Sanctuary (19 page)

‘Ready.’

But he wasn’t. His bad arm was his flaw and the pain had worn pathways in his mind and body. Try as he might, he could not recall the happy times back home on the island. All he could do was close his eyes and remember to breathe.

At last, the healer released him. ‘There. That’s all for tonight.’

He felt dizzy with relief.

‘You did well. I’ve known adults who could not cope with that level of pain.’

He shook his head, drew breath, then hesitated. He had been about to ask the healer about the hidden girl, but didn’t want to get her in trouble.

‘What troubles you, choice-son?’

Where to start? ‘Why must we keep our distance from our Malaunje kin?’

‘I know it seems cruel to turn your back on your sisters, but it is for their own safety. You know my Malaunje servant?’

‘Meleya?’

Reoden nodded. ‘Before I began my initiate training at seventeen there was a terrible accident. My little choice-brother was hurt. Driven by my love for him, my gift broke free of my control. The power healed him, but Meleya was right beside me. It crashed through her defences and imprinted itself on her. She couldn’t prevent it and I couldn’t help it. I made her my devotee.’ The healer shrugged. ‘Since then, Meleya has been linked to me, addicted to my power. The gifts are dangerous and we T’En have a responsibility to the Malaunje around us. Meleya and I are lucky, in that we’re well-suited.’

Reoden’s keen, wine-dark eyes sought his and held them. ‘Imagine being tied to someone you despise. Or perhaps you loved them once, and you’ve grown to hate them. A devotee is for life, Ronnyn. And when we love someone our emotions are harder to control, making our gifts harder to contain. Why do you think the custom of keeping our Malaunje kin at a distance arose? We do it to protect them. The gifts are a great responsibility.’

And he had nearly forced his gift on Aravelle. Shame made him hang his head. He hated himself and his gift. Yet, at the same time, he longed for the power to return. He was as much addicted to it as any devotee.

What if it never came back? What would happen to him, with his crippled arm and crippled gift?

His T’En father would reject him. No other brotherhood would take him. He’d...

‘Ronnyn, what is it?’

He couldn’t tell her. No one must know.

A pure T’En without a gift. It was too shameful.

‘One day you’ll learn you can trust me.’ The healer squeezed his hand. Coming to her feet, she gestured to his bad arm. ‘It may be stiff and feel worse than usual. We’ll have another session in a couple of days. Tomorrow I’ll see if I can fix your broken nose.’

Chapter Thirteen

A
RAVELLE STUMBLED OUT
of the foredeck cabins. It was the end of her first day serving the all-father and she was too tired to think. A fog had rolled in. The lantern that hung from the nearest mast formed a dull golden halo. She should have been watching where she was going, but all she could think of was curling up next to her little sister and going to sleep, hopefully with no nightmares of her family being kidnapped, her father murdered, her mother dying of blood loss after giving birth to her little brother.

She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, only to sense the abrasive tang of power. Going completely still, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth to taste the chill, foggy air.

This was T’En male power, laced with something terrible. Her stomach knotted with fear.

Heart racing, she looked along the flagship’s mid-deck towards the rear-decks, but the mist was so thick she could not see more than a body length in front of her.

There were dangerous men hidden in the fog.

She swallowed and edged slowly along the deck towards the hatch. If she could just slip below...

A muffled curse.

‘Catch him!’

A young, wiry T’En man came running out of the fog towards her.

Seeing her, he hesitated.

Someone grabbed him from behind. Another pair of arms joined the first and dragged him back. His boots thumped on the deck as he bucked and writhed, disappearing into the fog. She heard the dull thud and grunt of a struggle.

Then nothing but muffled breathing.

After a moment, a man muttered, ‘Who would have thought the beast-lover had so much fight in him?’

His savage satisfaction made her shudder and her frozen muscles unlocked.

She spun on her toes and went to run, only to slam into someone’s chest. Strong hands caught her. One arm went around her waist, lifting her off her feet, and a hand covered her mouth.

The Mieren rapist had grabbed her, knocking her to the ground, knocking the air out of her chest. No matter how hard she’d struggled, she could not throw him off.

But the Mieren hadn’t smelled like this. This was one of her own people.

Saskar?

She looked into his dark eyes and saw fear as he glanced over her shoulder towards the fog that hid the struggle.

His eyes returned to hers and held her gaze, asking a silent question.

She nodded; she would be quiet.

He let go, took her hand and he drew her back with him.

She expected him to lead her into the passage under the foredeck. Instead, he drew her under the steps. There was just enough room to stand huddled together. In silence, they stared into the fog that hid the mid-deck.

She could still sense aggressive male gift and hear the occasional muffled gasp. ‘It’s the all-father’s duty to protect his people. Shouldn’t we tell Hueryx? We –’

‘There’s nothing we can do for him, Vella. We’re only Malaunje.’

‘But –’

‘Besides, he was one of Kyredeon’s T’En and our all-father can’t interfere with the way another all-father runs his brotherhood.’

She could feel the tension in Saskar’s body as he listened, senses on alert. When the sounds of the struggle faded, he let his breath out slowly and his shoulders relaxed.

She shivered. The night was cold, the fog damp and now that her heart was no longer racing...

‘You’ll catch a chill.’ Saskar rubbed her arms.

It made her feel warm and protected, and she didn’t like that. She had to be strong. Stepping out of reach, she came up against the wall. ‘Why were you right behind me?’

He gave her an exasperated look. ‘I was making sure you reached Charsoria’s cabin safely.’ He tilted his head to listen. She saw him inhale, weighing the scents and traces of power on the air. ‘I think they’ve gone. Come on.’

He caught her hand and drew her out from under the stairs. They crossed the deck, heading for the fore-hatch.

She could sense residual gift-working, but there was no sign of the struggle or the initiate. That could be Ronnyn in a few years, trying to make his way in the brotherhood. She felt sorry for the young initiate.

‘Why were they so cruel to him?’

‘Because they could be.’ Saskar slowed as they reached the open hatch that led to the Malaunje deck. He sighed. ‘They called him beast-lover, Vella. That means he’s a bestiare. His gift allows him to commune with animals.’

‘So?’

He grimaced. ‘T’En prize intellect, culture and control above all things. They look down on us Malaunje because we have no gift, and they regard Mieren as baser creatures, little better than animals. For a T’En’s gift to link him to beasts...’ Saskar shuddered. ‘It demeans him. He has no hope of ever gaining high stature.’

‘But it’s not like he chose his gift. It was born in him.’

‘And it’s not like we chose to be born Malaunje. But we were.’

She felt the force of Saskar’s anger. It didn’t frighten her; she understood it. The same anger burned in her.

He gestured to the hatch. ‘Go on.’

She climbed down the ladder into the dimness of the Malaunje deck.

Glancing up, she saw him there in the lantern-lit fog, standing over the open hatch. Saskar... her only friend, making sure she was safely returned to the Malaunje deck. She raised a hand and waved.

He nodded and turned away.

For all that he served the brotherhood’s hand-of-force and slept in the all-father’s cabin, he was as trapped as she.

As Aravelle returned to Charsoria’s cabin her mind was abuzz with the faces and names of Hueryx’s inner circle, as well as the tug and pull of the adepts’ jostling for stature.

When she opened the door, she found the children were already asleep. The women of Charsoria’s inner circle sat together, talking softly. Aravelle counted four young women who wore the warrior temple plaits, as well as the older women. Redravia played a haunting melody on the pipes.

When Aravelle entered, Hariorta whispered to her half-sister and Charsoria’s eyes narrowed. Redravia looked up and stopped playing.

Aravelle bowed and would have scurried to her bedroll, but Charsoria greeted her sourly. ‘I suppose you think you’re favoured now.’

Aravelle knew it was petty, but Charsoria’s resentment pleased her. She kept her eyes lowered. ‘I live to serve.’

‘You might have charmed your way into Hueryx’s good graces just like your mother did, but I know you for what you are; a scheming stature-seeker!’

There was nothing Aravelle could say. The all-father’s-voice judged everyone by her own standards. Stature-seeker, indeed.

‘She thinks she’s clever,’ Hariorta said. ‘But she doesn’t realise. If the all-father truly honoured her, he’d keep his distance. Instead he toys with her.’

Charsoria nodded and a malicious smile split her face. ‘You’ll end up paying for your mother’s transgressions, Vella. How Sasoria would hate it, if she knew you were in his power.’

Aravelle refused to react. She was a personal scribe to the all-father of the one of the great brotherhoods. What could happen to her? She knew the dangers of the gifts.

Charsoria snorted. ‘I can sense their power on you from here!’

Aravelle opened her gift awareness. ‘I sense nothing.’

‘Because you’re saturated with it.’

‘She needs to learn how to shield herself,’ Redravia said.

‘Is that so?’ Charsoria asked, a nasty gleam in her dark eyes. ‘Have you had no training, Vella, none at all?’

Aravelle shook her head.

Hariorta and Charsoria exchanged a glance. Charsoria nodded to Redravia. ‘You train her. And do a better job than you did on Sasoria.’

Aravelle wanted to ask what she meant by this, but did not dare. Instead, she retreated to the bedroll she shared with Itania.

As she stroked her little sister’s back, she repeated the same thing she’d repeated every night.
Nothing was going to break her. Not the cruel Mieren, not her mother’s spiteful half-sister...

And certainly not her charming T’En father.

I
MOSHEN HEARD A
clatter and a shriek. That was the problem on the overcrowded ship; there was no privacy. A cry of protest followed. The noise made her children stir in their sleep, and her devotee lifted her head.

‘Stay here, Fray. I’ll go tell them to be quiet,’ Imoshen whispered.

As she entered the passage, the door to the communal bathing chamber swung open. Egrayne spotted her and beckoned. Two bright spots of colour burned in the voice-of-reason’s cheeks. Imoshen could sense that she was having trouble controlling her gift, which was unusual.

When Imoshen stepped into the chamber, she found Iraayel on his knees, pinned by the sisterhood’s hand-of-force. Fear for her choice-son roused Imoshen’s gift and she read everyone in the room, all but Iraayel. She hadn’t been able to read him since the day the healer’s sacrare daughter was murdered in front of him.

Egrayne was furious, and hurt. Kiane felt vindicated. She believed that all T’En men were dangerous, and whatever had happened here had confirmed this for her. The two shield-sisters, Dretsune and Ysattori, were regretful but determined to see this through. And Egrayne’s choice-daughter, Saffazi, was ablaze with righteous anger.

‘Let him go.’ Saffazi struggled against the two shield-sisters who restrained her. ‘We –’

Egrayne slapped her. ‘How dare you shame me?’

Shocked, Saffazi stared at her choice-mother. She went absolutely white, and then her gift rose.

‘No.’ Imoshen held the young initiate’s eyes and let her own gift rise in challenge. Saffazi was powerful and inclined to be impatient with anyone not as quick of mind as herself. ‘Are you a newly-empowered thirteen-year-old with no control over your gift, or an initiate with half a year’s training?’

Saffazi’s blazing gaze faltered, then dropped, and the threat of gift power eased. ‘Your pardon, all-mother.’

‘Now, what’s going on here?’ Imoshen calmly asked, as though her heart wasn’t racing fit to burst. ‘Why is my choice-son restrained?’

‘They were...’ Dretsune, the warrior-turned-scholar, glanced apologetically to Egrayne. ‘We came in here and found them trysting.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not true.’ Iraayel lifted his head.

‘Close enough,’ Dretsune said.

Imoshen took a step back.

‘So what if we were?’ Saffazi demanded. ‘We love each –’

‘Enough,’ Egrayne barked. ‘Ysattori, fetch the rest of the inner circle.’

The younger of the two shield-sisters slipped out. With the deaths of the last hand-of-force, her shield-sister, two gift-warriors and the gift-tutor, the sisterhood’s inner circle had shrunk and its nature had changed.

When Imoshen was made all-mother instead of Gift-tutor Vittoryxe, she had chosen an inner circle that included some of the gift-tutor’s supporters to win them over. These women tended to be traditionalists with closed minds. Hand-of-force Arodyti and her contingent had been Imoshen’s supporters and forward thinkers. Now the mix of women veered towards the conservative. This put Imoshen in a difficult position.

Ysattori returned with three T’En women.

‘What’s going on?’ Tiasarone asked. She was one of the conservatives.

Iraayel went to speak, but Imoshen sent him a look.

Saffazi lifted her chin. ‘We want to make the deep-bonding –’

‘Foolish, foolish girl!’ Egrayne was angrier than Imoshen had ever seen her.

‘...so that Iraayel can stay with us,’ Saffazi finished.