Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1)

by Amarcya, Zuri

  “Did you hear that conversation, Nemma?” His voice sounded calm, but Nemma could tell by his heavy breathing he was working hard to keep it that way.

  “Only the end...”

  “Never speak of this to your mother.”

  Nemma nodded as he sat down at the table. She padded to the table and sat down, not sure what to say.

  “I have tried to protect you as best as I can,” Father said after a few moments.

  Nemma said nothing. She knew he worried for her safety, especially as both he and Mother were much older parents than most in the Ryim.

  “I didn’t expect that we would still be here,” he continued, his voice a murmur. “And I don’t know the next step. Your protection is all he asked for… I don’t know if we can risk leaving.”

  Silence grew between them as Father fell into his thoughts. Nemma allowed him to drift away, unsure what he meant. He and Mother had told her stories of far away lands since she was four. Places where there was golden sand as far as the eyes could see, places where people lived in underground cities or shared their homes with friendly animals. She longed to leave the Ryim for somewhere better, somewhere they could sell their goods and live in peace on their own. But Mother and Father always refused claiming it was too dangerous. No one knew what happened to those who left the Ryim and headed away from the city, across Hannaw. They never returned. Some said they die in the night when beasts roam the serf wards, others said serfs kill beggars to protect their lands and crops. No one ever said anything good.

  Father finally stirred, picking up a necklace and a bracelet from the table and turning them over in his hands. “These are beautiful, Nemma.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Nemma whispered, “Maybe one day it will be me teaching you something.”

  He smiled. “I learn something from you each day, Nem Nem.”

  Nemma hesitated, unsure how to phrase what she wanted to say. “Father, those men—”

  A loud hiss interrupted her. Droplets of water erupted from the pot on the stove and sizzled against the hot poa stones. Rushing over she removed it from the heat.

  “Excellent, excellent,” Aunt Gabby warbled, emerging from Nemma’s room leaning on her cane. “Cherry flower tea for me, cherry flower. Don’t forget.”

  “Yes, Aunt Gabby,” Nemma snapped, annoyed that her moment with Father had passed.

  Nemma watched her father over the next few days, noticing that he sometimes spent periods thinking deeply or working hard on his crafting plate. Mother noticed too, but she did not allow Nemma to question her about it. She had been pleased when Father declared that Nemma was not to go into the Ryim at all and Nemma did not put up much of an argument in light of what had taken place, but all she wanted was to look after her family. Father shouldn’t have to at his age. Surely if they moved away they would be safer?

  Aunt Gabby returned home shortly and, to everyone’s surprise, had some emotional difficulty bidding Nemma farewell.

  “Come in when you’re nearby,” she kept saying, voice gruff, tears in her eyes. “Don’t forget. It’s such a shame.”

  Nemma promised she would, puzzled. Aunt Gabby lived further away from anywhere she may be going, the Brook, the trade bay, even suppliers. But she agreed anyway.

  Several days later, Nemma was busy crafting in her room. She had created a catalog of jewelry and ornaments but her gems were running out. Mother said that Father would be buying and searching for all the gem stones from now on, which was unfair. Father had told her a crafter needs to choose their own materials so how could he choose stones for her? She should at least be allowed to go with him.

  She left her room, deciding to stay in the living area so she could intercept him as he came in, but as she passed her parents’ room muffled sobs seeped through the closed door. She halted as a wave of guilt washed over her. Everything Mother did was because she cared, and the best Nemma could do was sulk in her room every evening. It must be difficult for her too. Nemma went to the stove. Perhaps Mother would want some cherry flower tea. It was her favorite and always brightened her mood.

  As she carried the cup to the room, she slowed, surprised to hear her father’s deep voice. She thought he had gone out. They might be annoyed if she interrupted their conversation, the door was closed after all. Then Mother’s voice gripped her attention.

  “… delicate, fragile even. Not physically but emotionally. She needs to be supported. We are her guardians.”

  A harsh annoyance shot through Nemma. Mother had always been protective of her, to the point of treating her like a small child. When would she allow her to take care of herself? Eighteen was old enough to be treated like an adult.

  “It’s our job to look after her, not put her at higher risk,” Mother continued. “It’s bad enough we live here.”

  “She’s not that delicate, Isa. She’s a young woman. We can’t keep her locked up in here protecting her from the harshness of the world,” Father said. “We won’t be here to do that forever and I don’t intend to leave this earth with her future uncertain.”

  “But you intend to leave the Ryim?” Mother said chokingly. “After everything we have been through to be safe? Our beautiful firstborn was killed after barely drawing a breath, then Carrick had to leave, now you intend to put us back in danger?” She broke into fresh sobs. “There’s a long way to travel to reach the support of our friends. She’s our little girl – the child we get to keep. I can’t accept that you would put her in harm’s way without even a shred of evidence of your suspicions.”

  “Her connection with Gableen. You and I both know that Gabby spoke no such words that day, yet Nemma could hear her thoughts.”

  “Gabby could have been projecting them. You’re well aware of her lack of control over her Sight since—”

  Father sighed. “But we didn’t hear them, did we? And what of Nemma’s ability to stay clean? Isn’t that a clear indication—“

  “No, Jonam, that’s no indication. She’s past the age of the Gift.”

  “Exactly,” Father said. “It’s not the Gift. Besides, she has had the ability to repel dirt from before the Gift would manifest.”

  Mother paused, and Nemma could almost hear her searching her mind for something else to throw at Father. “We have a responsibility. Do you think that Carrick brought her to us so we can put her in such danger?“

  “Yes, Isa,” Father exclaimed, “I do. Carrick traveled across Hannaw in one go as soon as she was born to bring her to us. Doesn’t that suggest that we should take her growth and welfare very seriously? We can’t be selfish. If she is displaying these kinds of abilities we have to take action.”

  Nemma froze, shocked as Mother replied in broken sobs. She was… brought to them? The hairs on the back of her neck tingled as realization trickled through her. They were not her real parents. Her stomach dropped as though her middle had collapsed and the rest of her was melting towards the ground. Shaking, she placed the cup she was still holding onto the table, tea splashing over and scalding her fingers. They were not her real parents. The thought ran through her mind over and over as she stumbled into her room. How could they not tell her? The two people she loved and trusted most in this world? Tears sprung to her eyes at their betrayal, but she refused to cry. She would not prove Mother right—she was not delicate or fragile and would not succumb to weakness. But memories of things she had questioned as she grew up surfaced in her mind. Small things, such as why she had brown eyes while Father’s were gray and Mother’s were blue, why her skin color was a few shades darker than Father’s while Mother was pale, why she had the ability to stay clean, why they were so much older than most parents in the Ryim. They had lied to her with each answer and, even now, were keeping secrets to themselves. Secrets that involved her.

  Fierce sobs wrenched out of her as she collapsed on the rags and cloths that made up her bedding. She tried to push away the hurt but the bitter tang of betrayal would not subside and the more she thought on it, the angrier she became
. How dare they pretend to be concerned about her when all they cared about was replacing a child they had lost. Why did they not tell her about where she came from, who her real parents were? She had spent so much time worrying about Mother and Father, trying to look after them and take care of them, when all the time they had been lying to her.

  Jumbled thoughts spun through Nemma’s mind until late into the night, when eventually she drifted into an uneasy sleep, ebbing with uncertainty and gloom.

  The next morning she woke early and dressed hurriedly. Filling a carrysack with as many craft items as she could carry, she slipped through the door of the hut and out into the Ryim. Her desolation had transmuted into an indifferent calm. She had decided that she was old enough to make her own decisions about leaving the hut. She knew she was careful, Mother and Father would have to trust her for once.

  A cold breeze played with her hair as she marched along the path. The day was beginning well with a clear blue sky, even the sun’s appearance looked promising. Debris from the storm still littered the way, broken wood, tree branches and foliage as well as fallen trees and dead animals that had not been able to escape. Nemma maneuvered through, noticing that the path seemed emptier than usual, until she came to an opening in the thick woods that ran opposite the Torak wall. Leading down to a small clearing and shore where sea merchants sold their wares, it was also unusually empty. Nemma made her way to the clearing to speak to Rish, her favorite seaseller.

  When he saw her, his crinkled face broke out in a grin displaying the gaps in his teeth.

  “Hallo, Nemma. Long time. Where’ve you been?”

  “Locked up,” Nemma smiled. “What’s happening? Why is the Ryim so empty?”

  “Everyone’s still tryin’ to make money at the Bay,” Rish said. “From what I hear it’s been war tween the workers, nothin’s sellin’.”

  Nemma’s mood darkened. “Why?”

  “Don’t know. Not enough travelers, not enough good products… you know how it is.”

  Nemma nodded. Sales at the bay were subject to travelers who wanted to buy something being on the road. If not, many of the sellers wouldn’t make money. They must be going into a frenzy. If she approached the bay, she may be attacked and robbed for her goods. Perhaps she should just look for more gemstones.

  Walking along the slippery pathway between the back of the woods and the ocean, Nemma made her way to a quiet stretch of the Brook and sat down. This was the best place to find raw, unusual stones and gems, though many did not know it.

  The sun soared through the sky as she worked, providing little warmth against the chilly breeze that rippled the water’s surface. Nemma scraped and tapped the base of the rock mounds and dug her fingers into the wet soil as waves sloshed towards her. The sharp biting fragrance in the air made her think of possible lands beyond the open ocean. She had often wondered what would await her if they did indeed leave the Ryim or even the country of Hannaw. There must be lands that don’t allow the violence that occurred in the Ryim. Cities where all were equal, even the poorest. She had often asked Father if this was possible and he said he was not aware of any. But who knows what truths he ever told?

  At sun-arc Nemma assessed her progress. She had only found three mediocre stones. Was it likely others had dug up these grounds already? Pausing to take a break, she watched the seasellers further along the river. More people had arrived at the Brook, and were milling around the sea merchants’ boats trying to make deals and scouting for stones. Soon it would not be worth her continuing if she wished to keep this place private. Sighing she looked back at the wet rocks, a violent desperation rising in her. All she needed was three duith jewels, two jiji gems and four blackrocks to finish the set she had been making.

  A tickling squelch under her hand made her jerk backwards. Something was squirming in the mud before her. The whole section she had been working in seemed to be wriggling. Nemma watched transfixed, as tiny dips appeared in the soil. Perhaps she had disturbed a nest. It had never happened before but it was not a good idea to stay and find out what kind of creatures they were. Picking up her carrysack she readied herself to leave, when something shot into the air. She cowered, covering her face against the creature’s attack—but none came. Peeking over her hands, she was stunned to see a stone hovering in mid-air. It looked like a duith jewel. After a moment another shot up to join it and then another and another, until a selection of stones floated before her, sparkling in the sun.

  Nemma stared at them. Could they be real? How was it possible? Inching closer she examined them. Their color pattern and shape variants looked authentic, though they were still covered in traces of soil. Nemma stepped further forward and held out her mud-streaked hand. If she could touch them, they were real, and it would mean… what would it mean? Had she done this—unearthed gems from the soil without touching them? Her fingers closed over the closest stone and its sharp edges grazed the numb flesh of her hand, confirming its existence.

  A gasp brought her attention back to her surroundings and she spun around. Two young boys watched her, their muddy faces etched with amazement and horror at the sight before them. The stones fell to the earth and the boys scrambled back towards the Brook entrance. Nemma scooped up the gems and rushed after them. What they saw would not be good for her. She had seen children disappearing with the Thaide once rumors went out about their so-called abilities, and some of them didn’t go willingly. If these boys were believed, she would have a different matter to deal with.

  As she reached the Brook opening, the two boys were pulling on their fathers’ arms while keeping their eyes locked on her, as if she would attack at any moment. Nemma kept her head straight, barely hearing Rish’s farewell as she hurried by. Just as she reached the Ryim path, one of the boys caught his father’s attention.

  “What is it, boy? Can’t you see me talking?”

  Nemma shivered. It was Mirhan!

  “Pap, that girl…”

  She did not wait to hear the rest. She tore up the Ryim path towards home, but skidded to a halt as two cloaked figures appeared at the far curve before her. Thaide. Panicking, she ran into the thick woods, pushing her way through the close-knit trees whose branches dug into her arms and legs. When she had passed the initial tangle she was hidden. She stilled, waiting for the Thaide to pass.

  Mirhan came sprinting along, followed by the two boys and the other man, but when they saw the Thaide, they slowed and meandered until the officials passed. Nemma stood as still as she could, although the greenery was causing every part of her body to itch.

  “How we goin’ to find her, Mirhan?” the other man asked. Nemma could barely see them, but she recognized the voice as Cael’s.

  “We search,” Mirhan said.

  “Pap,” piped one of the boys, “you won’t hurt her, will you?”

  “Don’t be daft, boy,” Mirhan said, his voice moving further away. “The freak has been cheatin’ us out of coin for years. Usin’ her powers to make goods and keep her family the richest in the Ryim. The Thaide could reward us well for catching such a skilled evader of the Law. She’s too old to be just comin’ in ta the Gift.”

  “But how will we find her?” Cael asked.

  Mirhan was silent for a moment. “Maybe we should offer the Thaide the information instead. It’ll save us searchin’ the Ryim ourselves.”

  Cael murmured his agreement and they both set off after the Thaide, boys in tow.

  As soon as they were gone, Nemma pulled herself from the woods. It was too dangerous to go home now. The Thaide would be obliged to look into Mirhan’s accusation. She ran along the path, staying close to the woods. Hopefully, her parents would deny she lived there and send them on their way—Father would think of something. In the meantime she needed to stay out of sight. Apprehension bubbled through her at the thought of her parents. They would know that she had left the hut by now. She couldn’t imagine the state of Mother’s worry or Father’s disapproval but some good had come of it. Now that she had
exhibited some kind of ability, they would have to discuss their plans with her and she would confront them about their lies.

  When she reached the curve that would take her in view of her home, she turned to the woods. She could not risk traveling on the Ryim path and the cover of trees would keep her hidden so she could stay close to home. With a grim sigh, she headed into the thick tangled mass.

  Four

  The doors opened and warm air, heavy with smoke and perfumed scents, enveloped Clisantha, bringing with it the mellow purr of stringed instruments, bubbling conversation and the chinking of glass. She stepped forward to hand her robes to the doorman while eyeing the busy tavern.

  Finely-dressed citizens filled every inch, occupying the stools at the drinks counter and the soft-seats by the walls. As always, larger wood-carved tables had replaced the glass-blown ones to provide more seating. The many that were not wealthy or important enough to have secured tables, congregated any- and everywhere. She could hardly see Faebal and his fellow barmen behind the mass of customers at the drinks counter, and girl servers in yellow tunic-dresses swerved past with large pitchers and snack platters. Clisantha made her way through the tavern, unable to travel further than two steps before being approached by those wishing to bid her good evening: silk-clothed merchants, wives with beautiful face designs and treated hair, and pompous lords with shaped facial hair. She conversed with them, ensuring to smile and compliment them while responding to their greetings.

  A hush fell over the entire tavern. Clisantha held in a gasp as many citizens shot from their coveted seats towards the back wall. She turned to see the cause of the excitement. The scene in tavern’s unique windows, displaying the grand Torak Gates, had begun to melt and coil in a distortion of brilliant contrasting colors. They merged, pulsed and danced, revealing a crystal clear view of the border on the edge of Hannaw that led to Osrien, the neighboring country. A moment of awed silence hung in the air, followed by rapturous applause. Nods of approval waved through the crowd.