Sanctuary (3 page)

‘Deimosh.’ Ceyne greeted the brotherhood’s gift-tutor. ‘Tobazim hasn’t come round since the gift-infusion.’

‘He was gift-infused when he had a head wound?’ Deimosh sounded indignant. ‘Why didn’t Reoden heal him? She healed the others.’

‘He told her he was fine,’ Maric said. ‘He sent her to heal Ardonyx, then myself. While she was healing me, the causare gift-infused him.’

‘Why, what’s wrong with gift-infusing someone when they have a head wound?’ Haromyr asked.

‘Did he complain of double vision?’ Ceyne asked. ‘Confusion or nausea?’

‘He didn’t complain at all,’ Maric said.

‘He wouldn’t,’ Ceyne muttered.

‘What’s the problem?’ Haromyr asked.

‘From the looks of the swelling, he had concussion,’ Ceyne said. ‘Then the causare bombarded him with power while his gift defences were down.’

‘So she’s what, made a devotee of him?’ Haromyr asked.

‘No...’ Ceyne sounded hesitant. ‘Deimosh?’

‘I’ve never come across anything like this. Each person’s gift is individual, and how they interact differs depending on the circumstances. We won’t know what she’s done until he wakes up.’

‘She was honouring him, not injuring him,’ Haromyr protested.

The brotherhood elders did not answer.

‘Can’t you do something?’

‘We can try siphoning off some of her power,’ Deimosh said.

‘I don’t have that skill,’ Ceyne said. ‘You’ll have to do it, Deimosh.’

Tobazim felt hands cup his face and the glow drained away. He didn’t want it to go. It left an emptiness that went bone deep.

Tobazim tried to push Deimosh’s hands away before the gift-tutor could steal... no, it wasn’t stealing. They were helping him. It still felt like theft.

‘He’s coming round!’ Haromyr sounded relieved.

‘Can you hear me, lad?’ Ceyne asked.

Tobazim thrust Deimosh aside and sat up, head reeling.

They knelt around him. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Out on deck to see us sail through the headlands,’ Haromyr answered, then turned to the two brotherhood elders. ‘He seems fine.’

Ceyne peered into Tobazim’s face. Checked his eyes and asked, ‘Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?’

‘Two.’ He felt unreasonably angry with them.

‘Any nausea, dizziness, confusion?’

Tobazim shook his head then winced. ‘But everything hurts.’

‘And so it should. You fought a rearguard action to escape the wharf last night. Only just got away with your lives. Do you remember the causare gift-infusing you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you feel any side-effects?’

‘No. I’m fine.’

‘He’s back to normal,’ Haromyr said, and the others relaxed.

But he wasn’t. Tobazim felt as if he’d been robbed. Robbed of his wits by the power of the gift-infusion and then robbed again, when the gift-tutor siphoned it off. Not that he admitted as much; he couldn’t reveal weakness.

‘You were swamped by female gift power when your defences were down. We don’t know what it will do,’ Deimosh said. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glowed with an inner light. The causare’s power had done him good. ‘If your gift starts behaving strangely, let me know.’

Tobazim nodded, determined to keep his own counsel. For all he knew, Deimosh would run straight back to the all-father to report.

Ceyne put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Have something to eat, lad. Then walk about the deck to clear your head. The causare is about to hand over the prince.’

Chapter Two

A
RAVELLE PRODDED HIM
. ‘Wake up, Ronnyn.’

He was warm and he could feel his six-year-old brother, Vittor, sleeping next to him. For a moment, Ronnyn thought he was in their loft bedroom at home. Then it all came back to him. Their cottage had been burned to the ground when the fisher-folk kidnapped his family and delivered them to be exiled along with the rest of their people.

He sat up, heart racing. From the ship’s movement, they were underway, but not through the headlands yet. Vittor slept on one side of him and his baby sister, Itania, slept on the other. ‘Where’s Tam? Is he –’

‘Tamaron’s fine. At least, I think he is. I haven’t seen him since they took him into All-mother Reoden’s cabin. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Aravelle whispered. She was a year and a bit older than him and a half-blood whereas he was T’En, but she was the centre of his world, always had been. ‘I just heard them say King Charald is coming to collect the prince. You should go out on deck and see what you can learn.’

He rubbed his eyes. There were others sleeping in the cabin, curled up on bedrolls. He’d gathered they were the remnants of a sisterhood. When the healer collapsed last night, after attending to their little brother, the sisterhood had bundled his family in here and ignored him. ‘I heard a newborn crying.’

‘I heard him, too. It has to be baby Ashmyr.’ Aravelle’s mulberry eyes darkened with grief. Neither of them mentioned their mother, who the healer hadn’t been able to save. ‘Go out on deck, see what you can learn. Look for Sorne.’

Ronnyn nodded. Even though they’d only met the half-blood yesterday, he’d risked his life to save Tamaron.

‘If they bring food while you’re on deck, I’ll save you some,’ Aravelle said.

He ducked into the bathing chamber. Hot and cold water, marble tub, silver fittings – he’d never seen anything like it. Hearing his mother’s stories of the richness of T’En culture had not prepared him for the real thing.

He relieved himself, then adjusted the loin cloth, made from a strip of his nightshirt. That reminded him of their mother giving birth in the back of a caged-cart. Her last words had been
never forget your Malaunje kin
. Tears stung his eyes. As if he would ever forget Itania and Aravelle.

He needed to strip and wash, but he had no other clothes and no time; he should be out on deck. First he returned to the cabin to find Aravelle sitting guard over their little brother and sister. He was so proud of her, after everything they’d been through. ‘I’ll need a blanket. It’s cold out.’

She nodded and passed him her blanket. He wore it like a cloak as he followed the passage to the mid-deck. The icy planks burned his bare feet.

His father had sailed a small, one-masted fishing vessel: he was familiar with the sea, but his father’s boat had been nothing like this seven-masted ship. Shafts of dawn sunlight gilded the segmented sails so that they gleamed like dragonfly wings. There was a high foredeck tucked into the blunt-nosed prow, with cabins where the healer’s sisterhood had taken shelter, and across the stern were two rows of cabins. The lower cabins opened off the mid-deck. Steps led up to the lower-rear deck, with a second floor of cabins, and more steps led to the high rear-deck.

Everything was of the finest quality, from the bathing chambers to the cabins with their glass-fronted cabinets and gold-embossed woodwork. He had never seen anything so beautiful, or so frivolous.

Back home, his family had lived in a one-room cottage made of driftwood but they’d lived free of brotherhood interference. His half-blood parents had run away so they could keep him, their first T’En child, and they’d always feared their brotherhood would find them. In the end it was the fisher-folk who...

‘Here’s the prince, causare.’

Ronnyn turned to see the healer’s hand-of-force deliver young Prince Cedon to Causare Imoshen.

The causare smiled and dropped to her knees. ‘Show me how you can stand on tip toes, Cedon.’

The small boy balanced on his toes, holding onto her hands. Ronnyn remembered whispered conversations overheard in the cabin last night. People had been indignant; the wharf shouldn’t have been attacked, not when they held Prince Cedon as a hostage and certainly not when All-mother Reoden had healed his club foot in return for safe passage to the sea.

Ronnyn looked for Sorne, but couldn’t spot him. There was a big T’En woman nearby, who wore the neck torc of a sisterhood voice-of-reason. The gift-warrior who’d brought Prince Cedon onto the deck stood beside her. Ronnyn crept closer until he could overhear what they were saying.

‘...king was not behind the attack, Baron Eskarnor was.’ The big T’En woman sounded grim. ‘Unfortunately, our people have become caught up in a struggle for the Chalcedonian throne.’

‘I can run and jump, too,’ Cedon announced and proved it by jumping so vigorously he almost toppled over.

Imoshen steadied him with a laugh. ‘Keep up your exercises, and every time you do them, think of us. You need to wear your boot to ensure your foot grows straight and strong. Wear it until you grow out of –’

‘Where’s Ree-ma?’ Cedon asked.

‘All-mother Reoden is sleeping,’ Imoshen said. ‘Remember how the bad man tried to swap the other little boy for you?’

Prince Cedon nodded and Ronnyn flinched. The ‘other little boy’ was his brother Tamaron. Baron Eskarnor had used the attack on the wharf as a diversion, to slip aboard the flagship and take Ronnyn’s little brother hostage. He’d tried to exchange Tamaron for the prince. When he realised the Wyrds weren’t going to hand over the prince, he’d cut Tamaron’s throat and leapt overboard.

And Ronnyn had been helpless to stop him. His hands closed in fists, making his crippled arm spasm in pain.

‘The bad man hurt the other little boy,’ Imoshen said. ‘Ree-ma had to drain her gift to save his life. She’ll be all right, but she’s worn out for now.’

Cedon’s chin trembled. ‘Wants my Ree-ma.’

‘I know, but’ – Imoshen took his hands in hers – ‘your father loves you, Cedon. He needs you to grow up big and strong to become the next king – King Cedon the Kind. Remember what we told you?’

He nodded. ‘The greater the king, the greater his service to his people.’

‘Good boy. I hope one day you’ll understand what it means. To lead is to serve.’ She kissed his forehead. ‘Now, go back to your people.’

She helped him into the sling, which rose up and swung across to the deck of the lower vessel. Ronnyn went to the side to watch. The prince climbed out, then stood uncertainly. An elaborately-dressed elderly man inspected him, made him jump and walk, then hugged him with every sign of joy.

Ronnyn watched, thinking,
so this is the king who broke the three hundred years’ truce, captured the Celestial City and exiled us
.

Not far from the king stood a white-haired man. When he turned around to look up, Ronnyn recognised Sorne. What was the half-blood doing down there? He should be sailing with the T’Enatuath.

At first, Ronnyn had been wary of Sorne, with his white hair and missing eye. But as soon as Sorne learnt their mother had just given birth and needed help, he had taken them to the T’En healer. When the wharf was attacked, he’d saved Ronnyn’s brothers and sisters. And when Baron Eskarnor grabbed Ronnyn’s little brother, Sorne had removed his sword belt and offered himself in Tamaron’s place.

Since the fisher-folk kidnapped his family, Ronnyn had felt adrift, lost in a world that made no sense. In Sorne, he’d found someone he could trust.

Now Ronnyn watched Sorne nod to Causare Imoshen. She acknowledged him with a single nod. It was as if they sealed a pact, and Ronnyn realised Sorne might be a half-blood, but he was much more than he appeared. And he was not coming with them.

As the two vessels pulled apart, Ronnyn felt cast adrift. The T’Enatuath were his people, but he didn’t know them. If his parents hadn’t run away, he would never have known them, or his half-blood sisters. He would have been handed over to a T’En sisterhood, which would have reared him until he was seventeen.

Right now, he needed to make sure Tamaron was all right. He would be frightened without his family by his side. They were all he had ever known.

Last night, the causare had been kind to Ronnyn. Now he tried to approach her, but the big voice-of-reason stepped between them.

‘Don’t bother the causare. She’s been up all night.’

‘But I –’

‘But nothing. You’re the son of runaway Malaunje. She’s the leader of our people.’ The woman frowned down at him. ‘Do you know which brotherhood or sisterhood your parents ran away from?’

He’d heard his mother mention Scholar Hueryx, but he didn’t know which brotherhood the scholar belonged to. If the T’En women knew his family had served a brotherhood, they’d send his Malaunje sisters to serve them. ‘I don’t –’

‘How old are you, boy?’

‘Twelve, thirteen in the spring.’ Back home, he’d done the work of a man. Here he felt like a lost child, and he hated it.

‘Go back to your cabin, Ronnyn.’

But he didn’t. Instead, he followed the newborn’s cries down the passage and peered into All-mother Reoden’s cabin. He spotted baby Ashmyr being bathed and clucked over by several T’En women. There were half a dozen small T’En children, all dressed alike in breeches, vests and robes, and several Malaunje servants. He couldn’t spot Tamaron, so he pushed the door open a little further.

Strong hands reached for him, dragged him in and threw him up against the wall. ‘What’re you doing?’

A wave of female gift power swept over him. On instinct, he summoned his defences. The sisterhood’s hand-of-force glared down at him from her one good eye, making him wonder why Healer Reoden hadn’t saved her other eye.

‘Ronnyn!’ Four-year-old Tamaron tried to force himself in between them and shove the gift-warrior away.

‘He’s just a boy. Let him go, Cerafeoni.’ One of the women came over. Ronnyn recognised the sisterhood’s voice-of-reason, Nerazime. ‘He’s Tamaron’s older brother. They’re the children of runaway free Malaunje and don’t know any better.’

‘Bring him to me,’ Healer Reoden said. She was propped in the bunk under the windows, supported by pillows.

The one-eyed warrior seized Ronnyn’s arm and escorted him across the chamber. She took such long strides he lost his blanket and by the time he stood before the all-mother he wore nothing but his loin cloth.

‘Look at the state of him,’ one of the old women whispered. ‘Filthy and bruised.’

‘It’s hardly his fault. They were taken from their home, locked in a cart and transported across Chalcedonia,’ Healer Reoden said. ‘If anything, the fault is ours for not seeing to his needs.’