Sanctuary

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  But Sorne didn’t care. Valendia was his sister, and he did not see why she should be put in danger because of the rivalry within Graelen’s brotherhood.

  Fury at the T’En, their arrogance and the way the brotherhoods were organised churned inside him. Before this was over, they’d see what one Malaunje could achieve.

  And he realised he was doing it again. He’d spent years trying to prove to True-men that he was as good as them. Now he had to carve a place for himself in T’Enatuath society.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘SEE FOR YOURSELF.’

  Ronnyn peered into the polished silver mirror.

  ‘No more broken nose,’ Reoden said.

  Since he’d never seen himself before arriving on the ship, and by then his nose was broken, he wasn’t used to this new face. But it did feel good to be able to breathe freely again. ‘Thank you.’

  The healer beamed. How could she be so kind to him, yet lock the girl away? It couldn’t simply be because she was a girl. He’d spotted two girls a little older in the causare’s sisterhood.

  ‘Coming out on deck?’

  ‘In a moment,’ he said.

  Five days had passed and he hadn’t been able to get near the hidden girl. It was so hard to find a moment when the cabin was empty. There was always someone coming and going. Now that Reoden had left the bathing chamber, he had a chance.

  He slipped into the adjoining cabin, grabbed a chair, climbed up and peered through the grille. The girl was writing, bent over her work.

  ‘Don’t you get lonely?’ he asked.

  She jumped, knocked the ink and spilt it. Quick as a cat, she righted the bottle, but ink had already run across the page and discoloured her fingers. ‘Look what you made me do!’

  ‘You should wash your hands.’

  She glanced up to him. ‘Is the cabin empty?’

  ‘Yes.’ He jumped down and moved the chair to one side.

  She opened the panel cautiously.

  ‘I’ll keep watch while you wash your hands.’

  She darted past him into the bathing chamber and he stood at the door.

  ‘What were you writing?’

  ‘I’m illuminating manuscript pages.’

  ‘I couldn’t sit still and do such fiddly work.’

  ‘I love it. There’s something very pleasing in getting the lines just right.’

  He slipped into the bathing chamber so he could watch her.

  ‘I’d rather be outside fishing or hunting,’ he said. ‘I used to do the work of a man back home.’

  ‘I haven’t been out in the open since… for a long time.’

  ‘I’ll take you outside.’

  She shook her head, but her eyes held such longing that Ronnyn’s mind raced. He knew he could lower a rowboat. The challenge would be to do it without being caught. ‘Would you like to go out on the bay?

  ‘I’m not allowed.’

  ‘When no one’s looking. We could slip out, take one of the rowboats, go fishing.’

  ‘I shouldn’t –’

  Someone entered the all-mother’s cabin.

  He crept over to the door and peered through the gap. She joined him, face pale with panic.

  ‘It’s the scryer and her shield-sister,’ he whispered. ‘Did you close the panel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They heard footsteps as someone came towards the bathing chamber door.

  ‘Quick.’ Ronnyn caught her hand and ran for the door leading out into the passage.

  The pair of them darted into the hall, just as one of the sisters entered the bathing chamber.

  ‘Now I’m in trouble,’ the girl whispered.

  Ronnyn’s heart hammered. ‘Nonsense. Come with me…’ He took her hand and led her towards the mid-deck.

  At the door, she resisted. ‘What if –’

  ‘This ship is packed with two sisterhoods. We don’t know who everyone is. If the causare’s people see you, they’ll think you’re from the healer’s sisterhood, and if her people see you –’

  ‘All right. But –’

  He pulled her through the door onto the deck, leading her several steps before she stopped.

  He turned back to find her staring up at the sky, eyes glistening with tears of joy. ‘Is anyone likely to check up on you this afternoon?’

  ‘What? No, they wouldn’t expect me to try to escape. I haven’t done this since they shut me away, four years ago.’

  He wanted to ask why she’d been shut away, but several Malaunje children ran past, playing and laughing, while their elders strung washing on lines across the deck, obscuring the rowboats. It was a perfect moment to carry out his plan. ‘Come on, this way.’

  He darted between washing lines, making for the nearest rowboat. He reached up and undid the canvas cover. ‘Slip in here.’

  He cupped his hands. She placed one elegant foot in his hand, another on his shoulders and sprang up, slipping gracefully into the boat.

  He glanced both ways. No one was looking. The flapping washing formed the perfect screen. ‘Wait there.’

  Then he ran inside, grabbed a blanket and some left-overs from lunch, and rolled it into a bundle.

  As he shoved the bundle into the boat he noticed two Malaunje lads of about ten watching him.

  ‘Here, you two, work the pulleys.’

  Just as he suspected, they were so used to obeying T’En that they didn’t question him. Ronnyn slipped beneath the canvas and into the boat as the lads began to lower it.

  He looked nervously to the girl. Her eyes glowed with a mixture of terror and excitement. With every heartbeat, he expected someone to lean over the side and demand to know what they were doing.

  The boat’s belly kissed the sea. He undid both clamps and waved to the lads, who raised the ropes.

  They were free. He had her all to himself for a whole afternoon.

  Feeling in control again, Ronnyn threw back the canvas and took the oars. ‘Where would you like to go?’

  ‘Teach me how to row.’

  He couldn’t be happier.

  ARAVELLE UNPEGGED THE bedding and went to fold it, only to discover… ‘I can still sense the male gift.’ She inhaled the spicy, slightly confronting scent, and with it a rush of power ran through her body. ‘It’s embedded in the weave of the fabric.’

  ‘What did you expect?’ Redravia’s voice creaked with age. ‘The bedrolls belong to the all-father and his inner circle. Their gifts are more powerful than any others. We’ve only aired their bedding, we won’t get rid of the gift tang without soaking and washing.’

  Aravelle finished folding the bedroll, then reached for another.

  This summer just gone she’d massaged her brother’s arm every day. His gift had begun to manifest and the instinct to revel in his power had been almost overwhelming. Now that same seductive gift essence was all around her.

  As Redravia folded each bedroll, the old woman inhaled deeply. Already, her gaze was sharper and the stiffness seemed to have gone from her joints.

  Aravelle felt a stab of anger. She’d thought Redravia offered to help out of friendship. Instead, the old woman was motivated by hunger for the male gift. On principle, Aravelle averted her face as she folded and tucked the bedding in the basket.

  ‘You are so like your mother.’ Redravia’s voice held a mixture of exasperation and affection.

  Aravelle tensed. She was nothing like her mother. Her mother had lied to her.

  ‘Sasoria never accepted the limitations of being born Malaunje. She was always pushing the boundaries. There is no point fighting your Malaunje nature, Vella. You will become addicted to the male gift. You will become a true brotherhood Malaunje.’

  ‘How is that different from being a sisterhood Malaunje?’

  ‘The female gift is different. You’ll see what I mean one day.’

  If she became a true brotherhood Malaunje.

  But she wouldn’t. She would never give up her independence.

  ‘There.’ Redravia d
ropped the last bedroll into the basket.

  Aravelle bent down, picked up the basket and balanced it on her hip. Up on the foredeck, she could hear the T’En initiates practising under Hueryx’s hand-of-force, wielding their twin long-knives. They began training with wooden blades; as they grew more skilled they moved onto real blades, the patterns becoming more complex and deadly.

  Her gaze returned to the mid-deck, which was reserved for Malaunje. Saskar had already finished drilling the fifteen-and sixteen-year-olds.

  She paused to admire Saskar’s skill as he supervised the elite Malaunje warriors. Forbidden from picking up the T’En blade, their weapons were the bow and the staff. They moved with such precision, it inspired her. Everything Saskar asked of them, he could do himself, and more.

  A shout from the other end of the ship made her turn. On the lower rear-deck, a big T’En warrior confronted a young initiate, who was being restrained. The big warrior demanded something. The initiate shook his head and raised his fist.

  When an older T’En protested, the big warrior turned on him.‘The big one is Kyredeon’s hand-of-force,’ Redravia said.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  The hand-of-force tossed the youth aside and strode to the rail to address the Malaunje on the mid-deck.

  ‘Devotee Valendia has disappeared,’ he said. ‘If you are hiding her belowdecks, bring her out right now and you will escape punishment. If you fail to bring her out and I find her, it will go hard on you and all those you love.’

  Aravelle shuddered. She watched, but no one came forward with the escapee.

  ‘Right. I’m coming down.’

  He strode down the steps to the mid-deck with half a dozen warriors. The Malaunje backed away as they approached.

  ‘He’s a bully,’ Aravelle whispered.

  ‘Don’t let him hear you say that.’

  Kyredeon’s hand-of-force went below deck.

  Aravelle hated bullies.

  Saskar had finished the training session. She went over to him. Now that she was aware of his high stature, she felt shy about approaching him, but his lop-sided smile was as warm as ever. He wore his hair pulled back in a long plait, revealing the scar where he’d lost an ear.

  ‘Teach me to be a warrior.’

  ‘Patience, Vella. You’ll begin lessons when you turn fifteen.’

  ‘I can’t wait a year.’ She glanced to the four warriors from her choice-mother’s inner circle. Like her, they were as tall as the biggest of the Malaunje men, and incredibly fast.

  ‘Ah, it’s an elite warrior you want to be, now? I thought you were a scribe?’ He grinned. ‘The weapons master who trained me used to say deeds save lives, but without words to recall those deeds, who would remember them?’

  ‘Words were no help to me when the Mieren…’ She could not go on.

  He nodded his understanding. ‘I can teach you how to defend yourself against most Mieren. But even though you are tall, you will never be as strong as a man. A woman must use speed and cunning. She must not hesitate to hurt, or she will not escape.’

  ‘I won’t hesitate,’ Aravelle assured him.

  He looked grim and went to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, he asked, ‘Have you ever shot a bow?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’ll teach you. I’ll –’

  ‘Saskar?’ The hand-of-force beckoned from the foredeck.

  With a nod to Aravelle, Saskar went up the steps.

  She returned to the initiate’s cabin feeling lighter of heart. As she unpacked the bedding and put the basket away, she vowed to practise her self-defence lessons until there wasn’t a man – Mieren, Malaunje or T’En – who would dare touch her against her will.

  She touched her mouth. The split lip had almost healed.

  ‘You want to defend yourself?’ Hand-of-force Reyne asked, startling her.

  She spun to face him.

  ‘Good reflexes.’ He smiled as he let the cabin door swing closed. ‘Give me your hand.’

  Why? She bit back the query just in time. Malaunje didn’t question T’En; they obeyed.

  ‘Come, I won’t bite.’ Reyne offered his hand.

  She reinforced her gift defences before approaching him.

  He grabbed her forearm. The speed of it frightened her. Instinctively, she pulled away.

  ‘Don’t pull against my strength. Pull against the weakest point.’ He released her. ‘Grab my arm.’

  Having seen how fast he could move, she was queasy with fear. Her heart raced and she was having trouble thinking clearly, but she grabbed his arm and, before she knew it, he was free.

  ‘That’s because you are so much stronger,’ she said, annoyed.

  He grinned. ‘No. I pulled upwards, past your thumb. That’s the weakest point. Grab me again, as hard as you can.’

  She did. This time he moved slowly and she saw what he meant. Even though she held on with all her strength, his forearm slid between her thumb and fingers.

  ‘Now, you try.’

  She offered her arm. He grabbed. She flicked up and out of his grasp. A smile lit her face.

  ‘Now what?’ he asked.

  She didn’t know what he meant.

  ‘You got away, but he won’t like that. He’ll do this.’ And he grabbed her around the body this time, lifting her off her feet, arms pinned to her side, against his body.

  Shock froze her, then panic engulfed all coherent thought.

  She writhed, kicking and twisting. Throwing her head back, then forward, she tried to smash the bridge of his nose. He jerked his head sideways, but even so, her forehead connected with his jaw.

  It must have hurt, yet he laughed.

  ‘Let her go,’ Saskar urged, suddenly by their side. ‘For my sake, let her go, Reyne.’

  Saskar placed a careful hand on the big warrior’s arm, not daring to use force.

  Aravelle went still, heart racing, blood roaring in her ears. Every muscle in her body trembled.

  A strange, regretful smile illuminated Reyne’s face. Aravelle stared as blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘I beg you.’ Saskar’s voice shook. ‘Let her go.’

  The arms that held her slowly relaxed and Reyne let her slide to the floor.

  As the hand-of-force stepped away, the strength went out of Aravelle’s legs and she swayed; a roaring filled her ears.

  ‘I’ll see to her. Just go,’ Saskar ordered.

  Surely, he couldn’t be telling the third-highest-ranked T’En in the brotherhood what to do? Aravelle wondered, before pitching forward. Saskar caught her and helped her to a chair. She was already pushing his hands away when he sat her down. He leant against the all-father’s desk, shaking so badly he could hardly stand.

  As he collected himself, she studied him, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  He swallowed. ‘How are you feeling, Vella?’

  ‘Fine,’ she lied. Her head still spun. ‘I’m not weak. It’s just… he surprised me.’

  Saskar’s gaze slid away from hers, as if there was something he wasn’t telling her.

  Aravelle waited and when he didn’t speak, she asked, ‘Why did you ask him to let me go for your sake?’

  Saskar turned away.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I know.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Vella. He’s got his claws into you now, and he won’t let go.’

  She shook her head. ‘I still don’t –’

  ‘You radiate determination and anger. His gift is unusual. It feeds on emotions. I could feel his exultation from out on the mid-deck.’

  ‘How? I thought Malaunje…’ She ran down, seeing his expression. It was an odd combination of embarrassment and pride.

  ‘I’m his devotee,’ Saskar confessed.

  A conversation Aravelle had overheard between her parents finally fell into place. Her mother had run away before Hueryx could make a devotee of her.

  ‘We’re linked,’ Saskar explained. ‘I feel
what he feels. Surely your mother told you?’

  ‘It seems there was a lot my mother didn’t tell me,’ Aravelle said.

  He went to the cabinet and poured them each a glass of wine. ‘Drink this. You need it.’ His hands shook only slightly now.

  She drained hers in one gulp. So did he.

  ‘How?’ she asked, voice rasping. ‘How does a Malaunje become a devotee?’

  ‘With Reyne and I, it was an accident… Back when King Charald attacked the city, his men overran our palace. I was fighting at the bottom of the courtyard stairs, trying to protect the Malaunje women and children. It was hand to hand. Finally, there was only Reyne and I holding the stairs, but we’d killed every Mieren.

  ‘Then another dozen charged through the far arch into the courtyard and saw us. Reyne tried to link to the all-father to call for help. It took everything he had. When his gift surged, it breached my defences and tapped into my life force to empower itself. I passed out.

  ‘When I came round, the Mieren were attacking again and Reyne was holding them off. I staggered to my feet, just as Hueryx led a dozen warriors to take the Mieren from behind.’ Saskar met her eyes, half defiant, half apologetic. ‘I’m Reyne’s devotee, Vella. I’m linked to him, imprinted on his gift. My affinity for the gift is enhanced because of the link, my stature as well. This is what your mother gave up when she ran away.’

  Aravelle nodded, not at all surprised that her mother would make this choice.

  Saskar studied her. ‘From what All-father Hueryx let slip, he loved your mother and believed she loved him.’

  ‘She loved her freedom more,’ Aravelle said, and found her anger draining away, to be replaced with pride.

  ‘At least she had a choice. If Reyne dies, I die.’

  ‘Oh, Saskar.’

  He shrugged. ‘Reyne didn’t mean for it to happen, but the gifts have a way of looking after themselves. Besides, there are some who would be willing to swap their independence for a devotee’s life. There are compensations.’ His voice dropped. Then he swallowed as if something tasted bad. ‘And there are drawbacks.’