Between Starfalls

by S Kaeth

  “Please, let him go!” she whispered, hope dying within her.

  “Tell me what you did do in your kaetal.” The king sounded bored.

  Kaemada stared at Eian. She couldn’t answer that question. Yet, she was no good at deception, either. All she could hear was her heart trying to escape her chest.

  “Look at me!” the king snapped.

  She jumped, obeying.

  “Better. Now, answer.”

  She licked her lips. Her voice had dried up and withered away inside her. “Mostly get scolded,” she whispered.

  The king waved his hand. “It matters not.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. She felt very small under that gaze. How could she hope to escape? How could she think to save Eian?

  “Now. Kneel before your king.”

  In spite of herself, tears filled her eyes once more.

  Do not cry! her memory of Tannevar admonished her.

  She bent her knee, feeling as if everything she’d known about herself was slipping away. She would break any law for Eian. How could she say she respected the law, then? How could she have pride in being Rinaryn, in being of Torkae? She couldn’t get out of this mess. How could Ra’ael, Takiyah, even Taunos condescend to be seen with her, to associate with her? Her abilities were weak and broken—how could she say she was a psion? And without that, Galod would have nothing to do with her. All just as well, for there was no way out of the palace, and no escape from the City. She would never see any of them again.

  She bent her head as she knelt, knowing, even so, that she couldn’t hide the tears streaming down her cheeks. They fell, marking the stone below her with drops of darkness. She turned her head and looked at Eian once again. She had shown the king defiance, and moments later, Eian had watched her surrender. He’d watched as she bowed, a thing she said she’d never do. But impossibly, there was still trust in those brown eyes.

  She spoke, pleading into the uncaring silence. “Please, let him go. He’s innocent.”

  The king seated himself again and waved his hand. Aleis lowered the blade and Eian ran to Kaemada. Resolved not to let such a thing happen again, Kaemada backed up a few steps, keeping Eian behind her so Aleis would have to go through her to get to her son.

  The king laughed again. “Ah, Aleis, take this one away and show her their new quarters, my lovely. Then return and give your report.”

  Aleis beckoned them with twinkling eyes, and Kaemada followed, holding tight to Eian’s hand, torn between the desire to hurry out of the king’s sight and the desire to keep distance between herself and Aleis. She would have to find a way to get her bearings. She had to find a way out. To do that, she needed patience and a plan. An attempt to fight their way out would only end in death, and she could never, never, let Eian be in such danger again. She held herself stiffly against the shudders threatening to overtake her, knowing somehow that publicly breaking down would doom them both.

  Aleis led them down a corridor lined with many doors on each side. She stopped at one and opened it onto yet another extravagant room. “This’s yours. Enjoy!”

  Guards turned the corner, patrolling with stern faces, their boots ominous against the stone floor. Aleis shut the door, which latched with cold finality, ringing the truth deep into her song. There would be no mercy here.

  RUNSIDILATH

  Interlude

  Maeren buried her face in her hands. “What will we do, Zeroun?”

  Zeroun, Storyteller of Torkae, stared at his daughter’s sleeping mat, folded up in his hands. She had no more need of it, but somehow, he wasn’t ready to lay it on the fire. Not yet. His daughter’s things still littered the hut—a comb, neatly folded clothes, a pile of colored stones, scattered strips of leather, and a sack full of various things from shards of metal to bark scraps. Takiyah had loved to collect things and insisted on being ready for anything, including events that only her imagination could come up with. It did not seem possible he’d never chide her again to leave a project for time with the kaetal.

  Maeren mumbled into her palms. “Everything is falling apart. Did you meet with Galod?”

  “No. He’s taking the loss of his students poorly. He has the anger of Thassen in him and will not speak to me.” Zeroun set down the woven bedmat and held his wife, gazing over the top of her head at the dried grass walls of their home. Here, he didn’t have to be the Storyteller, to balance everything and have the answers. But it didn’t help that he felt… lost.

  His wife shook her head, leaning against him. He tightened his hold on her as she spoke. “It’s bad enough we lost them. Now, with Teros and Talaera dissuading the rest from learning from him…”

  “Teros and Talaera may become a problem. Only ten of his students continue their lessons. Every day the grumbling against Galod grows.”

  “Those two may well push the Councils to depose us, and the Councils are already…” Maeren choked off. “We failed them, Zeroun. We failed them all.”

  “We did what we must, as we continue to do.”

  Even he scoffed at the words that came from his mouth. They were empty, just like the hole in his heart where his daughter should be. Instead of being able to grieve properly for her, he was forced to spend his time and energy keeping the peace. Teros and Talaera had come back from the Feast of Starfall pressuring him to make Galod to leave. The Feast had allowed them to stoke the flames of their dislike of the hermit, fueled by others who distrusted him.

  He didn’t want to deal with such childish grudges. Not now. He would never see his daughter again. No one came back after leaving the paths of the mountains, and even his foolish optimism hadn’t survived the journey back home without a sign of Takiyah. Even so, he would spin endlessly through the ages before he’d allow her to be gone in truth. He refused to avoid speaking of Takiyah or thinking of her, though his wife was as yet unable to say her name, instead focusing on the other four that were lost.

  “If anyone could have beaten the odds, it would have been them,” Zeroun whispered.

  “I should never have let them leave. In my folly to save Kaemada and Eian, I lost our kaetal Taunos, Ra’ael, and, and—!” Maeren’s voice broke and Zeroun tightened his embrace

  “They would have gone anyway. It’s what they trained for.”

  “I never should have let her take Eian in the first place! But I was swayed by fear for our kaetal and look where that got us. We have lost much honor. I do not know if we will survive this.”

  “We will.”

  “Oh, my love! I regret so much. Never marrying them off. Never seeing them truly find their places. They were close. Ra’ael was blooming, and her song was so strong… But I wished to give Taunos something to stay for. A wife, perhaps.”

  Zeroun tried to avoid stiffening, but Maeren pulled back before he had time to collect the right words and looked at him suspiciously. “What is it, husband?”

  “Taunos wouldn’t have stayed for a wife.”

  “For the right one, he would have. I just hadn’t found her. Uma’arei haunts him still.”

  “He never did give his heart easily.” Zeroun winced and sighed. The secrets no longer mattered. “Taunos’s travels were not wholly his. The Heartwood Council listened to his tales and sent him out with goals to search for, questions to answer. It grieves me that you’re more correct than you know. If Lína knew what we put him through, her wrath would know no bounds.”

  Maeren set her hands on her hips. “You kept this from me?”

  “It was a Heartwood Council affair, not a Great Mother affair.” It was a weak excuse, but it was all he had. Maeren was right, of course. If he’d talked with her about these things before, he’d have seen how flimsy the reasoning was. He wouldn’t have been so alone, striking out on the wrong path like Naran.

  “It is a Great Mother’s affair when that young man comes to me again and again to seek forgiveness for taking the lives of mother’s sons that he had no right to take!”

  “He told you this?”
<
br />   Maeren crossed her arms, glaring at him. “He never said more than that, only asked absolution after absolution, which I gave him freely. Did you know, when he went to Teros at first, as was right, Teros named him a murderer? As if there wasn’t enough bad blood between them!”

  He should have known of that. He hadn’t realized things were so bad, hadn’t realized Taunos suffered so much. Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to notice these things, so that he’d be able to continue making the hard decisions to put the man in the path of danger, time and time again. The weight of his guilt lay like a boulder on his shoulders. “I’m glad he had you. I did what I could to protect him, spirit and body, from the more dangerous tasks. But the Elders—”

  “The Elders had no right to keep secrets from the Great Mothers! And clearly, the priests did not consent, either!”

  “Teros was eager to send him away. And the Elders no longer work as closely with the Great Mothers as they once did. I fear we are to become Torkaema and Naran, our paths ever split.”

  “You, husband, should have told me!”

  Zeroun nodded, crushed beneath the weight of their cares. “I should have.”

  Maeren sighed, tears glinting in her eyes, and he knew she was thinking of Takiyah. Her gaze was distant for several moments before sharpening on him again. “I fear the future, Zeroun, as I never have. Eraeos, the messenger from Storyteller Utalen, came before the Feast looking for a fight, and Takiyah said he threatened us. And you know Utalen was behind much of the dishonor on us this Feast. It wasn’t so hard for him, since we had no sacrifice and had lost four of Galod’s students along with a child of the kaetal. Some wish for our dishonor, willing to disgrace all of Torkae to get it.”

  “Perhaps the path they walk must be out and away from the story of the kaetal, as with Daevin,” Zeroun said, taking comfort from the ancient tale. Could it be they were still alive somewhere, unable to return? Or was he being a foolish old man? “Wherever they are, the spirits know.”

  “I’m worried, Zeroun. What was that display at the Feast? The Council of Elders is disrupting the balance of our people.”

  “They should not have rebuked you so.” Anger at the other Elders set him dangerously apart, but they had picked out his wife to shame in front of all their people. How could he feel otherwise?

  “No, I deserved that, even publicly. The mistakes were mine, and Talaera told me at every turn not to make the choices I made. But the Great Mothers submitted a rebuke to the Council, as apparently, they agree with you, and the Council refused to hear it.”

  “The other Elders believed the Great Mothers overstepped themselves. I could not get them to see reason, but fortunately Storyteller Sarik persuaded those calling for stripping you of your power to choose mercy.”

  His wife’s eyes blazed with fire, and her voice grew sharp. “The Council of the Great Mothers balances the Council of the Elders and makes certain the Elders give fair judgements! It’s as important as the balance between Storyteller, priests, and Great Mother. If the Council will not listen when they go too far, what will happen?”

  “The Elders are on edge because of these dreams. I pray it passes soon. I do not intend to change my position, Maeren. I am a rock battered by the seas, and no man may move me.”

  She deflated, rubbing her forehead. “I will stand against the seas with you, as I have promised. I only wish I could have spared our kaetal from these trials. But I failed, even against those I saw coming.”

  “Fānitos failed to save himself, but his failure saved many others.” The ancient tale of Fānitos was eerily applicable to present times. He hoped their story didn’t end as disastrously as that one had.

  “We must keep Torkae out of trouble until we can show the others we are not tainted, and we are not to be disrespected.”

  “I know, my love. I know.” Their path was as precarious as those in the mountains. Any further false steps could throw them into dishonor so great they’d be hard-pressed to rise back up from. And how, then, could he protect… No, the greatest heroes of Torkae needed no protection now. They were gone, lost to the mountains.

  “And you cannot shut me out anymore! I do not care what the other Elders are doing, I’m the Great Mother, and I’m also your wife and you will no longer keep things from me.”

  How had he gone so far astray? He’d seen the sense in Maeren all those summers ago when they’d first courted, love blossoming in all its tender newness. When had he begun to turn away from her, to hide away with secrets like a Kamalti from legend? “You’re right, of course. But Maeren, these dreams. Most of the Elders are having them, and they are nothing you want to experience. I do not even want to tell you their stories, they are so horrifying.”

  “You’re the Storyteller; tell me the lessons.”

  Zeroun shuddered. Maeren’s arms tightened around him, and he anchored his song in her steadfastness, letting his gaze go distant as his voice came out in a dry croak. “Danger in places that should be safe. A flock of birds, split again and again, until only a small group remains. A rot spreading, multiplying until the whole fruit is bad. Removing oneself from disease or injury, or wrongness… like a harsh winter. The whole separating so that the people might live, but there is only gladness and joy, no grieving for those who did not return to the kaetal. It’s profoundly wrong.”

  The trembling became uncontrollable as he continued. “And the fear coming with these dreams, the sense of impending doom. It’s like seeing a boulder coming down a slope, and there you are, stuck in the mud, unable to move out of the way.”

  Silence blanketed the hut. Maeren appeared thoughtful, and Zeroun waited. He’d done too much without her. It was past time to be patient and sort through his worries with the Great Mother.

  When she looked back at him, her mouth was creased with worry. “These dreams, they would drive anyone to search for conspiracies and secrets. And we have not only Galod, which other kaetaln have already snubbed us for, but now we have lost four of Galod’s best students. It does not take much to understand that the Elders will likely shiver in fear of our ‘nefarious’ plans should we stay our course, and then the Councils will remove both of us. They will want to get rid of Galod, and they will not stop there. Under the influence of such fear, no one will make wise decisions, as you failed to when you left me out of this.”

  Zeroun nodded. “And Teros’s pride could bring down ruin, as could Talaera’s vengeful dissatisfaction. Teros is wroth at losing one of his priestesses, and he blames me. Talaera is upset—rightfully so—at losing family members and wont to take it out on you. Both mistrust Galod, even more now. And with Ra’ael no longer here to give her harmony to balance Teros’s…”

  “Zeroun, you must have an apprentice. We must convince the other kaetaln we are no threat. We must no longer stand out. Right now, differences are dangerous.”

  He waved her suggestion away. “There are no suitable candidates.”

  “There haven’t been for many summers, so you say. Lower your standards and choose the best fit.”

  After a long moment, he bowed his head. “I will follow the wisdom of the Great Mother.”

  “Good! It will do you well,” Maeren said. “But it still will not be enough.”

  “Bow to the fears of the other Elders? What about standing with me against the battering seas? Torkae should lead by example. We should honor our daughter. Takiyah’s very spirit was that of Torkae’s—strong in the face of adversity, unyielding.”

  Maeren’s face crumpled in grief, and she sagged against him. After a long, shaky breath, she shook her head. “Can one lead if no one thinks your example is worthy of following, or if the social price is too high? That is what we are faced with now, Zeroun, whether or not it makes sense. What is the cost of dishonor?”

  Zeroun closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against his wife’s. “Loss of influence with the other Elders and with the other kaetaln, no aid when needed… Some of the other Elders may actively argue for the opposite of what
I want just to oppose us. We would make enemies of them, Maeren. And yet… is that worth compromising all our values and history? Must we cave to this disastrous pressure?”

  “Torkae cannot stand against the opposition of the Council of Elders.” Maeren sighed. “We must bow our heads to the fears of the others. Our daughter would be so ashamed.”

  ÌTAL-AHN

  Chapter Twelve

  None may profit from the sale of ebrs. After a period of one circulation, the ebr shall be returned to society, his or her debt paid. Ebrs shall be treated honorably and only struck when punishment is necessary to alter behavior. An excess of blows reflects poorly on the honor of the owner, while a well-kept ebr who works hard and returns to society a productive citizen gains his owner great honor and respect. Thus, the great majority of ebrs end up serving the noble houses.

  —Justice Trekl’s notes on the Kamalti City of Codr’s Code of Laws

  Iron. Her chains were made of iron with just a little sulfur. The urge to use her flames on them grew like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She thinned her lips to keep from smiling—she felt truly alive for the first time in her life, despite her circumstances. The metal was cool on her skin, and she knew she should despise it—part of her did despise it for what it represented—but it also brought her knowledge.

  Quandary hated it when Takiyah smiled in chains. That was part of the reason she continued to do so, even though Quandary would lock her in a closet for the night as punishment again. It would have killed one of the others, but Takiyah had begun looking forward to those nights, even hiding a dull knife in the closet to use, not for escape, but as a pick.

  Each morning, she emerged from the cramped space exhausted but triumphant. Somehow, touching and handling bits of rock and metal unlocked bits of knowledge in her mind. Actually working with the materials unlocked even more, of course. She’d learned so much from working her little forge back home. But this was different than learning through practice. Instead, she felt like she’d already known these things and was remembering long-forgotten memories.