The Unremembered: Book One of The Vault of Heaven

by Peter Orullian

  The door of the house opened and a man emerged. His hair and eyes were the brown of brushed saddle leather. He, too, wore his long sword at his waist, but sported no cloak or cape. The other Sedagin bowed noticeably as he stepped outside, but Tahn could see nothing to distinguish him as their lord or king. The man made a quick survey of his guests, stopping to note their weapons. At a look, all the men dispersed, save a few who relaxed and began to talk quietly.

  “Riven, my friend,” the man said. “You always surprise me when you return from the lowlands.” He offered a lopsided smile and stepped down from the short portico to the grass road.

  Riven grinned and embraced the other. “I do at that, Sedagin, but this is different.”

  “Your advance has told me, but I suspect their report leaves the best of it unspoken.”

  Riven laughed. “You’ve a talent for understatement.”

  “Bring them in. Let us offer them rest and refreshment.”

  Riven motioned to a few of the men, who immediately came and took their guests’ horses. “You are invited inside,” Riven said. “Don’t let the grass grow up under your boots.”

  Inside, a large room lay awash in sunlight from windows on every side. A sweet herbal tea steamed over the hearth to the left, giving the place a relaxed, homey feeling. Against the rear wall, sketches in charcoal of several men hung in a perfect line. Beneath each sketch, a sword stood buried in the wood floor. To each side of the door, bookcases reached to the ceiling.

  “Please, be at ease,” the Sedagin said.

  “Thank you,” Vendanj replied, and sat nearest the fire.

  Riven brought chairs from another room, and they all sat as Sedagin watched patiently for them to be seated.

  “It is a long time since a Sheason has been in the High Plains,” the man said.

  “Perhaps too long,” Vendanj commented.

  The other nodded. “I am Sedagin.”

  “I am Vendanj, bearer of the Will through Sheason.”

  “To come directly to it,” Sedagin said, fixing his eyes on Vendanj, “the Quietgiven are come into the land again.” He looked at each of them in turn. “And this time they chase you.”

  Vendanj followed the man’s eyes, looking at his companions. “It is true,” the Sheason confirmed. When the bladesman met Vendanj’s gaze again, the Sheason spoke gravely. “We must reach Recityv. We thank you, as we do Riven and those in his charge, for assisting us this far. But we make no claim upon your honor, and we cannot stay long.”

  Sedagin shook his head as he lifted the teapot from the fire and began pouring several cups. “Any enemy of the Bar’dyn is an ally of ours. But what business has the Order of Sheason in Recityv, especially now that an entire collough of Bar’dyn is upon your trail?”

  Vendanj took a cup from Sedagin, as did Mira and Tahn and the others. But he did not drink. He held his cup in his hands and stared long at Sedagin. Tahn knew what Vendanj would say, and how it would sound to this lord.

  Finally, the Sheason spoke. “The Convocation of Seats has been recalled.”

  A grave look recast Sedgain’s face; a very old wound shone in the man’s eyes. Holding Vendanj’s stare, he replied, “Why do you tell me this?” Tahn thought he heard some small challenge in the question.

  Vendanj nodded. “Mark me. I did not intend to claim right of passage here. If a call to the Right Arm of the Promise is to be made, it will come from others than I.”

  “We will not answer,” Sedagin said plainly. “We do not recognize anything that came, or will come, after the First Promise. You know why.”

  “Perhaps it is more than chance that brings us into your High Plain, Sedagin. It is not my place to ask anything. There are no declarations of war. There is no seal from the regent. But”—Vendanj gave the man a hard glare—“that time may come. And I would have you consider that the Quiet will reach every man’s door if it comes into the east.”

  Sedagin looked at them each. “What business have you and your companions in Recityv that the Quiet track you?”

  “These are not things I can discuss at this time,” Vendanj answered.

  A heavy silence followed. Then a warmer look returned to Sedagin’s face. “We will talk more later. And I get ahead of myself. You must rest. Riven will find you beds, and food will be brought. Tonight a dinner will be held in your honor, Sheason, for the home your order bestowed upon us.” The Sedagin lifted his own cup and drank a toast to the renderer.

  “And in remembrance of your sacrifice for the First Promise,” Vendanj replied.

  “Just so,” Sedagin said.

  * * *

  The sun danced on the treetops, filling the plain with golden hues and sepia shadows. To the west, over the roofs of homes smoke rose from several fires.

  Men and women walked together in the same direction that Riven led Sutter and the others. At the edge of the community, the plain opened up onto a broad expanse of closely shorn grass. Large pits had been dug in the ground at intervals of nearly ten strides, each pit tiered and lined with stone. Great fires burned within them, and tables, covered with food and pitchers of drink, were set around the flames. Children chased one another about the tables, the sounds of their merriment lifting like the calls of morning birds.

  Riven led them to a table near the fire where Sedagin sat holding a small girl on his lap.

  “My daughter,” he said as they approached. A woman came forward and took the girl from Sedagin. “And my love, Sonja,” he finished, introducing her.

  The woman bowed her head slightly. “You are welcome here,” she said.

  Sutter put a thumb in Tahn’s back to get his Far-stricken friend to take note. Sonja was exquisitely beautiful.

  “Let us begin,” Sedagin announced. He went to the fire and raised a pole bearing the Sedagin banner. In turn, someone at each fire likewise raised the same standard. “Tonight, we celebrate the company of one who wears the symbol of the Sheason. And who in turn reminds us of our Oath.”

  The entire company fell silent. Even the children quieted. There was not a movement, not a cough or whisper. The eyes of all attended Sedagin. The leader of the Table of Blades waited patiently for something. In the moments that followed, Sutter realized why Sedagin waited. Presently, the sun dipped completely below the horizon, and blue shadows fell across them. Sutter could hear only the fires and felt the pride and reverence of these people in the profound silence.

  Sedagin lifted his cup. “Drink now,” he said. “And enjoy this moment of peace.”

  Every glass was lifted in the twilight, and all drank. Then Sutter and his companions were seated at Sedagin’s table. Riven sat with them, and together they feasted on the grand meal set before them. Night came on, lighting the sky with brilliant stars. The fires glowed brightly and kept the chill at bay. All those present talked companionably and laughter rose from the plain with the sparks from the great flames.

  “Woodchuck, I could get used to this,” Sutter said.

  Tahn nodded as he put several sweet berries in his mouth. “A man who sniffs the dirt is an easy man to please.”

  Sutter poked him gently in the side and resumed his meal with vigor.

  When the food was nearly gone, several minstrels began to play and people began to dance. Taking his lead from those at other tables, Sutter quickly petitioned Wendra to accompany him, and the two began to imitate the steps of the many celebrants.

  Penit jumped into the dance, taking Wendra and Sutter by the hand and capering in a circle.

  A moment later, one of the Sedagin tapped Sutter on the shoulder. “I’d like a round with the lady,” he said.

  “Not this time,” Sutter said.

  The Sedagin raised a hand, and suddenly the music stopped. The Sedagin stepped close to Sutter, who dropped Wendra’s hand.

  “You are low born,” the Sedagin man said with derision.

  “I don’t know what that means to you,” Sutter replied, “but it sounds like an insult.” The tone of Sutter’s voice
threatened action.

  “So the lowlander can reason,” the other mocked. “But you do not deny a bladesman a turn with a woman.” The longblade spoke like a court counselor.

  Sutter immediately looked back at the table, locking eyes with Tahn. The silent message was clear: If you need help … But he also saw the look in the face of the Sedgain lord—a ready contempt awaiting what came next. And that turned Sutter’s anger more black.

  He’d throttled stronger men for ridiculing his trade—always there were jokes about his dirty hands. But this. This somehow make him angrier. The interruption, the presumption of it.

  “Hoping to find a friend to take your challenge for you?” the longblade taunted, following Sutter’s gaze.

  Sutter shut his eyes, his jaw working as he bit back a retort. Another word and he might explode. He knew the foolishness of it, standing here in the middle of a plain filled with Sedagin. But by the Bourne, he would not yield on this. Not simply to prove himself a man to Wendra, if this could mean that. Not because of the man’s arrogance or any of that, after all.

  But because he had to believe that a boy left by his parents to a life of root farming wasn’t any less than a blessed, vaunted nation with a glorious history of promises and honor in war. Otherwise he could have, should have, stayed in the Hollows.

  A hush fell over the the company, the plain now as quiet as it had been during Sedagin’s toast. Only the sound of burning wood filled the air.

  Sutter opened his eyes and shifted his gaze to the Sheason. Vendanj did not appear ready to offer assistance, but something changed in Sutter as he looked at the renderer, and remembered what Vendanj had said in Hambley’s Fieldstone. His jaw relaxed, and his fists unclenched. A thin smile softened his features even more, and he looked back at the Sedagin before him.

  “And what of the lady’s choice?” Sutter asked in a low voice, his words nearly lost in the crackle of the fire.

  “You’re suggesting she would rather dance with you than with one who is highborn, given in blood to the Promise.” The man chuckled.

  Sutter choked back more anger, then shook his head. “So close to the sky, the sun has withered your wit,” he said dryly. “I’m suggesting that she ought to have been asked, not me.” Sutter stepped closer, his face only the width of his fist from the Sedagin’s nose. “What is this First Promise that you invoke to give you station above another? Is it possible that it could have been meant for such a use? I have known the face of the Fathers more intimately in nurturing life from my soil than you have in all the grandeur of your sword and oath.”

  “You tread close to death, lowlander,” the Sedagin said. The longblade’s face tightened, and he took a wider stance as though preparing to fight.

  “Then we will have ourselves a fight,” Sutter said evenly. “And either your arrogance will come to an end, or my dirty hands will fall defending the will of another.”

  Sutter was a good fighter, but he was no match for the Sedagin’s skill with a blade. Fear rippled through him; whatever happened, he would have to handle alone.

  “Vendanj,” Tahn said from the table, his voice sounding loud in the lengthening silence.

  “Hold,” the Sheason whispered.

  The longblade reached for his sword.

  “Or,” Sutter said, his smile returning, “you could ask Wendra if she’d like to dance. Does your Promise allow for such civility?”

  The man paused with his hand on the hilt of his blade. He looked across at Sedagin, who nodded. The man unhanded his weapon and turned to Wendra. “Anais, would you care to dance?”

  Wendra’s face shone as she looked at Sutter. Then she answered diplomatically, “Yes.” The longblade took her hand, they made one turn, and the music started in again, as festive as before. Sutter was turning to leave when the longblade grabbed him by the wrist. Sutter wheeled about, surprised, but before he could think to strike, the man forced something into his hand. Sutter looked down, confused. When he glanced up again, the longblade nodded and returned to his dance with Wendra. Sutter ambled back to the table and sat, inspecting the present.

  Tahn leaned close. Sutter held one of the wrist bracelets they’d seen the Sedagin wearing.

  A wide leather band of the same deep fir hue, a thin cord meant to loop up and around his third finger.

  “You’re meant to wear it, Sutter,” Riven said. “It is a gift.”

  Sutter put on the bracelet and flexed his hand into a fist. Riven and Sedagin appeared pleased, but neither spoke of it, returning to their food and conversation.

  “I thought you were going to lose your nails,” Tahn said as Sutter continued to study the wrist-band. “You’re lucky it didn’t come to a fight.”

  “Maybe,” Sutter replied, finally picking up the last of his wine and finishing it. “We know their skill, but they’ve never fought a man from the Hollows before.” He laughed and refilled his goblet.

  Tahn shook his head, then jostled Sutter’s arm, splashing wine on them both. “What happened?”

  “The guy wanted Wendra to dance. Forced himself in,” Sutter said, trying to sound incredulous.

  “So you defended your love,” Tahn teased.

  “Of course,” he said, smiling.

  “And you’re not worried Wendra will take a stronger liking to the longblade?”

  Sutter laughed. “Nah, I’m sure his blade is the only thing about him that’s long. Besides, I won the challenge, didn’t I? I used his own virtue to defeat him.” Then, softer. “I wish my father could have seen it.” He flexed his hand again, pulling the string tight over his fist. “I think he’d have been proud.”

  * * *

  Tahn looked across the feast at Mira. At that moment, she reminded him of the purple logotes, a small stubborn wildflower that flourished where nothing else ever could—on the rocky, windy hills of Cali’s North. Before he could stop himself, he’d rounded the table and asked her to dance.

  “You think you can keep up?” she asked.

  Tahn took her hand just as the music changed to a slow air played on a deep-pitched fiddle, sounding to Tahn like a lamentation. He put his arms around Mira and they swayed in time with the music.

  “You’re not very good at this, are you?” Mira looked down to where Tahn’s feet had pinned her own to the grass.

  “Just need more practice. I’d think you’d be used to that with me by now.”

  She smiled and they turned slowly under a canopy of stars.

  “Your sister,” Tahn asked. “Did she have children?”

  Mira looked at him. “You’re a bit of a clumsy dancer, but you’re more perceptive than I thought.”

  “If she’s a queen, and she’s childless … will you be expected to bear the line an heir?”

  “It is possible. Authority means something different to the Far than it does to others. It’s not dominion. But in some ways, it’s more important.”

  Her eyes held a distant look Tahn had rarely seen. This woman lived so completely in the present that to see her so distracted shocked him. A young boy and girl, no more than eight, danced by, a bit fast and not in time with the tune. “Do you want a family?”

  The Far looked down at the children passing them. “It’s not a question of what I want. I am Far. For us, even the most favorable conditions leave a mother but a very short time with her child. Our idea of family is different than yours.”

  Tahn caught her attention. “I didn’t ask about the Far. I asked about you.”

  Mira stared back at him. They’d stopped dancing, and now, without speaking, were sharing a set of impossible questions. And except for when she sat vigil in the depths of the night over his sleeping friends, it was the only time he could remember seeing her motionless. He believed her heart stirred, mostly because his own told him it must.

  A desire and ache for what one might wish but could never have.

  For them both.

  But Tahn would not let go of his hope for her that had begun in his heart, any more than
he could give up his hope for a new sun each day, begun in the stillness of the dark hours of night.

  * * *

  Dust coated the path. In every direction earth rolled away, the crust parched and cracked, the sage dead, wind whistling over the plain. Tahn strode heavily across it, following a pair of footprints. The sun beat down upon him. It seemed not to move in the sky above. Beads of sweat rolled down his brow and into his eyes. He blinked against the sting, and wiped his face with his sleeve. Stumps of trees long dead, bleached white and forming jagged patterns, jutted up like gravestones amidst the dry grass.

  The dreary plain continued, heat shimmering at the line of the horizon. Onward he trudged, his heart grieving for the loss of vitality. Occasionally, deep grooves scored the blackened, scorched soil, the sun hot on the sooty surface.

  Farther up the path, stones cropped up in odd shapes, pocked and scabrous. Then more stones. And more. Tahn looked past them quickly, his mind refusing to see their shapes. Soon, he could no longer deny their stares, and he stopped to rub the eyes of one of the stones which rose from the ground like a human statue.

  Past these he staggered, until he could see the sky growing bluer, green hills rising off the plain, and a tree rising against the horizon. Tahn fixed his gaze there and pushed himself toward it …

  * * *

  In the dark of early morn, Tahn slipped past a Sedagin sentry by going out his window. He crept to the stable and quietly mounted Jole. At an easy walk, he rode Jole to the edge of the High Plains, there to look out upon a crystalline dark. The constellation of Merade the Devout dipped on the eastern horizon, its head fallen below the edge of the plain. Tahn peered out over the vastness of the land that stretched out beneath him. It looked like a mural of shadows, veiled but beautiful. If not for the stars, Tahn would not have known where the earth ended and the sky began.

  Sitting with his legs over the edge of the sheer drop, Tahn thought of Balatin and of the old questions that still plagued him: nightmares that felt like memories, faceless figures that seemed somehow familiar but unknowable, maddening words he was compelled to say each time he drew his bow—words that crippled his decisiveness. When did these things begin? It all made Tahn feel like he was slowly losing his mind.