were quick glances from the other
collegiati
, but Froi was unimportant to them in the scheme of things.

Corris showed Gargarin another sketch. ‘For the godshouse walls.’