Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1)

by Amarcya, Zuri

  She had retreated back into the woods since the night Father and Mother died and although it had previously proven to be the safest choice, she had been shocked to hear sporadic activity at the wood’s edge. She had had to fight her way through the thickest part of the forest nearer the ocean in order to stay safe and, since then, the animals in the forest had begun to act strange, all heading in one direction as if fleeing some invisible force.

  She tried to shift her torso to a more comfortable position, watching a group of small rodents scurry past. She had hated leaving Father lying on the floor of their ravaged home, exposed to scavengers. He had been her joy, her guidance and her protection. And now he was gone.

  Tears threatened yet again. What was she going to do? Part of her wanted to give herself up to the Order. It meant death, but life did not mean much now. She was a beggar fugitive with nowhere to go, no family, no allies and no money. Father’s last instruction burned through her mind. Finding Carrick seemed like the most logical thing to do. He was Father’s son after all and surely he deserved to know what had happened. But how would she locate him? He hadn’t ever visited or even traded by the Ryim, as far as she knew. Would he even remember the baby he found so many years ago? What if he was no longer interested in her or his own parents’ welfare?

  Nemma turned over, ignoring the stinging grazes on her arms and legs. Finding Carrick was not the only worry. The Torak city gates were manned day and night and it would be impossible to pass. She sighed, tears falling across her face as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the painful void that filled every part of her being. What hurt most was not only had she caused Mother and Father’s deaths through her selfishness, but that they died so horribly, so painfully. She would never be able to erase the memory of Mother’s hand, discarded like a piece of rubbish or Father’s broken form as he took his last breath.

  She rolled and turned on the muddy, bristly ground of the forest for endless hours, thoughts rolling through her mind, falling in and out of sleep, while the forest loomed around her.

  She woke some time later, her body aching and her mind tired. She had been dreaming, but could not remember what it had been about. All she could see as she woke was Mother’s face beaming at her, proud and joyful. She got to her feet, squatting to avoid the low branches spiked with short knobs. She could not remain in these woods starving and waiting to be caught. Mother would not want that. She breathed deeply, trying to push away her smothering guilt. She would find Carrick. Father did not deserve to have his last request ignored and Carrick may be able to help her somehow.

  She picked up her muddied carrysack and looked hard up into the forest. The close-knit treetops did not permit her to see the hour of day so she made her way to the forest edge. As she neared, sunlight filtered through the trees. Peering through the branches, she realized that the path, though quiet, was filled with beggars, all walking in the same direction—towards the trade bay, plodding along with their heads down. Some cuddled children as they walked but they barely talked or acknowledged each other. What unusual behavior. Edging nearer she saw a Thaide standing on the far side of the crowd monitoring them. Watching the Thaide, she slipped out into the crowd, head down and keeping close to the group in front of her.

  The bright sky blinded her at first, sending a flash of pain through her eyes. Her knees were stiff and her ankles swung like weights every time she took a step. She noticed Thaide stationed along the path on either side of the crowd, watching beggars as they trudged past. She kept her eyes down whenever she passed one, her mud-slicked hair swinging in front of her face. As she rounded the northwest corner, a large group of Elementyths came into view, their green robes almost blending into the greenery around them. It looked like they were conducting a thorough search of the woods further down. They had torn through branches and pulled down trees, leaving a dead forest in their wake. Nemma breathed a sigh of silent relief that she had not stayed in the woods any longer.

  An arm slipped around her shoulders.

  “Eh, Nemma. What’ve you done?” whispered a familiar voice.

  “Rish,” Nemma turned to her friend.

  “Stay forward. Keep your head down,” Rich barked.

  She snapped back to face front and resumed her previous stance. Rish pulled her close to him. Raw fish and sea salt wafted from him.

  “You’ve caused a bit of a fuss ain’t you Nemma?” Rish sighed. “But I know losin’ your parents must’ve been hard.”

  Fear crept up Nemma’s throat.

  “I know many’ve not been good to you in the Ryim, Nemma. You remind me of my son. Always scamperin’ ‘bout alone, always gettin’ into brawls, defendin’ himself, playin’ in the dirt…”

  Nemma said nothing. Rish’s son had drowned at sea when he was ten.

  “But nothin’ good can come from these magiens destroyin’ our home and destroyin’ us.”

  “Are you going to give me up?” Nemma asked, a lump in her throat.

  “Of course not,” Rish said, whistling faintly as the wind rushed through his missing front teeth. “But you can’t stay here. Once they realize you aren’t here they’ll leave us be. They think we’re hidin’ you, protectin’ you.” He chuckled. “Just goes to show how little they know bout Ryim beggars, eh?”

  “I need to get into the city,” Nemma whispered. “I need to find Father’s son.”

  “Into Torak?” Rish asked, frowning. “To find the Thaide?”

  “What? He’s a Thaide?”

  “Yeh. That’s what I remember your Father sayin’. Didn’t he tell you?”

  Nemma shook her head. “He didn’t talk much about Carrick.”

  “Hush.”

  They approached the Elementyths. All of their attention was on the woods. As Rish and Nemma passed the air felt heavy around them and the nearest trees trembled in a haze of golden green light.

  Nemma clung tighter to Rish. “I’ve never seen so many magiens in one place before.”

  Rish gave her a sideways glance. “What’d you expect, Nemma? No Thaide has ever been killed in Hannaw before. Least not in the Ryim, and definitely not by a beggar.”

  Nemma nodded. She had committed a serious crime. It didn’t matter to anyone that it hadn’t been intentional, or that those men had murdered her parents.

  “Where’s everyone going?”

  “To the trade bay. They want us gathered there so they can inspect us. In the meantime they’ll be searchin’ the woods and destroyin’ our homes in case you’re hiding there.”

  “Everyone is so…” Nemma could not find the word she meant. The Ryim was a busy place. It was cruel and harsh, but always lively. The people around her were sucked of energy.

  “They’re broken, Nemma. Many have been tortured to within a breath of their lives, even children. It’s a good reminder that we are allowed our lives only because the Arc are too lazy to deal with us.”

  Nemma swallowed. “Do you have any water?”

  Rish handed her his flask.

  “We must get you into the city before the dirt falls off you. People have talked. They’re looking for a clean beggar.”

  Nemma paused from drinking. “You will help me?”

  “Of course,” Rish said, whistling again. “But I don’t know how you will get into the city. They’ve increased the number of Thaide guardin’ the gates. They’ve stopped trading as well, so no one is allowed to stop.”

  Nemma handed back his flask. The gates will be opening for the magiens going to and from the Ryim, as well as travelers. So although there was extra security, the gates will be opening more often.

  They turned the final curve and saw the trade bay. The whole area was filled with beggars, some sitting and some standing—too many to be contained strictly within the bay area. Three Puryths in crimson cloaks, healers from the Care sect, stood around them making sure they didn’t stray too far.

  “Keep your head down Nemma,” Rish warned. “If any of the beggars recognize you, you’ll be given up.
”

  Nemma lowered her head and allowed her stringy mud-clumped hair to fall over her face. Her clothes were ripped and soaked with mud and the visible skin on her body was covered with dirt, cuts and bruises. She looked like a typical Ryim beggar but she could see, as she joined the group of beggars, the mud already flaking away from her.

  Rish and Nemma made their way to back of the group so they were nearest the Torak Road and sat down. Nemma wrinkled her nose at the pungent stench of so many beggars in close proximity, but it did not seem to bother Rish.

  They sat, for what seemed like ages, in the same spot, more people joining the crowd every moment. The sky was bright but there was no break in the clouds and Nemma was too disorientated to tell if sun-arc had come or gone. The beggars around them took no interest in her or Rish, focusing on their loved ones or themselves. Some were praying. A few babies cried out and Puryths moved through the group to tend to them.

  “What are you thinkin’?” Rish asked in a low voice.

  “I can’t believe I caused all of this, Rish,” Nemma whispered back, her eyes stinging again with tears. “The whole Ryim is suffering because of me.”

  “No.” Rish shook his head. “The whole Ryim is suffering because beggars became forgetful and spiteful, not because of you.” He snorted in displeasure. “We’re supposed to be a community that supports and protects each other. The crimes committed here are against Sovereign Law, yet I wager most are prayin’ to the Sovereign to spare them.”

  His grim chuckle was interrupted by the groan of a carriage slowing to a stop behind them. A man with a panicked expression jumped down from the front and looked around frantically.

  “Lord!” bellowed an Elementyth from the side of the Trade Bay, “the Ryim is under investigation. No one is allowed to stop.”

  “I need help!” shouted the lord, not hearing him. “They’re attacking my serfs, I need help!”

  The lord looked disheveled. His clothes were crumpled and his cowl was slightly askew. Mud and blood decorated his trousers and a deep gash sat on his arm.

  “Go into Torak and get help,” called the Elementyth. “We cannot abandon our posts.”

  “No, I can’t,” shouted the lord. “There’s no time. Don’t you understand? They’re killing them. I need your help now!”

  At this, the beggars in the Trade Bay began to stir. Some of the younger children began to cry and others wailed their prayers out loud.

  “They’re goin’ to kill us,” Rish muttered into the crowd. “We need to escape. We’re goin’ to die. We need to run. Run. Run. Run!”

  “Rish,” Nemma whispered, “what are you doing?”

  “The lord is sayin’ exactly what the beggars are fearin’. This is your chance,” Rish said, nodding towards the lord’s carriage. “Be ready.”

  “Calm down!” the Elementyth shouted at the lord, who was becoming hysterical.

  But it was too late. Rish’s words of panic spread through the crowd and the beggars got to their feet and ran, stumbling and crawling into the Torak Road, surrounding the lord’s carriage, trying to get away from the magiens.

  Nemma and Rish went with the crowd. She glanced at the Torak Gates. The Thaide had not realized what was happening yet.

  A beggar next to her shot up in the air, his face contorted in pain, his body twitching until still. A rush of fear washed over her. Is that how she looked when the Thaide caught her? Another beggar shot into the air and then another. The magiens were shouting to each other over the commotion.

  “Come on.” Rish pulled Nemma round to the other side of the carriage, pushing past beggars who had started fighting each other in their desperation to get away.

  “Quick,” Rish barked. He pulled opened the door on the carriage and helped Nemma to scramble inside.

  It was not easy to climb up. The entire carriage was filled with food, sacks of fresh fruit and vegetables, corn and other things Nemma could not see. Rish pulled a sack of vegetables out and tipped it over on the Torak Road. He pulled out more sacks of grain and did the same. Nemma grabbed the nearest sacks she should carry and threw them out into the road.

  “Be safe Nemma,” Rish said, giving her one last look before shutting the door in.

  As she sat down on the hard floor inside the carriage, she heard Rish call out “Food! Fresh food! Feed your families!” and the clamor rose as beggars swarmed towards the carriage. The lord shouted in despair at the loss of his cargo.

  “Get your carriage out of here,” snarled a deep voice on the right side of the carriage.

  “But…” began the lord.

  “Now! Or you will be treated like a Ryim dweller.”

  The lord scrambled up into the front seat and whipped the horses into motion and Nemma pressed herself as much as possible into the back corner of the carriage, behind sacks of corn. A sack of flour, a couple boxes containing grains and a container with some kind of slimy green plant tipped over from the sudden jerking and lack of support, and a spicy aroma rose in the air. Nemma curled tighter as other boxes fell.

  The carriage came to a sudden stop.

  “Which ward?” a man asked.

  “Eight,” mumbled the lord. Nemma stayed frozen, holding her breath. The Thaide at the Torak Gates usually stopped and checked all the carriages travelling in and out of Torak. She and Rish had not thought this through.

  The door opened. “Well it looks as though you have lost at least half of your stock,” said a Thaide. “And you deserve it.” He closed the door. “It’s a mess in there. I’m not searching through that. You’ve caused enough work for us already. Go on. This will be reported to the Council.”

  The carriage began moving.

  Nemma breathed heavily, hardly believing she was on the inside of the wall she had only ever seen from the outside. Relief melted through her, and she relaxed a little into the sack of corn. She thought back to what she was leaving behind. Hopefully Rish would be alright. He always knew how to take care of himself but he had taken a big risk for her. The Ryim would never be the same. Tears filled her eyes at the thought of the life she could never return to and the parents she would never see again. A bright green apple rolled to her feet and she grabbed it and bit into it. The juicy tartness roused the hunger pangs she had ignored and forgotten about while in the forest and within seconds she had crunched her way to the core. Opening her carrysack she scooped up handfuls of apples, pears, berries, bread and dried fruit and stuffed them in before settling back in her corner.

  The carriage jerked on a straight journey for a long while and Nemma had fallen into a light slumber when it took its first turn. She forced herself alert. She had no idea how she was going to get out of the carriage without the lord seeing her and alerting the Thaide. He would know that she had illegally entered the city through use of his carriage. The carriage twisted and turned a few times before coming to halt, and the lord jumped down and walked away. Nemma held her breath. Nothing. No one came. She got up, pushed the door open just a crack and saw that she was on a small road with large buildings. There was no one around. She slipped down from the carriage and walked away.

  She trudged for what seemed like forever. The small road led on to a larger road, which broke off several times onto other roads. The roads in the city were indeed pretty. They were flat, with no dips or stones, and had patterns on them. Along their edges were short trees or plants cut into shapes, or tall silvery sticks with a lumni globe at the top. Large huts loomed on the either side of each path, decorated in a variety of different ways. At times, Nemma stopped to look at particular huts amazed at the size and structure of them. They did not lean or look at all unstable. Their walls were smooth and prettily colored or patterned. Some even had plants outside creating beautiful designs on the door or walls. Mother would have loved the elegance of them. She noticed that each house had a different word on the door, such as Haodane or Berthon or Dimech—all written in different ways but carved from woodstone. Citizens of Torak only spoke the Western Tongue as
far as she knew, but she did not recognize any of the words.

  The air in the city was sharper and smoother than air in the Ryim. It seemed strange to breathe in and smell subtle unfamiliar scents rather than overpowering unpleasant odors. Citizens appeared sporadically, crossing roads and turning corners, dressed in various colored tunics, dresses and trousers. As she passed them, a burst of a beautiful scent, sometimes sweet or peppery or fruity would reach her nose. Almost everyone wore their hair in some kind of braided or half-braided style. Some of the women had intriguing patterns on their faces while some of the men had cut their facial hair into shapes. How very strange. Some of them looked at her oddly, others ignored her. She avoided eye contact and kept walking.

  After a long while the novelty of the city began to wear thin. How was she supposed to find Carrick? It was unlikely she would bump into him on the road, and if he truly were a Thaide it would be near impossible to find him. She walked along, now in a busy part of the city, invisible among the many people rushing in various directions. Her carrysack became heavier and at times she stopped to rest and eat an apple or pear, examining all the new buildings that had come into view. The most amazing ones stood so tall she could hardly see their roofs and they glistened in the daylight. She walked along a large, busy road that carriages and hjuys seemed to travel along constantly.

  The sky darkened to a purple-blue and the wind picked up, blowing her hair to and fro and sending chills along her skin. Nemma began to pick up speed. She did not want to be out at night. She needed to look for somewhere she could hide and rest.

  “You there, halt,” called an authoritative voice.

  Nemma froze.

  “Turn around.”

  She turned towards the road, and found herself looking up into the face of a young man, not much older than herself. He hovered a few feet off the ground, standing on what looked like a thin, wide layer of shimmering light. He wore a gray robe, blue cowl and an annoyed expression.

  “What are you doing here?”