Rite of Exile: The Silent Tempest, Book 1 (16 page)

Telai bowed her head, rubbing her hands together as was her habit when facing a difficult decision. Garda forced herself to silence, knowing that anything more could ignite the spirit of defiance her daughter had inherited. She had long feared a day like this—when Telai’s determination and strength took her down a very different path, turning a mother’s pride into pain.

Telai straightened her shoulders. “Whatever the price, I’ll pay it,” she said, then grabbed her cloak and marched out the door. Garda clamped her eyes shut, each fading step from the hall another wound in her heart.

The sound of a throat being cleared ended her melancholy. Yoté stood at the threshold all the more consumed with alarm, doubtless from having seen the look on Telai’s face.

“My lady—is something wrong?”

“It’s best you hear it from Telai, Yoté.”

“As you wish. Do you require an escort?”

“No,” she said, “only my daughter’s youth and resilience.” Yoté’s brows contracted, and she managed a little smile. “Lead the way to the palace, my overly concerned citizen. There’s work to be done.”

13

Dernetondé

Victory is never found

in the blood of an enemy at your feet.

- Etrenga, 1
st
Supreme Raén and 1
st
Overseer of Ada

CALEB STOOD
alone, chilled from an eternal sleep—an aluminum baseball bat gripped firmly in his hands.

The dream again. He dreaded the moment when Warren’s capsule opened to reveal a shriveled corpse, the skin shrunk tight on a ghastly skull. It was a sight that always sat him bolt upright in bed—until now.

Three dim, colorless ghosts floated toward him over the wreckage of the hibernation room. Joásen approached, broken sword in hand, eyes bright and filled with wrath; Garda, her face livid and feral, pointed a long, black-nailed finger; Ressolc hobbled forward on his cane, spittle on his lips, his breath a hollow rasp.

Your son!
they cried in unison.

Caleb shouted, swinging his bat through the air.
Leave him alone!

Their faces neared. Garda shrieked, turning his heart to ice. Ressolc brought his cane down, and Caleb’s shoulder gave way, crumpling like hollow tin. The baseball bat vanished, snatched away by some invisible force.

A pair of hands pinned his arms in an iron grip. Caleb fought with all his strength.
Warren!
he yelled.
Warren, run!

There was a blow to his head, and the images vanished. Spots swam in his eyes, and a halo of light shone on the jagged ceiling. A nicker from one of their horses echoed off the damp stone.

“Caleb Stenger! Speak!”

“What? Soren?”

A silhouette appeared against the light. “By the snows of Hendra! It’s a good thing we’re not in the open—you might have brought the entire Hodyn nation upon us with your bellowing.”

Caleb sat up and rubbed his cheek. “You hit me!”

“Not as hard as I would have liked,” he snapped. “Now I have to put up with
two
of you having nightmares.”

Warren was gripping the flashlight, pale with fright. “Don’t worry, son,” said Caleb, patting him on the shoulder. “I get bad dreams the same as you.”

Doubt softened Soren’s expression. “Go back to sleep for a little. You’ll need to be well rested to get through Véigen.” But Caleb tossed with his blankets for a while, then lifted himself from the cold stone floor, groaning from a stiff back.

After downing a quick meal they saddled their horses and returned to the main passage. Caleb led the way as before. The tunnel varied greatly in width and height, angling slightly downward, and there were no sheer drops or dangerous chasms. Yet they took great care leading their horses over all the loose stones and ledges; one mishap would put an end to their escape, trapping them between one foe and another.

The slow hours passed, and the silence and weight of rock overhead began to take its toll. Caleb felt a strong urge to turn the light to high beam. But in the unrelenting darkness there was no telling how much farther they had to go, and he dared not risk it. They only stopped to rest and water the horses, or when Caleb wrapped his son’s blistered feet in cloth soaked in a nearby pool.

Warren was doing his valiant best to keep up, and before long they were obliged to take turns carrying him on their backs. Despite his small size, he was no easy burden. The tunnel began to incline after this, and they stumbled along, aching from the strain. Eventually the ceiling rose high enough for Caleb to place Warren in the saddle.

Many hours later, his feet burning and his legs ready to buckle, Caleb glimpsed a light ahead. Bat guano and the scattered bones of mice and other small creatures littered the floor. The passage widened. Leaving his horse with Soren he plunged ahead, heedless of his companion’s shout of warning.

Between one step and the next, the orange glare of a setting sun shone directly into the mouth of the tunnel. Caleb stumbled to a halt. Soren climbed the slope behind him, leading both Tellahur and the horse on which Warren sat, muttering all the way. Caleb eventually recovered enough to move cautiously out into the open.

They stood at the head of a valley that widened quickly to the west until it lost itself in the sun. “Dernetondé,” said Soren. “Quite a ways to go before it’s behind us.”

Warren slipped drowsily from his perch into his father’s arms. “Not before a hearty meal and a long, long sleep,” Caleb said, and together they climbed down the stony slope to search for a greener campsite.

♦

Caleb woke to a late morning sun peeking over the mountains. Warren puttered among the stones, and Soren kept watch on a boulder several paces away. A few shrubs here and there marked the beginning of a vast expanse of scrub that filled the valley. It was a desolate land for an exile, and a perfect place for an ambush.

Soren walked over from his lookout. “Anybody who followed would have caught up to us by now.”

Caleb stood up and stretched. “We should still be careful, though.”

“Agreed. We’ll ride a full day’s journey every day, and get past Dernetondé as soon as we can. Hodyn shoot before asking questions—unless there’s something to gain by keeping you alive. They’re better with the bow than most Raéni, and better at hiding themselves, too. We’d best do the same, at night at least. If there’s no safety in numbers, let there be safety in secrecy.”

“A saying of the Raéni?”

“Of my father’s. It’s only common sense.”

“Huh! It was common sense to banish me, I suppose.”

Soren brought out some dried beef, and a small loaf of bread. He tore off a piece and handed it to Warren, who shoved it in his mouth and ran off to resume his play, cheeks bulging like a squirrel. “They don’t know you that well,” Soren finally answered. “Remember, you’re a stranger to them, Raén or no Raén.”

“Are you making excuses for him?”

Unperturbed, Soren divided the rest of the loaf and sat down, handing one half to Caleb. “I’m telling you not to make the mistake he did and let anger cloud your judgment. Once you find and destroy Kseleksten he’ll have no choice but to recognize your integrity and revoke the Rite of Exile.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Only by the one who performed the rite. It’s never been done, though.”

“Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing. But it might take me years to find Kseleksten—if ever!”

Soren studied the sky as he chewed. “I won’t go so far as to say he won’t change his mind before then. But it’s not likely. By some cruel fate you’ve found the Medallion of Yrsten. Until you eliminate the last source of evil you must suffer your misfortune.” A keen interest lit his eyes. “You say you found it near your ship?”

Caleb quickly swallowed his last bite. “As soon as we left it. Warren kept digging at something in the grass. I went to look, and pulled out what I thought was a simple coin.” He shook his head. “Cruel fate? I call it just plain bad luck.”

Soren gazed at him steadily. “Warren saw the Medallion before you did?”

Caleb nodded absently. Then a rush of blood warmed his cheeks. “I dug the coin out of the dirt. I’m the one who found the damned thing!”

Soren munched his food in brooding silence for a moment. “The Prophecy says nothing about—”

“I know what it says,” he cried, swinging his arm as if to brush the suggestion away. He pointed over at Warren, who was still collecting stones, oblivious to the turn their conversation had taken. “Are you saying that a child—my boy—is your damned Bringer of Evil?”

“Something about this stirs my fears,” he said, then paused before continuing. “It might be hard for you to accept, but—”

“There’s nothing to accept,” Caleb shouted, jumping to his feet. “If anyone is this ridiculous Bringer person, I am. And if you want proof,” he added, hand shaking as he pointed at Soren, “then call my son by that title once, just once—and I’ll be happy to fulfill your Prophecy right now!”

Soren had risen as well. “Calm yourself,” he said, palms outward. “My affection and obligation toward your son has not changed, just as my opinion of you did not change after Udan. If evil comes, it will certainly not be by his choice.” He paused as though to say something more, then sat down and resumed his meal in a clear attempt to end the conversation.

“Wait a minute,” Caleb said, stepping forward. “Now that you think I’m not this Bringer, shouldn’t you be telling me to return to Udan and face the consequences?”

“Did the Oath do nothing more than pass your lips?
Give aid to all Adaiani in their need.
That includes everyone, including Warren—and yes, you too, before you start grouching about how unappreciated you are. In any case, what better way to determine the truth of this prophecy than to stay close at hand?”

“I see. Friendship is no longer your primary reason.”

“It never was! The Oath transcends everything, even friendship.” He snapped to a stand and walked over to groom the horses. Caleb fumed, but he knew better than to pursue the matter further, and called Warren over to help with the packing.

♦

Few words passed between them as they rode down the valley that day. When Caleb’s wrath cooled he realized how unfair he had been to Soren, who was simply the only available outlet for his bottled-up resentment. But the old Raén was like cold stone, and Caleb could not work up the nerve to offer a friendly remark. Part of him believed Soren’s suggestion; otherwise he merely would have laughed.

Like truants lost in a vast, neglected orchard, they threaded their way through the tall bushes, every sense alert. A cold wind swept down from the mountains, sending multitudes of little yellow leaves spinning from the branches. When the setting sun shone in their faces, they stopped. Soren muttered only two words, “No fire,” then resumed his silence. He seemed ill at ease whenever Warren approached, and Caleb’s attempts at conversation evoked mere grunts and nods. Caleb gave it up, and rolled out his blankets while Soren took the first watch.

An hour or so before midnight, the Master Raén nudged him awake. He offered no advice, retiring without a word. Caleb struggled up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. With a blanket wrapped tight to stave off the bitter wind, and a silent curse at his companion’s obstinate silence, he walked a dozen yards and sat against the sheltered side of a tall stone.

The moonless sky glittered with stars, and the dark bushes tossed about like restless hulks. Caleb’s eyelids drooped constantly, in spite of the cold. He rose and paced around to keep awake. An eerie sensation crawled down the nape of his neck, but he attributed it to the uncanny darkness.

After a while a gibbous moon crept over the eastern mountains, like the opening eye of a gigantic beast. Though it was smaller than Earth’s, it looked nearly the same with its closer orbit, taking only sixteen days to complete a cycle. Yet it seemed to take an eternity to clear the bushes.

No sooner had this thought formed when a strong arm clamped tightly around his neck. A sharp point jabbed into his back, breaking the skin, and the arm tightened, choking off his cry.

The instincts his Raéni instructors had harshly instilled in him now paid off. He lifted his right foot and kicked hard behind him, striking a knee. A grunt of pain sounded at Caleb’s ear, and the hold on his neck loosened. The blade lost its bite.

He twisted around in a flash and jabbed his fingers directly into the man’s eyes. The assailant yelled hoarsely and covered his bloodied face with his hands, dropping the knife. Caleb froze, shocked by what he had done. But the man’s screams were echoing far and wide, and he had no choice but to yank out his Fetra and pass a lateral swipe through the neck. The blade rang as the bearded head toppled to the ground; the body slumped to a heap, quivered for a moment, then lay still.

Soren braked to a halt with his sword held ready. “Hodyn,” he said softly. “We must leave at once. There’ll be more of them soon.”

Caleb tore himself away from the dark pool of blood spreading at his feet. “Where’s Warren?”

“Hush! He’s here.” Soren turned to reveal the boy gripping his tunic like a frightened monkey. Caleb dropped his weapon as Warren ran up to him.

“It’s all right, son.”

“
Now
, Caleb Stenger!” Soren hissed.

He nodded. “I’m coming.”

Soren hid the body as best he could in the bushes, and they returned to camp to saddle the horses. Caleb glanced at Soren as they gathered their belongings.

“It won’t get any easier, will it?” he asked, mindful to lower his voice.

Soren kept silent, and Caleb fumed, but he was only considering his reply. “Remember what I said at the park that day?” he said. “You’re finally discovering the true meaning of the Oath.”

“Damned be the Oath!” Caleb whispered. “I was saving my life! The Oath was the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Indeed.”

Caleb stared at his unfinished pack and gritted his teeth. “Curse you, Soren! Why are you being so unreasonable?”

“I fear what the future will bring.” He glared at him. “You can’t pack your horse and talk at the same time?”