Rite of Exile: The Silent Tempest, Book 1 (12 page)

He flicked the dagger into the opposite corner, where it clanged against the bucket like a death-knell. “I won’t commit murder, Soren, not for the Raéni, not for you. If that’s what the Oath really means, then it’ll never pass my lips.”

The following silence lasted so long he wondered if Soren had misheard him. “I don’t believe this,” Caleb said. “Was this some kind of trick?”

“Yes—one a lot easier to see through than what this fellow is capable of,” said Soren, jabbing a thumb to one side.

A string of spittle arced away from the cot. “Shove your little compliments up your noble ass, Adaian!”

Soren leaped toward the prisoner, blade held high. “You’re lucky Caleb Stenger isn’t a murderer. Neither am I. But one more word out of that hole in your face and I’ll make an exception.”

Caleb took a long breath as Soren resumed his place. “So you’ll let me take the Oath?”

“So it seems,” he said, sheathing his sword. “But I have a question. Every recruit must choose where the ceremony takes place, a location symbolizing his loyalty to Ada. What is your answer?”

“I don’t have time to decide?”

Soren shook his head. “This shouldn’t be that difficult.”

Caleb had assumed he would take the Oath in Wsaytchen, or some such hallowed place. Now he had an important decision to make. Or was this another trick? He raced through the memories of all those lessons, looking for that one unmistakable symbol of Raéni tradition.

“Krengliné. Atop the Old Wall.”

“Very well—assuming you’re not just buttering my bread. The ceremony will take place a week from today, at noon.”

“In one week, at noon,” Caleb repeated, all civility again.

“One last thing. The ceremony requires you to acknowledge the sacrifice of your civilian life.” He stepped close, his stare like ice. “Make damn well sure you’re the only one who bears that sacrifice.”

They walked out, and Soren turned to shut the door. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Caleb asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“Fdarel won’t take too kindly to leaving a dagger with one of his prisoners.”

Soren blushed for a moment, cursing. Then he wiped it out with an evil smirk. “You threw it away. You get it. Consider it another test of loyalty.”

Caleb stepped through, looked around in vain … and the prisoner let out a long, harsh laugh.

9

Leap of Faith

No one should utter these words

without a little fear in his heart.

- Etrenga, author of the Oath of the Raéni

THE FALLING MAN
woke to the grumble of an old storm—a fitting end to a restless night, and to a long week of doubts and soul-searching battles.

By noon a blustering wind had driven the last of the storm into the west. High above the grass, Caleb stood atop Krengliné like a cadet at attention, dressed in skillfully embossed leather tunic and breeches. An empty scabbard hung at his side.

A crowd of people surrounded him, drawn by either curiosity or necessity. Ceremonial clothes rippled angrily in the breeze. Telai waited to his left wearing a long, alabaster gown, Warren’s hand in hers. Soren and Hené stood opposite, the honored Raéni witnesses, their polished scabbards glinting in the sun. Féitseg stood directly in front, his sandy hair accentuating an amber, ankle-length vestment trimmed with embroidered runes.

Caleb drew deep breaths to slow the pulse of his heart. He dared not look at Telai. Another glance at the hurt in those eyes would destroy his resolve.

“Caleb Stenger, have you made your decision?” asked Féitseg. “Do you wish to become a Raén of Ada?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do you accept this duty without reservation?”

Caleb struggled for a moment. His lips would not obey him. When he gathered his courage and forced out an answer, his voice seemed to travel the length of Krengliné.

“I do!”

“And does Lord Soren, Supreme Raén of Ada, waive the right to refuse Caleb Stenger this honor?”

Soren’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. “May all Raéni accept him as I do.”

The Underseer took a step back. “Caleb Stenger, I ask your closest companion to present the
Fenta té Esiré
, the Gift of Farewell.”

Caleb shut his eyes for a moment, then turned stiffly. Telai approached, a small box of silver-bound wood in her hands. “Caleb Stenger, you leave the life of a citizen and enter a world of high honor and duty,” she said, her voice quavering. “I offer this gift of farewell as a promise that my friendship will never die.”

He took the case, passed it to a servant, then leaned forward briefly to place his left cheek against hers. “I accept your gift, and the friendship it represents.”

The shadow of pain in her face said what her voice could not:
Do you, Caleb?

Féitseg stood before him once more. “Caleb Stenger, to whom do you bestow the honor of the
Fet’anidaré
, the Presentation of the Blade?”

“Soren, Supreme Raén of Ada.”

Another servant, dressed in jet black with a wide belt of gray, approached bearing a long wooden case. Soren opened it to reveal a curved sword, much like the Samurai wielded in ancient Japan, but with a wider cross-guard. Its hilt was chiseled from ivory, while its blade, polished yet unadorned by any rune or symbol, flashed brilliantly in the sun. With slow, careful motions, Soren took two pure-white cloths, one in each hand, and lifted the sword from the box by its ornately crafted hilt and razor-sharp point.

The Master Raén faced Caleb squarely, the sword held level before his eyes. “Caleb Stenger, behold the Fetra. Since it emerged from the fire it has never been touched. It is untested and deedless, as are you. Do I have your promise that this will change before the seasons have turned full circle?”

“You do.”

Soren extended the sword. Caleb took it by the cloths, turned the flat of the blade toward him, and placed the cold metal against his lips. Dropping the cloths, he clasped both hands around the hilt and aimed the sword at the blue sky, its sharp edge to the east.

In the name of Ada, and of Orand,

and of Etrenga the first Overseer and the first Raén,

I swear this Oath:

To follow and subdue evil, and all the enemies of Ada

to the uttermost parts of the world,

To destroy them where they seek to destroy,

To confound them where they seek to confound,

And to honor the Fetra, the symbol of the Raéni,

And keep my skills forever as sharp as its edge.

May I give aid to all Adaiani in their need,

Protect them from wrongdoing,

Be an ally to allies, a friend to strangers,

And respect all living creations.

Should fortune show me a way to Kseleksten,

May I not shirk this duty,

Nor turn aside to any other thing,

Until my death, or until Kseleksten is destroyed.

Let my fellow Raéni hear my words.

I, CALEB STENGER,

by great Hendra, and for the

prosperity and happiness of all Ada,

swear this Oath.

Caleb sheathed his Fetra with swift confidence, never taking his eyes off the horizon. He had practiced it endlessly these last few days, determined to make a good impression. Yet the following silence was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to scream, to race down the Old Wall like an escaped lunatic. But it was too late. He was a Raén.

“Caleb Stenger, I welcome you to the full honors and duties of an Adan soldier,” Soren said. “May your deeds be surpassed only by your dedication.” He grinned devilishly, and with a gripping hug whispered in his ear: “Which you will need when you train under my watchful eye for the next two months!”

The assembly began to disperse, treading one by one down a long set of steps behind the wall. Caleb felt a hesitant touch on his arm.

Telai wore a smile—her pain, for the moment at least, nowhere in sight. “I hope you return to Ekendoré from time to time.”

“Of that you can be sure, Telai.”

She peered over his shoulder. “Will you open your gift?” She shrugged. “It’s not much.”

“Of course.” He took the box from the servant’s hands, and opened it to reveal a small oval of yellowish-brown, transparent material, presumably amber. It baffled him at first, then he saw the firefly suspended at its center.

“Do you know what it is?” she asked.

He only nodded, powerless to speak. She bent to place a kiss on Warren’s cheek, and Caleb caught the tiniest flash of gold chain peeking over the neckline of her gown. After one last smile, wistful yet unsullied by any bitterness, she followed the assembly down the steps, a sunlit promise of life and love fading from his sight.

Caleb closed the box and buried it in his deepest pocket. The vision of a firefly glimmering across her balcony that night had whispered its own truth.

10

First Cloud

Hesitation is a choice, not a lack of one.

- Joásen, Raén of Udan

CALEB STARED
in horror at the man dying at his feet. Soren stood to his right, facing the opposite way, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword as he scanned the brightening landscape. Two more Hodyn soldiers lay in the tall grass nearby, their clothing spattered with blood and their faces locked in the agony of death.

The harvest was in full swing, and with it the raids that yearly plagued the farmers and ranchers along the northwest borders of Ada. Caleb’s training was over. He had pushed himself to the limit for weeks, no less uncompromising than his instructors, determined to silence their doubts. Now he had killed his first Hodyn, his well-balanced Fetra singing through the air as if he had been born with it in his hands.

But he felt no pride, no sense of achievement. Only a firestorm of guilt ignited by the cold, accusing eyes of the dead. He couldn’t help thinking of Warren, and whether some Hodyn child was about to mourn the loss of a father.

Caleb fought to hold it in, but it was no use. He turned his back on the spectacle, and crouched down, bowing his head. With one wrenching heave he emptied his stomach onto the grass, as though purging the shameful deed from his body.

He sat recovering for a while, the breath of dawn chilling the sweat on his face. Then he felt a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Clean your sword and get on your feet, Caleb Stenger. You’ve done what’s required of you. It’s time we headed back to Udan.”

He nodded, did as he was told, and afterward followed his commander back to a grove of yellowing tamaracks where they had tied their horses. Soren drew his attention to the right. A distant plume of smoke and the roof of a barn rose above the morning mist. The lowing of cows and the clucking of hens traveled across the dew-soaked fields as if only a stone’s throw from his ears.

By the time they reached the grove and mounted their horses, Caleb’s hands were steady, his mind free of doubts.

From there they rode northwest, keeping to the shadows of the trees whenever possible as the day broadened about them. Caleb knew how privileged he was. Though a more experienced soldier always guided a recruit on his first oath-fulfilling duty, both as a witness and a comrade, that soldier was rarely the Supreme Raén of Ada. Yet Soren rode in silence, offering no word of comfort or praise. Caleb wished he would. Though he had come to terms with his deed, he still needed a little reassurance or at least a distraction to eradicate the poisonous images from his mind.

It was a full day’s ride to Udan. Color bloomed in the scattered woodlands, and a brisk wind flew down from the whitening mountains in the west. To the south,
Hendra towered majestically above the clouds.

In the afternoon they came to Gegré-Udan, the road out of Ekendoré. Following it north, they soon crossed a bridge over a wide stream hastening from the mountains: the Winding River, which flowed through Grimoa, the land of the Hodyn to the northeast.

An hour or so later they reached a walled city, its back to the foothills of an eastern spur of the mountains: Udan Fortress. A stark contrast to Ekendoré, Udan echoed the austere practicality of Krengliné, though on a smaller scale. There were no stately homes save for one owned by the master of the town: Rewba, the First Underseer, the only civilian authority in Ada who was also a Master Raén.

Two modest towers flanked the south gate, and soldiers paced the walls. But its true defense lay in the lookouts and outposts in the hills beyond, which offered greater views of the surrounding country. A relatively small number of military families constituted the bulk of its population. This time of year, however, because of the enemy raids and the resulting influx of reinforcements from the south, Udan bristled with activity like any other town.

As they passed the gate servants appeared, greeted Soren and his companion with respect, and took the horses and baggage to the stables and barracks down the street.

The thought of a hot meal quickened Caleb’s weary limbs. But he would not rest until he saw Warren. He had left him in the care of a member of the Frehaiani, a middle-aged, kindly woman living in a plain but well-kept house past the barracks. When she opened the door to his knock, the sight of his son, plunging into his arms like so many times before, did much to erase the disturbing images of that day. Soren had no objection to bringing Warren along, and after Caleb thanked the woman, they left for the refectory.

Warren walked close, intent on the new surroundings, as Soren led them into a wide hall filled with yellow lamplight. Caleb breathed deeply, relishing the rich aromas of simmering pots of stew and freshly baked bread. A crowd of Raéni chatted noisily at tables stretched along the opposite wall; others ate their meals in weary silence, sitting alone or in pairs at smaller tables scattered through the rest of the hall. Soren did not greet anyone or announce his presence. He merely chose the nearest empty table and waited with his companions for their food.

There was no mistaking the big, towering chef as he threaded his way between the tables, dangerously balancing a platter laden with food over the heads of his customers. The autumn raids taxed even his strength, however, as well as his patience, and he set their plates down with a show of exhaustion.