Child of the Kaites (The Firstborn's Legacy Book 1)

by Beth Wangler

  Tatanda and Sandat laugh aloud. “Really?” Sandat snorts. “You wouldn’t know how. They’re entirely unorganized.”

  “We have a council of elders,” Elesekk joins the debate. He somehow manages to sound friendlier than anyone else during this whole meal.

  Maylani asks Nadina, “How is your baby brother doing? I can’t believe how big he is already!” The question is supposed to draw the table to a more peaceable, mundane subject. I don’t think even Nadina hears her, and the fractious men certainly pay her no heed.

  Tatanda sniffs. “A council. More like a couple dozen feeble-minded old men who have no real power.”

  Anik mutters, “What happened to the wisdom of elders?”

  “Only because Izyphor beats and starves us to death,” Saviayr says. “Our people respect the elders.”

  “They could have power,” Elesekk suggests. “All they need is a voice, someone to speak for them, and Izyphor could have a revolt on their hands.” The way he says it, it sounds like a reasonable theoretical idea. From any other mouth, Tatanda would surely consider those words a threat.

  Lev and his infuriating question pop into my mind. Do you believe your name?

  “But where on Orrock would they find such a leader?” Sandat sweeps his arms wide. He knocks over a cup of water in the process but is too agitated to notice.

  Where, indeed?

  Oh.

  Oh!

  All the Maraians need is a leader, and they will revolt.

  Leader of a revolt.

  Do I believe my name?

  “It’s me,” I gasp. My eyes bolt upward, desperate to make contact with anyone, to share this realization that makes it feel as if the whole world is shifting.

  They’re too preoccupied to pay attention. Sandat continues, “Maraians are too sniveling and weak to produce anyone worth following, and everyone else despises them. And rightly so!”

  Saviayr jumps to his feet.

  “Will you stop?!” Maylani squeals. Her brown eyes glisten and her lips tremble. All eyes turn to her. Sandat stops mid-sentence.

  “Pitka could have died,” Maylani reminds them, rising. “And it’s two days before my wedding—you’re ruining everything!” She turns and stalks out of the room, a hand lifting to cover her face.

  Pitka’s lip quivers. Everyone else sits frozen in shock. Then Tatanda says, quiet and almost like a request, “Raiba, go after her.”

  I scoop Pitka up and obey.

  We find Maylani in the hall. She stands with her back perfectly straight, but I see her shudder.

  “Mayli?” I ask softly.

  Maylani wipes her cheek and turns. Her smile is thinner than I’ve ever seen. “I’m okay, honest.”

  She doesn’t look okay. Pitka looks exhausted and miserable. I’m juggling at least a dozen emotions and feel about ready to fall apart. So I ask, “Want to help me put Pipit to bed?”

  Pitka doesn’t even protest that she’s not tired.

  The three of us retreat to Pitka’s room. Maylani helps her change while I straighten the covers and fluff her pillow. While I tame Pitka’s curls into two braids, Maylani grabs her harp and plays a quiet lullaby. When we tuck Pitka in, Maylani kisses her sister’s head. I haven’t seen her do that since before the plague.

  We sit on the bed, one on either side of Pitka, while the younger girl falls asleep. Maylani strokes Pitka’s head. In the dim evening light, Mayli looks more like her mother than ever before.

  When Pitka’s breathing slows, Maylani murmurs, “I don’t remember Tatanda and Sandat being that anti-Maraian. Especially Sandat. He’s always been idealistic, but he’s never been bad like that.”

  I hum, though not to express opinion. Sandat’s never had such ample opportunity to talk Izyphorn politics around us.

  “That’s why I always said you should marry him, you know.” Maylani looks at me, forehead furrowed, begging me to understand. “He’s opinionated and says what he thinks, which would be good for you because you’re so quiet. But you’re so patient and always see the good in people, which would balance out Sandat.”

  I sigh. “I guess I understand that, but—Mayli, we’re just too different. And he hates my people.”

  She looks away. “That’s right. You’re Maraian.”

  Guilt for lying to her weighs on me. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

  Maylani’s quiet for a while. “I understand why you didn’t. I’d like to think we would have taken you in anyway, but honestly...and it’s not like I ever asked.”

  Tears prick my eyes at her forgiveness.

  “Raiba,” she starts, then chews her lip. “Were you and Saviayr close, before?”

  I take a while to answer. This is a time of honesty. But I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want her to doubt Saviayr, not so close to their wedding. At length, I settle on, “Yes. He was my best friend. And my sister and I lived with his family after our parents died.”

  Pitka stirs, and we freeze.

  When the little girl doesn’t wake, Mayli chuckles and shakes her head. “I keep forgetting Yorchan is your sister.” She settles lower against the headboard and stares ahead. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, so I just wait.

  Mayli surprises me by saying next, “I’m not a good sister, am I?”

  My heart aches. “That’s not true. You needed time away. You’re always bringing peace to the family.”

  “But I haven’t looked twice at Pitka since I came back.” She looks wistfully at her sister.

  “You’ve been distracted by other things,” I say gently. “You’re getting married.”

  Maylani frowns fiercely. “You haven’t been distracted. You’ve been a better sister to Pipit than I have.”

  I hate that I can’t disagree with her, but I repeat, “You’re getting married. You have other things to plan right now.”

  Mayli continues on like she didn’t hear. “That was all I could think about when she was down that cliff. Well, I’m going to change. I’m going to be better. I...I almost lost her today, Raiba. All because I never even thought about if she’d want to come.”

  “She loves you, Mayli,” I promise her.

  “I know. But I have to make sure I deserve her love.”

  We sit in silence for a while. Voices far away bid goodbye to Sandat and Nadina. The rest of the house will be going to bed soon.

  After all she said tonight, I didn’t think Maylani could surprise me anymore. But then she says, “You should come with us to the mainland, after the wedding.”

  I open and close my mouth a couple times, trying to find a response. At last, I just say, “I’ll think about it.” My voice sounds choked to my ears.

  Maylani looks back down at Pitka. The sun has set, and we never lit a candle. The shadows conceal my cousin’s face when she murmurs, “I just want you to be happy.”

  Chapter 11

  A dream awakens me, though its memory is already blurry. My neck twinges when I sit up. Pitka and Maylani share the same pillow, faces tranquil in sleep. I must have fallen asleep still leaning against the wall, and my back and neck are not pleased with how I spent the night.

  I ease off of the mattress, but Pitka stirs anyway. “Raiba?”

  I brush a hand over her forehead. “Sh, Pipit. It’s early still. Go back to sleep.”

  Her eyes flutter shut, and I slip out of the room.

  In my own room, I roll my head to loosen the crick in my neck and splash water on my face. The action reawakens some memory of this morning’s dream. In it, Sandat had grown five times his size and was trampling a village of Maraian slaves, and I was the only one who would stand up to him. Maylani had clutched my arm, predicting that Sandat would squash me, but I pushed her aside and stood between Sandat and the other Maraians. I was unarmed, but I had not been afraid. In the dream, I’d been convinced that Sandat could never get past me.

  The dream made no sense, but I savor how it felt to stand up to Sandat—to stand up to anyone. In that moment, I felt brave, strong, an
d free. In that moment, I didn’t care if I lived or died; I only knew that I was doing the right thing.

  I squeeze the towel resting on my dry sink. I don’t want to lose that feeling, to go back to cowering in the shadows and slinking by while my people die and the powerful trample on the weak. I want to act. I want to raise my voice, to stand tall, to say, “Enough.” I’m tired of being afraid. I’m tired of biting my tongue and ducking my head. I hate the thin shadow of myself that I’ve become. I want to be a blazing fire.

  Last night’s dinner conversation rolls back through my head like roiling waves in a storm.

  One day we will become a great nation.

  All they need is a voice.

  Izyphor could have a revolt on their hands.

  I am the leader of a revolt.

  Lev. It’s time to find him.

  The swish of my door announces someone’s arrival. I expect Pitka, maybe Maylani or Nihae. A crazy hope flits through my mind that it could be Lev himself, arrived just at the right moment.

  Instead, Tatanda fills the doorway. I blink at him.

  “I was hoping you’d be awake,” Tatanda says, voice low so he won’t awaken Anik next door.

  I straighten the towel and drape it over the edge of the dry sink. “Is something wrong?” I ask. I bounce my knee, needing to move, wanting to run out of the house and follow this new revelation.

  Tatanda gestures at my untouched bed. “Let’s sit.”

  Tucking my hands together in my lap, I perch on the edge of the mattress. Tatanda sinks down and rests his hands on his legs, palms up. He inspects his hands for a moment before talking.

  “Do you remember when I found you?”

  I smile a little. “Of course. I was starving, hiding between the scriptorium and the smithy. You probably saved my life.”

  Tatanda chuckles. “Do you know why I took you in?”

  I’ve often wondered that, but never dared ask. “I always thought you took pity on me.”

  “You were pitiful,” Tatanda agrees. He glances sideways at me, a glimmer of warmth in his amber eyes. “Mostly, though, it was because the spirits gave me a dream about you the night before. I thought it was nothing, but then I found myself living in the dream and knew I should obey.”

  That touches me. Three years of living among the Iranines has convinced that what they call the spirits are actually the kaites. Over and over, my kaites have looked out for me, even when I had no idea. “I’m very thankful,” I say. “I’ve always thought myself fortunate to be part of your family.”

  Tatanda’s small smile twists, and his forehead creases. “I know I’ve been harsh on you,” he says. “Especially since my wife...Well, I’ve criticized you far more than my children. I hope you know I did it because I wanted you to fit in here. It would have been bad for both of us if my neighbors thought you weren’t one of us.”

  Frustration and resentment wiggle into the warmth I’ve been feeling toward Tatanda and the kaites. “I guessed as much,” I say.

  “I didn’t know you were Maraian.”

  “Would it have changed things?” I ask.

  Tatanda rubs a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know. The spirits still told me...Most of my people hate your people. It’s best for us Iranines to keep peace with Izyphor. They could destroy us like a cricket stomped underfoot, and Izyphor especially detests Maraiah. But my wife was descended from a Maraian, before they became slaves. And she always said it was our responsibility to help those who needed it.”

  Bits of this I’ve guessed, but I don’t know how to respond.

  Tatanda sighs. “It’s dangerous for me to let Maylani marry Saviayr. If any Izyphorns cared to look into the marriage, it could seem that Ira is sympathizing with the slaves. I’m letting her because there aren’t many options on this island, he is in a powerful position, and she loves him. I can convince my neighbors that marriage to a royal’s personal advisor is more advantageous to our people than marriage to one of their sons with no prospects. But I can’t be seen as having more sympathies with the Maraians. Anything else would spell disaster for my family especially, but also for Ira.”

  I know what he’s going to say next before he says it, and even though I understand, it makes me angry.

  “People know you’re Maraian now. I think of you as part of the family, Raiba, but after the wedding, you need to find somewhere else to go. I have to think of Anik and Pitka.”

  I stand and brush my skirts. My jaw clenches. Raising my chin, I look Tatanda square in the eyes. “I understand.” Leader of a Revolt. “I was planning on leaving, anyway.”

  As I turn to leave the room, Tatanda says, “Raiba, I am sorry. Please stay for Maylani, for now.”

  “I have business to attend to right now,” I say, and leave. It is time to find Lev, especially if I’ll soon be homeless.

  I don’t know where Lev is staying on the island. Despite yesterday’s terror, Ira really doesn’t offer many hiding places, particularly for an adult. I could check where I last saw him, around Crazy Tolak’s bay, but the memory of the aivenkaite grasping at my ankles deters me. The marketplace seems as likely a place as any to begin, so I take the path down to the harbor as the sun trails new light over the sea.

  Despite my intention of finding Lev, he finds me. “Out alone at this time of day?” comes from behind me in the market. “How did you manage to escape?”

  I spin around. Lev’s standing alone in the middle of the path, but he still manages to look like he’s reclining against something. His lips quirk.

  “I know who you are,” I say. I stand straight, more confident that I’ve ever been around him.

  His mahogany eyes squint at me, then he straightens. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.” He whirls and strides up the seldom-used path to the top of the farming hill. We pass plots of beans, cucumbers, and onions almost ready to pick. I have to jog every few steps to keep up.

  At the very top of the hill, empty with yellow curtains flapping in the wind, hunches the marriage hut. Like all newly-wed Iranines, Maylani and Saviayr will spend their first night here tomorrow. I push aside the heaviness that fills my stomach and focus on the man I’m with. He stops several paces from the hut and crosses his legs as he sinks to the dirt.

  “By all means, sit.” He sweeps his arm over the ground beside him.

  I obey, trying to keep my back as straight as his.

  “Now, what did you have to tell me?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath. “I know who you are.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You’re Nhardah. Nhardah the Firstborn.”

  He glances at me. “Very astute, Raiballeon. Yes, I was. But ‘Lev’ is a more accurate name as long as my children—well, you know the situation of my children.”

  “I can’t call you ‘Sorrow,’” I protest.

  Nhardah-Lev purses his lips and looks back at the sky, which is brighter now. “I suppose not,” he agrees. “Well, since you discovered it, you may use my birth name.”

  The reality of who he is hits me. I am sitting next to a truly ancient man. The Firstborn. After growing up with the kaites, I thought I was beyond awe of humans, but Nhardah may be the exception. He saw Aia-Thaies face to face. No other living human has done that. He’s seen kingdoms begin, seen Orrock and ierah split, lived through the stories I’ve only memorized.

  Pipit would squeal loud enough to deafen all of Ira if she knew.

  Despite that, something feels familiar about him. Nhardah-Lev reminds me of the kaites, though he is undeniably solid and human while they were unmistakably ephemeral. I search for a word to describe it. He and they have perceivable power, but it’s more than that.

  Goodness. Both Nhardah and the kaites feel good on a more intrinsic level than anything I’ve ever encountered. That goodness gives me courage to continue. “I also know who I am.”

  Nhardah cocks his head to the side. Inside his ancient eyes, I see hope.

  “The answer to your question,” I say. “I’m Raiballe
on. I’m the Leader of a Revolt. I can lead Maraiah to rebel against Izyphor and gain their freedom.”

  Nhardah’s dark face wrinkles in the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. “I knew you would figure it out.” He peers at me. “You say you can be your name. Will you?”

  It will mean leaving Ira. It will mean an uncertain future with probable danger. This is what I once planned on doing, before I had to flee the slavemaster. But before I gave up this dream, I was going to accomplish it with help.

  Saviayr has chosen a different path, one with Maylani. I would have to do it alone.

  Logic says I should say no. Izyphor is undefeatable. I am just one girl.

  But I have no place here, nowhere else to go. The slavemaster is dead, so my family is safe if I return. My people have suffered too long.

  I already made my decision before leaving the house. A spark of the passion I had as a child glows warm in me. If Aia thinks I can do it, who can say no? I was brave, confident, unhindered by fear, and I can be again.

  I want to be again.

  “Yes.” My reply comes out as a squeak, so I clear my throat and try again. “Yes. I will be my name. I am Raiballeon, and I will lead Aia’s people out of slavery and into our inheritance. So long as He helps me.”

  There is no sudden burst of wind. No ray of light shines brilliantly upon us. Nothing indicates this statement’s magnitude to the island around us. The only proof that I actually vocalized my resolution is my ancestor’s dazzling grin.

  “Hæ-Aia!” Nhardah-Lev exclaims. He shoves his fists toward ierah with a whoop that echoes between the three hills of Ira.

  My lips stretch in an impulsive smile. “Hæ-Aia.”

  “This is perfect,” Nhardah gesticulates. I can’t tell whether he is talking to me or an invisible kaite, which seems to explain some of his earlier erratic behavior. That night with the falling indree, he must have been going to talk to Mithrida, his wife the kaite. She must be whispering in his ear, incorporeal. “The wedding’s tomorrow—yes, you’d better act quickly—so we’ll leave in two days. Just in time for the Feast of Wheat, so they’ll all be gathered. Send word to the others: We need what’s in their care, for we have our Champions. Raiballeon, be sure to pack today.”