The Unremembered: Book One of The Vault of Heaven

by Peter Orullian

  Vendanj jumped from Suensin and ran to the edge. He put his hand over Sutter’s and in one motion, pulled the sodalist from the crevasse.

  “Mount!” he yelled.

  The Sheason jumped on his own steed, which sidled close to the edge of the drop, and, from a standstill, leapt the ravine.

  Once Sutter and Braethen were saddled and ready to move, Sutter’s face drew dark with concern. Their horse would never make the jump double-burdened. The Sheason came around, brought clenched fists to his chest, and began to fold his arms in and push with his chest, as a man does to pull a heavy handcart. The earth trembled and quaked, and the sides of the crevasse began to draw close to each other. In the space of just breaths, the chasm had narrowed enough that when Sutter kicked Bardoll, the horse jumped it with ease. Vendanj fell forward in his saddle. Mira left Tahn and raced to the Sheason. She pulled him from his horse and sat him in front of her atop Solus. She spoke directly to the Sheason’s steed, which began to run north.

  “Go!” she called to the rest. “Follow Suensin!”

  They turned without question and pushed their mounts northward into the trees. Tahn didn’t know how long they ran before the horses tired and finally stopped altogether. The sound of drums fell off behind them to a faint pulse that might easily have been their own ragged breath. Tahn climbed down off Jole and fell to the ground, exhausted.

  He closed his eyes and turned to the east. It was more difficult than ever to think about the day, the light, but he remembered the calm hues of dawn and the reawakening of birds to the morn, and peace came over him, if only for a moment.

  Mira stood guard at the south end of the small clearing where they’d stopped, but Vendanj lay unmoving at the feet of his horse, where he’d collapsed after the Far had helped him down from her saddle. Braethen sat close to the Sheason, his sword in hand. When Tahn’s heart found its own ryhthm again, he sat up. The faintest touches of dawn had crept into the sky. Looking north, he could see where the High Plains rose dramatically in sheer cliffs to an immense bluff that stretched to the horizon in both directions.

  Sedagin, another tale from the reader’s books.

  Suddenly, the crack of a drum shattered the silence, sounding as though it were right among them. Tahn rose on shaky legs, but did not believe he and the others could flee farther. They’d scarcely caught their breath. Vendanj did not rise.

  “Mount!” Mira cried.

  Sounds of the thrashing of undergrowth and trees snapping again filled the air. Before the rest could rise, six Bar’dyn emerged into the south end of the clearing. The sound of rough laughter coughed from one of the Bar’dyn.

  “Run, run, run, you do,” the Bar’dyn said. “Weak and slow. Foolish.”

  Mira raced to face them, silently drawing her swords and taking a low stance. Tahn marveled that she didn’t look fatigued.

  “One woman to fight for you,” the same Bar’dyn said. “What of your Sheason?” Another laugh spat from its thick lips as it caught sight of Vendanj lying on the ground.

  Braethen managed to get to his knees. He held his sword in front of him.

  Sounding like a rock slide, a chorus of laughter erupted from the line of Bar’dyn. Then it abruptly stopped and their chieftain looked at Mira. “No one need die, Far.”

  “Never,” she said. Tahn shuddered at the hatred in her voice.

  “Velle’shea!” the Bar’dyn growled and its companions lifted their weapons.

  As they did, a thrown sword shrieked through the clearing from the rear, burying itself in a tree a hand’s length from one Bar’dyn head.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Teheale

  From all sides of the clearing, men appeared, each holding a blade like the one embedded in the tree near the Bar’dyn. The strangers took ready stances and rested their sword points lightly in the earth, each with hands relaxed confidently on the cross guard. At least twenty men could be seen, and Tahn sensed that others remained hidden in the trees, out of sight.

  The Bar’dyn still looked implacable, but they eased their weapons back down, and retreated several steps.

  “Not over, Sheason,” the Bar’dyn said, looking at the still unconscious Vendanj. “We know where you are. Others will follow.”

  Then they vanished as quickly as they had come, their massive bodies forging new paths back through the thicket. The men around them made no move to advance, nor did they retreat. They wore heavy cloaks, some brown, some green, and each man carried only a large sword for a weapon. Beneath their cloaks, they wore thick, woolen shirts dyed a rich fir hue. They were tall men, and there wasn’t one who had supped too indulgently at his dinner table.

  Mira finally sheathed her swords. “Who speaks for you?” she asked.

  “I do,” said a man from the east. The fellow stepped out of the trees and into the clearing, then crossed to the sword embedded in the tree. He pulled it free and checked the blade, rubbing sap from the tip. He spun the blade once in his hand and sheathed it with expert skill. “I am Riven, First Blade to the Sedagin, and you are altogether too close to the High Plains.”

  Braethen reached beneath Vendanj’s tunic and lifted the symbol of his necklace into the early light. “Safe Passage. For the First Promise,” he said.

  Riven’s eyes widened at the sight of the pendant. The Sedagin First Blade looked quickly at Tahn and the others. Then he again set his watchful gaze on Braethen.

  “Why are the Bar’dyn so far from the Shadow of the Hand, sodalist?” Riven asked.

  “It is a fair question, but asked at an unwise time. These few you have scattered will return within the hour with a full collough,” Braethen said. “And I fear there are more behind them. Our discussion, if had now, could be our last.”

  “We will take you into the High Plains. The Bar’dyn aren’t likely to follow.” Riven called three men to him. “Take the message ahead of us,” he said to the first. “Make Sedagin aware of our guests, and find them beds.” Riven turned to the second. “Take Henna, Elo, and Nittel and track the Bar’dyn. Learn their route and return to us. Go.” The second man and three others disappeared into the trees to the south.

  The third he commanded to build a litter to carry the Sheason. Tahn and Braethen assisted.

  Riven pointed north and the remaining Sedagin disappeared into the trees, heading toward the High Plains. Retrieving a horse hidden north of the clearing, Riven took the lead. Less than a thousand horse-lengths farther, their path began to ascend the great bluff of the Sedagin. They followed a serpentine route that gave Tahn a clear view out over the meadows and plains beneath them. The land stretched on forever, divided by small rivers and showing itself in patches of cultivated earth and untouched wilderness. Distant smoke issued from a farmhouse, and the path of the road could be seen snaking west and northeast. Upward they rode, save Vendanj, who lay on the litter.

  Tahn understood now that the Sheason’s every use of the Will exacted a great price. And when he looked at Vendanj, it seemed the lines in his face were that much deeper.

  When they reached the plateau, Tahn noted that the High Plains were perfectly described, as though the earth had risen straight up, rather than most mountains’ gradual slopes and juts. Sutter grabbed Tahn and drew him to the edge, which dropped away a sheer five hundred strides.

  “Look at it,” Sutter exclaimed with awe. “Have you ever seen such a thing? If I look hard enough, I can convince myself that I’m seeing the Soren Sea.”

  A haze spread across the land far below. At the horizon one could imagine the vague, hazy blue to be the great sea, though Tahn knew better. But as they stood there, the wind began to howl up the face of the great cliff like an ocean gale.

  “The winds that rise off the lowlands are strong, my friend,” Riven said. “We call them the voice of the Sedagin.”

  Behind them, Braethen retrieved the wooden case from Vendanj’s inner pocket and placed a sprig on the Sheason’s tongue. A moment later, the Sheason sat up, thanked the sodalist, and
took to his horse. They followed the path north through patches of needle trees and conifers, low scrub and quaking aspen. Most of the plains, though, were long, empty fields of knee-high grass. Gentle breezes blew across them, causing them to undulate like slow, green waves.

  Toward midday they paused to drink at a small river that wended its way across a great open field. “It is clean,” Riven exclaimed. “Fill your skins and drink deeply.”

  “It’s like a separate world up here,” Sutter said. He then lay on the river bank and put his lips into the cool, clear water.

  It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Tahn pushed the root-digger’s face under the current. Sutter kicked and pushed back against Tahn’s hand, thrashing his face in the water. Penit laughed, Wendra and Braethen joining the boy as Tahn held his friend’s head down.

  “Any roots down there?” Tahn joked, then jumped back, ready for Sutter’s counterattack.

  Nails gasped as river mud shot from his nose and dripped from his chin.

  “Woodchuck, you are going to see the soil side of my boot,” Sutter challenged and jumped up, splashing in the shallow water of the river’s edge.

  Tahn laughed. “Is the world up here different in the river mud, too, Nails?”

  Sutter smiled, mud running into his mouth and coating his teeth.

  “You’re going to see that up close yourself.”

  They began to circle in the grass, Penit cheering each of them when either feigned an attack.

  “Actually, it is a part of our world, an old part,” Braethen said.

  Tahn stood, losing interest in the game. “An old part?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

  Sutter seized the diversion, and tackled Tahn to the ground. Tahn let Nails pin him, distracted as the sodalist continued.

  “This land was part of the rest of the plains around it, not rising into the high ground we see today.

  “In the Age of Discord, the Sedagin longblades were the only ones who still kept the covenant of the First Promise. Holivagh i’Malichael presided over the Table of Blades. The table was known as the Right Arm of the Promise, and he took his banner into any kingdom or nation the Quietgiven marched upon.

  “Holivagh never built a city of his own, though. He taught that the Promise was a constant call, and that his people must be always ready to defend it. Holivagh’s people lived here, tended their fields and livestock here. But when the Table was called in to war, only a few were left behind to occupy and preserve their home.”

  Tahn and Sutter forgot to unravel themselves from their game. River mud dried on Sutter’s face in the warmth of the sun. Penit and Wendra listened intently to Braethen. From the boy’s expression, Tahn guessed the sodalist’s story was one the boy had not heard.

  “In the Age of Discord, the Shadow of the Hand lengthened. One of the powerful Velle called through the Hand the Maere; the Haelderod, known for its spread of contagion; and other creations not given names by the Great Fathers, creations never intended to descend into the land of men.”

  Braethen paused, looking into the clear sky, his face suddenly white and blotchy. “The scola say that out of the Bourne came beings older than these, some as old as the Great Fathers themselves.”

  Tahn’s blood ran cold. Sutter fell off of him.

  “It was against this movement that the Right Arm of the Promise was summoned,” Braethen continued. “The Convocation of Seats was recalled at Recityv when the Tabernacle of the Sky fell to the Quiet. Representatives from nearly every nation, throne, principality, and sovereign city came to the convocation to ask for help.

  “But those nobles and kings who came to Recityv would not commit entire armies to the cause, afraid to leave their homes undefended. Token regiments were offered to the regent as a pledge of good faith. The regent and the convocation met and debated for three days. Threats of secession from the alliance, accusation, threats of war among kingdoms, and personal maneuvers for advancement in the preeminence of the convocation marked the debate.

  “The regent of Recityv, Corihehn, disbanded the convocation and issued the order to call upon Holivagh’s Table.

  “Corihehn sent word to Holivagh that the First Promise was given new life in a Second Promise, supported by the rulers of every principality represented at the Convocation of Seats. Holivagh was asked to send his legion into the fray against the storm of Quietgiven. The armies of the Second Promise would join them in due haste. The Second Promise was to build on the First by shutting up the Bourne forever, ending the shedding of blood by war and calling into the land civility and charity.”

  “Will and War,” Tahn exclaimed in a whisper. “It was a lie.”

  “That it was,” the sodalist affirmed. “Holivagh marched north the very hour he received the summons. He left only seven men behind to watch after the children and elderly and those women who did not bear a blade. The rest moved day and night into the breach at Darkling Plain. Forty thousand men and women armed with forty thousand swords, with as many Sheason as could be found, cut a path through the armies of the Velle toward the Shadow of the Hand. It is said that when they reached the mountain of the Hand, only two thousand remained. But this diminished army held the breach against the Bourne for eight days. Each day they expected reinforcements to arrive as Corihehn had guaranteed. The army of the Second Promise never came. And every bladesman who marched with Holivagh perished.”

  “But the war was won?” Sutter asked hopefully.

  “When the Sheason realized that Corihehn had transgressed against the First Promise by sending its Right Arm to die, Del’Agio the Elder, the Randeur of the Sheason, sent his people into the courts of every known city. They threatened every regent, king, queen, and council with unnatural death if they did not pledge to honor the lie of Corihehn. It was known as the Castigation, both of the convocation and of the Order of the Sheason—since the Sheason were never supposed to invoke the Will as a weapon or means of compulsion upon mankind.”

  “Did they do it?” Penit stepped closer.

  “They did, lad,” Braethen said, smiling. “The Convocation of Seats reassembled. But one came without coercion, Dannan the Elder, King of Kamas, who had not been invited to the previous assembly due to rumors about the tyranny of his grandfather, Dannan the Stout Heart.

  “In the Great Hall of Promise, the awful scandal of Corihehn’s deception was recounted, earning him the title ‘the Defamed.’ Likewise, the demise of Holivagh’s army was related. Hearing these things, Dannan stood and while reciting the words recorded on the writ avowing the Second Promise, he scored his own chest with his sword, sealing with his own blood the commitment of his throne. The realms would have gone to war on the threat of the Sheason. But it is said that with that single stroke, Dannan turned the hearts of men to their children, purpose replacing fear.

  “A mighty army was raised, and its command was given to Holivagh’s son, Sedagin, a boy just nine years of age. The Sheason went into battle alongside steel and wood, changing the Sheason order forever after—for no longer did they go only to heal—and the threat was put down, the Quiet destroyed or turned back into the Hand.”

  “Then what of these High Plains,” Wendra asked. “How did they ascend into the sky?”

  “When the war was over, Del’Agio the Younger gathered the Order of Sheason and journeyed into the fields and meadows of the High Plains. For one full cycle of the moon they linked hands and Willed the earth to move and rise. They built an earthen monument to the courage and honor of Holivagh and his Table. The High Plains are a testimony to the First Promise, and are said to show the distinction of its bearers above the frailties of those who sent them to die. In raising these plains, those Sheason gave the Sedagin a home easy to defend and as beautiful as anything I’ve ever seen.

  “These plains are known as Teheale, which is thought to mean ‘earned in blood’ in the Language of the Covenant.”

  Tahn’s heart thrummed in his chest, and he could see the excitement on Sutter’s face. They all
remained silent in reverence toward the sacrifice made thousands of years past.

  Sutter broke the silence. “That is why they are called the Sedagin, isn’t it? Because of the boy-king.” He jumped up and wiped his face.

  “Indeed.” Riven nodded his approval. “And our lord bears that name still, in his honor.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Small Victories

  Beyond a line of trees, the plain opened onto a cleared flat tract of closely cropped grass and neatly kept homes. Immediately to the left, hundreds of young boys stood in short lines before men who were demonstrating precise moves and attacks with the great swords the Sedagin carried. Their attention never drifted to Tahn and his companions. In turn, each boy executed the move and returned to the end of his line. The swords themselves were taller than their wielders, but the boys carried them and performed their drills without any apparent difficulty.

  Farther to the right, a number of farms with penned sheep and cattle were being tended by men and women alike.

  As they rode deeper into the plain, homes grew in number, wood-framed and modest in appearance. But it was the absence of street barkers that caught Tahn’s attention. There were no handcarts filled with food or handmade trinkets; no beggars sat in the shadows of the buildings petitioning passersby. No loud, confusing din clouded the air, no smell of refuse rotting behind and between the homes and buildings.

  “Not one house of bitter,” Sutter suddenly said, riding beside Tahn.

  A group of men standing beside a house was looking at them. Each wore a sword and exuded an air of calm confidence. As they continued down several lanes, they could see more of the Sedagin at their doors and windows and gathered in small groups outside, regarding the Sheason with a quiet respect.

  They came to a stop at a particular house, and Tahn stepped off Jole at Riven’s direction. His companions followed suit. No less than fifty Sedagin stood close by.

  Sutter nudged him. “Did you notice that none of them looks like fat old Yulop?” He mimed a round belly in front of him.