by B. K. Boes
It was an existence Imrah had learned to bear.
When a strip of paper was slipped into Imrah’s hand as she walked the Inner Road, she welcomed it gladly. Not much brought her happiness these days, but she was always excited to see Lapuro, who had become like a mother to her. And every trip to the Lower Sector produced a letter from the ambassador. He had sent her many letters over the last two years. Each one had an update on Nasheer and came with a fresh shipment of umro and marro. Once in a while, Lapuro had Imrah speak to a young woman, a daughter or granddaughter of another resident in the Forgotten Vale. Most meetings went much like the one Imrah had had with Illya, whose firstborn son was now safe in Eikon. Now Illya, along with three other slave-wives and Lapuro, were working to find boys they could help save.
More than two hundred boys between infancy and eight-years-old had been saved through their combined efforts over the past couple of years. All over the city, slave-wives were being given a way to fight back. Some had even been able to save more than one son. Imrah was proud of that. The boys she’d had a hand in saving, plus the knowledge that at least one of her sons was alive and well and happy — it was enough to salve some of her deepest wounds.
Now, Imrah made the final turn down the narrow pathways of the Lower Sector and came upon Lapuro’s home. She stopped outside the red curtain and traced the overlapping circles carved into the reddish-brown sandstone. It was a sort of ritual now, a reminder of the time she broke the chains that bound her long enough to save her son. Imrah reached for the rusted chain that would signal her arrival and pulled it twice. The bell did its job, and the curtain was unlatched from the inside and folded back.
Her old friend’s eyes brightened at the sight of Imrah. “There you are,” she said, offering a small smile of greeting. She rarely smiled widely, but nothing kept the old woman from living out the rest of her days in relative contentment.
“How are you today?” Imrah said as she entered the hall.
“Same as the last time — still young at heart. I just wish my body agreed.” Lapuro locked the heavy curtain closed and ushered Imrah to the kitchen. Her voice was a little shakier than it had been the last time Imrah visited.
“You must rest.” Imrah entered the kitchen and retrieved a loaf of bread out of her satchel, along with some pastries. “You do too much.”
Lapuro went to the wall, removed half a brick, and pulled out a letter. “People in the Lower Sector need help, and sometimes, I’m the only one willing to do it. Besides, half the time, a poor beggar only needs a slice of bread and someone to listen. Let an old woman make herself useful.” She hobbled over to Imrah and held out the letter.
“All right.” Imrah took the paper and began to unfold it. “I’m just worried about you.”
“That’s what Illya says,” Lapuro sat down with a huff. “But I can take care of myself, at least for a little while longer.”
Imrah shook her head as she laid the paper flat on the stone slab table. With practice, she had remembered more Old Ergonian and was able to read it without too much difficulty.
Ambassador Bakmann always shared news of Nasheer first, and then he shared small details of his own life. Sometimes Imrah looked forward to hearing about Prestis almost as much as she did about Nasheer. Every letter brought with it the urge to respond, but she would never be able to do so. Doubling the correspondence would double the risk of being caught.
“Nasheer has begun learning his numbers already. He sounds so smart, like his brother was,” Imrah said. As always, her first reaction was joy, and her second despair. Her hand shook as she set the paper down. She longed to hear her son’s voice, to be there for the little milestones of childhood.
“And how is the ambassador?” Lapuro asked.
Imrah swallowed her pain, less acute than it used to be, and wiped away a few stray tears. “He’s doing well,” she said. “He is hoping to make a visit soon, under the guise of a merchant. I think he enjoys all the suspense.”
“But you worry he’ll be caught?”
“Of course I do,” Imrah said. “Prestis shouldn’t risk it as often as he does.”
Lapuro laughed. It was low and soft and rattled just a bit. “My dear girl, I doubt he could be kept away for long.”
“His work is important. I know it is.” Imrah traced the lines of Prestis’ handwriting.
Lapuro sighed something under her breath on her way to replace the brick.
“Did you say something?” Imrah’s forehead knit together as Lapuro shook her head.
“Nothing important,” the old woman said. “You’ll see it, eventually.”
“See what?”
Lapuro laughed again. “Never mind,” she said. “I also received something from Prestis when your letter arrived. There’s good news, besides the fact that the ambassador will be visiting the city under his usual guise.”
“I could use good news. What is it?” Imrah asked.
“A new hub of operations is opening up here in the Lower Sector. This one in Quandesh Quarter, south of here.”
“Who there is able to distribute umro and marro?” Imrah asked. Quandesh Quarter was filled with the lowlier brothels in Sydor, a place of rampant Adikean cruelty. Disfigured generational slave-wives and those who failed their slave-wife training were bought by brothel masters. Imrah shuddered to think of what life must be like for those women.
“Not marro,” Lapuro said. “Just the umro. If those women become barren, many of the brothel masters will kill them or run them ragged until they kill themselves. They get tax credits for every boy their brothel sends to the canyons, and pretty little girls are bought by the training house to become slave-wives.”
“Won’t they be in danger if it’s thought their sons are dying?” Imrah asked.
Lapuro nodded. “It will have to be done carefully. As long as they aren’t suspected of taking the life themselves, they should only receive a beating. And many of them have a sort of twisted loyalty to their brothel master. But, Prestis has found a strong woman with a good head on her shoulders who will be able to help us grow your rebellion.”
Imrah sighed. “I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s not mine.”
The old woman patted Imrah’s hand. “All right, then, child.”
“In any case, I suppose if Prestis trusts this woman, I’ll have to pray he’s right about her.” Imrah tried not to think about the danger of trusting more people with the details of the rebellion.
“Growth is a good thing,” Lapuro said. “The more boys we save, the harder we hit the Adikean Army.”
Imrah took a deep breath. “There’s no taking any of it back, now.” She stood and threw her note into Lapuro’s stove. “I just hope Prestis isn’t going too fast, that we’re not going too fast. If the Adikeans take notice…”
“That’s not going to happen,” Lapuro said. If only she had the power to guarantee it. But the words unspoken between them were loud in Imrah’s ears.
If we’re discovered, no one will be able to save us.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jabin
Yllin Agricultural Estate, Eikon
3rd Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
The visions didn’t stop. Three years after the first, Jabin still carried the burden of nightmares come true. They assaulted him at night every few span, the timing sudden, random, and uncontrollable. The visions caused such a division between his parents that Jabin began keeping them to himself. For three years, he visited Oracle Lan at the sanctuary in secret. He described his vision, and then retreated back to his bedroom to try to drown the images, the smells, and the sounds of the visions in the study of the Sustainer’s word. Sleeplessness plagued Jabin as he fought to avoid new revelations.
And in it all, he felt utterly alone. He couldn’t talk to his mother, who would push him to accept the visions as ordained privilege. Not to his sister, who would listen and try to carry his burden with him. And certainly not to his father, who seemed to f
ear losing his heir and son to religious obsession.
Jabin carried the burden as best he could. He felt older than his eleven years most days, with the things he’d seen. At the same time, after a vision, he felt so small and helpless. They were always so intense, the life of another held in the web of whatever details Jabin could remember.
It was after such a vision that Jabin found himself once again in the sanctuary, at night, alone with Oracle Lan. The old man had asked Jabin to come to him whenever a vision was given; it was the way of things for those gifted who didn’t seek out the Temple. Not everyone who received visions became an oracle, but it was still a sacred duty to report revelations to one. Tonight, Oracle Lan was in his nightgown, his balding head feathered with unkempt strands of hair, bags under his eyes.
“The girl was in the Sahn Woodlands,” Jabin said. “I’m certain of it. She was near where a river meets the ocean.”
Oracle Lan scratched his quill on paper and looked up at Jabin. “Was there a city in the near distance?”
“No,” Jabin said. “She thought of her home as she drowned. A small village near the river, surrounded only by trees.”
“You heard her thoughts?” Oracle Lan sat back, eyes wide.
“Yes. Is that strange?”
The oracle just shook his head. “Not strange. Amazing. Rare, perhaps even unheard of. I’ve been searching the records for mention of oracles hearing thoughts in their visions but have yet to come across an example. These visions you have are getting stronger.”
“I know.” Jabin looked down at his hands. “I wish they would stop.”
“The Sustainer is doing something wondrous in you, Jabin,” Oracle Lan said. “The burden of an oracle is worth the lives we save, the encouragement and guidance we bring.”
“I’m not an oracle,” Jabin said.
The old man sighed. “No, you’re not. Not yet.” He stared at Jabin in silence for a few moments, his eyes searching, for what Jabin didn’t know. Finally, he spoke again. “Let’s continue. If there was no city nearby, she must be where the Karel River flows into the ocean. Did you see anything else?”
Jabin closed his eyes and allowed the vision to come back to him. The girl, about his age, played near a river. She pulled a pendant on a chain out of her pocket and traced the pattern with her finger.
“The pendant is smoothed bone, a likeness of a woman carved into its face. The river is rushing by. The sound of the water is so loud.”
“Find a softer noise and concentrate on that. Try to silence the river,” Oracle Lan said.
Jabin found the sound of a grasshopper and focused on its song. The river quieted. He watched as the girl leaned over the river. She could see the slight reflection of herself in the blue waters. Holding up the chain with both hands, she went to clasp it behind her neck. But an end slipped from her fingers. The chain dropped, and with it the pendant slipped into the river.
“No!” the girl shouted. She hesitated a moment before wading into the water, which only reached her knees at the edge. She bent down into the water, hands reaching.
“She’s afraid her mother will be angry,” Jabin said. “The pendant is a family heirloom.”
“Good.” Oracle Lan said. “Keep going.”
Her foot slipped into deeper water as she searched the riverbed, and she lost her balance. The current pushed her into stronger waters. Arms flailing, she tried to keep her head above water. She screamed for help, but halfway through, her head dipped below the surface and water filled her mouth, her nose.
The river ran faster and faster, and she tumbled through the water as it got deeper and deeper. She thought of her mother and father, imagining her father’s strong arms pulling her out of the water. As she tired, her arms and legs stopped thrashing. The last moments of life were upon her, and she thought of her brother.
“Ed,” Jabin said. “She calls her little brother Ed.”
The last image to cross her mind was of her and her brother running through a hedged maze. It was their favorite place. A hidden luxury that shouldn’t be there.
“Her father built a hedge maze for her and her brother.”
“In a small village?”
“Yes.” Jabin opened his eyes. “Have you heard of something like that?”
“No,” Oracle Lan said, “but I’m certain the detail will bring clarity to those in the region. I will send the letter by bird at first light.”
Jabin nodded. “I should go home now, before my family wakes.”
“You should speak with your father, Jabin. If he knew what you can do, surely he wouldn’t hold you back from the Temple.”
“You don’t know him well, then,” Jabin said. “And I don’t even know if I want to go to the Temple. I am my father’s only heir. Besides that, if I don’t go to the Temple, if I refuse to become an oracle, maybe…” He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Maybe what?” Oracle Lan said gently. “Your visions will stop?”
Jabin shrugged. “Maybe.”
“That’s not how this works, son. I don’t deny it is a heavy burden, and I don’t know why the Sustainer has chosen you to reveal such dire and heavy futures. It would be easier, of course, if you were only given words of encouragement and warning, words of guidance. But, you are called to something greater, Jabin.” He blew on the ink of the letter he’d written and held it up to the lantern light. “This is amazing,” he said. “If all goes well, you will have saved yet another life. It is a burden, but it is also a privilege.”
“Does it get any easier? The things I see?”
The old man walked over to Jabin and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I have only had a few of these sorts of visions. Mostly, the Sustainer gives me guidance for my own small parish. But, I know for certain the Sustainer gives strength to people like you. While it doesn’t get easier, per se, it becomes more bearable.”
“You’ll send the letter at first light?” Jabin said as he stepped away from Oracle Lan, letting the man’s hand fall from his shoulder.
“As I said.” He nodded.
“Thank you.” Jabin left the sanctuary as dawn began to break. The one road down the little village on his father’s land was empty. He quickened his pace as he began to hear the sound of people waking. The last thing he wanted was to answer questions about why he was there so early. He needed to go home, to wash his face, to busy himself so that the images of a drowning girl could be pushed to the borders of his mind. But when he reached the estate house, his father was leaning against the outer wall of the courtyard, waiting for him.
“You’ve been to see the Oracle again, have you?” Abner Yllin said.
Jabin couldn’t lie. “I have.”
“Good. At least I know you won’t lie to my face.” Abner pushed off the wall and stood straighter. “I’ve had my night watch report to me whenever you leave the house in the middle of the night. You’ve been going to see the oracle for a long time now.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Jabin said.
Abner crossed his arms and stared hard at Jabin. He didn’t look angry, to Jabin’s surprise. Perhaps disappointed and a little confused. His voice was searching, not pointed. “Tell me, son. Why do you go to the Oracle? Why encourage these visions?”
Jabin’s eyes widened. “I do not encourage them, Father! I don’t want them. But I can’t keep them to myself.”
“And why not? A word of encouragement for some stranger is so important?”
“Father,” Jabin said, realizing Abner truly knew nothing of his burden. “I have no words of encouragement. I have no songs given to me. No words of guidance or warning. I have only death. Last night it was a girl, drowning in a river. Two span ago, it was a man who accidentally shot his own son with an arrow while hunting. I tell Oracle Lan these things so that they might be saved.”
Abner dropped his arms, one hand hesitating as though he wanted to reach out to Jabin. “Every time?” h
e asked. “Every time you see death?”
Jabin took a deep breath and turned from his father. “Yes,” he whispered. “Every time.”
“Son…”
A hand fell on Jabin’s shoulder.
“I didn’t know.” Abner turned Jabin around and drew him near into an awkward hug. It was a rare thing for Jabin’s father to show such physical affection. “What a terrible thing to bestow upon a child.”
Jabin pulled away. “No, Father. I can’t think like that. The Sustainer is good.”
“Surely you can see the injustice in this?” Abner said.
“It feels unjust to me, sometimes,” Jabin said. “But does it feel unjust to the man who still has his son? Oracle Lan says the burden is worth the lives saved.” As Jabin said the words out loud for the first time, repeating what he’d known in his head to be true, the words took on a new power. They felt truer coming from his own lips than when he’d merely heard them.
“Is that how you feel?” Abner asked.
“Yes.” Jabin let the truth of that sink in. “It is a privilege to be used in such a way by the Sustainer.”
Abner took a step back and rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. “And what of your inheritance? I’ll not have my son renounce the estate. You are my legacy, Jabin.”
“I know,” Jabin said. “But if I were to seek out The Temple, you would still have Jenna.”
“Have some stranger she marries come into my house and take over everything I’ve built?” Abner set his jaw. “No. That’s not acceptable.”
“Jenna’s son would one day take your place. The estate would stay inside the Yllin bloodline. Perhaps you could even have her son keep the Yllin name.”
“It isn’t the same,” Abner said. “I won’t allow it. You don’t want that kind of life, Jabin. Relinquishing your possessions, going your entire life without starting a family of your own?”