Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1)

by Amarcya, Zuri

  Clisantha pulled her hand away and smiled at Ketzia. “Enjoy your drinks,” she said to them both, before sitting back down at the counter.

  As prayer hour approached, Clisantha left the tavern. Annoyance surged through her with each step as she made her way back to the core. What was this Elementyth, Riyen, doing? He wanted to meet her and yet he had arranged for Ketzia to be present. Did he hope to prove that he had access to the people in her life? It was a poor tactic.

  Citizens flooded the roads leading up to the core. They even obscured the wide empty Torak Road. It was difficult to get back to the center but Clisantha kept pushing through the tight mass until she stood about twenty paces from the black wooden structure that had been erected in the middle of the core. Citizens pressed in from all sides, and muddled scents filled the humid breath-ridden air. The unbearable chatter deafened her and she closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts on memories of her father.

  After a few moments, the crowd hushed as a figure in a white robe, with red swirl designs, mounted the center platform with two crimson-robed Puryths, the top-rank magiens of the Care sect. Although her hood obscured her face she could always be easily identified by her gracious walk. The Priest of the Care sect, Aspatria glided into place.

  “Citizens of Torak,” she called out over the crowd, “thank you for your attendance.” Her smooth voice rose high into the sky and seemed to bounce off all the surrounding buildings and filter through the crowd straight into Clisantha’s ears. “The Sovereign looks out upon you gathering today and blesses you with a warm sun in which to praise his name and celebrate our traditions as a developed and civilized nation.”

  Nearly all heads tilted up to look at the white Torak Tower, glinting in the sunshine.

  “He has always asked that you gather on your day of rest as one people standing side by side to show your dedication and faith in Him and Torak City. He has always asked that for one hour on every thirty-first day you disregard all hierarchy and status to honor the legacy of your past and the potential of your future. That you set time aside for Him, to show you recognize all He does for the city and all He has done for the Realms, since their creation over five hundred thousand years ago. He is grateful for the dedication you show.” She paused. The crowd had stilled to complete silence with no murmur or movement. All watched Priest Aspatria. She lowered her hood and allowed her mahogany hair, streaked with gray, to fall over her shoulders. Age had softened her sharp angled beauty but she still held an interesting look with her cinnamon coloring and high cheekbones. Her brown eyes flicked across the crowd. “Let us pray.”

  The mass bowed their heads

  An hour later Clisantha raised her head and blinked against the glaring sun. She shook her head to clear a slight dizziness in her mind. A sense of peace had grown within her and the raw edge of worry had faded somewhat. That was the benefit of prayer hour. Murmurs ran through the crowd as everyone tried to get their bearings. Priest Aspatria and the two Puryths had left the platform but another figure stood there instead. Squinting, Clisantha recognized the High Priest.

  He stood firm, arms by his side, looking out over the crowd. Although magiens aged slower than citizens, it was rumored that the High Priest had been living for at least four hundred years, longer than all but the Sovereign. His presence demanded respect and he was loved by many for his immense Gift strength and reputation for being fair and just. The rising babble died almost immediately.

  “I thank you all for your attendance,” the High Priest said, folding his arms. While Priests and Thaide had different colored swirl designs on their white robes, the High Priest wore no color or swirl designs, just stunning plain white robes. “The Sovereign’s Justice Ceremony will begin at the start of the next hour. Those of you wishing to plead for the condemned, please make your way to the platform.”

  How strange. The High Priest would not normally make that announcement. Clisantha threaded through the shifting crowd to the Journey Grounds as citizens made their way home or to the nearest taverns to wait for the ceremony. She had not been to visit Orna for a few days but she should not deviate from her usual behavior. In a couple of days Orna’s soul would have made its journey to the Sovereign’s Haven and she would no longer need to keep up the pretense. As she had reduced the time spent spying on Telmar anyway, it would be a welcome relief.

  She arrived at the desolate Journey Grounds and took her place in front of Orna’s headstone. The wind at the Journey Grounds never ceased, and she embraced it, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She had to think of an excuse to tell the High Priest when she withdrew her request for lordship. He would want an explanation and, after her bold argument for why she should be given the position, she needed a convincing one. If she failed to convince him, he would have her investigated. She dipped her hands in the pockets of her robes and felt a rough piece of parchment. She held it up, staring at it. She did not recognize it or recall picking it up. The parchment had a tinge of pink to it, different to any she had seen before. She unfolded the parchment and read:

  Clisantha, do not panic but a detection ball has been attached to your energy force. It is designed to alert the magien who attached it if you, or anyone around you, is an unchartered Giftborn. For this reason I was unable to meet you to discuss our arrangement. The Arc may find it strange to detect prolonged communication between us at this time. The ball has been designed using your own energy release so it is unlikely you have been able to detect it. What have you done to cause such suspicion? Do not use the Gift. I will consider our options and be in touch. Do not use the Gift. Destroy this note. Elementyth Riyen.

  Clisantha read the parchment twice and tucked it back into the pocket of her robe. Realization hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water. Someone suspected her of being Giftborn. She stood staring across the Journey Grounds until the wind caused her eyes to water. She thought she had been so careful. She dug her nails hard into her palms. Any magien could have done this, numerous Thaide flooded the city currently. Turning away from Orna’s headstone, almost stumbling towards the gate, Clisantha made her way through the mellow, relaxed city, the sun warming her back as her mind raced. By the time she arrived home her mood had lightened slightly. If anyone had had more than just a suspicion she would have been arrested. So it must be her shielding methods again.

  She burned Riyen’s note and headed to her room to change, but paused when a light knock fell on the door.

  Opening it, she found herself looking into the eyes of a girl of about fifteen dressed in a tattered stained tunic. She wore boots on her feet and her bronze frizzy hair was tangled mess. She looked like a foundling.

  “Are you Clisantha Saraethien?” the girl asked.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m looking for Carrick.”

  Clisantha narrowed her eyes. “What business could you possibly have with Carrick?”

  The girl’s mouth tightened. “Is he here or not?”

  Annoyance rose in Clisantha at the girl’s elusiveness, but she tossed it aside. She was under surveillance, perhaps this girl was some kind of test or trick. “Did someone send you?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Come in.”

  The girl walked into the middle of the living area, looking around at the house. Clisantha noticed that although her clothes were in poor condition, she had clean fingernails, hair and skin.

  “Would you like a drink?” Clisantha asked.

  The girl nodded.

  Clisantha poured a large glass of fruit water, handed it to her and watched her drink it in one go. Behind the wild hair, the girl had a pleasing face. Her features were neat and subtle but her eyes were stunning, deep brown and intense. She wore no jewelery of any kind and conducted herself with a grace and strength that reminded Clisantha of Betha.

  “Thank you,” the girl said, handing back the glass.

  Clisantha gestured to a soft-seat and the girl hesitantly sat down.

  “What’s your name?” Clisantha ask
ed.

  The girl did not answer but examined Clisantha’s hair and clothes before staring hard into her eyes. Clisantha did not flinch.

  “What’s your name, girl?” Clisantha asked again.

  “Isa,” she said.

  “What do you want with Carrick?”

  “I need his help.”

  Confusion and intrigue floated over Clisantha. “Why?”

  “I must speak to him about it. Is that him?” She rose and headed towards the picture of Clisantha’s father on the wall, examining it. “Is he still a Thaide?”

  “Where are you from?” Clisantha asked, puzzled. The girl spoke well, without the slurring or mispronunciation common in almost all fourth quarter citizens. And maybe she was not as young as she seemed.

  “Nowhere.” The girl turned to face Clisantha. “Look I must speak to him, it’s urgent.”

  “I understand, Isa,” Clisantha said, trying to sound light. She rose from the soft-seat. “But I need to know what it’s about.”

  “Why?” Isa cocked her head.

  “To protect him. You have barely answered any of my questions.”

  Isa almost smiled. “And you have not answered mine.”

  “I’m his daughter,” Clisantha said. “So I have concerns in his interest. I’m also the only person who can tell you where he is.

  “I’ll wait outside until he arrives,” Isa said, walking to the door.

  Questions flew around Clisantha’s head and her curiosity reined in her pride.

  “Wait,” she called out, as the girl’s hand touched the door handle. “I will try to help you if you tell me the reason you are here.”

  “Only Carrick can help me,” Isa snapped, turning to face her.

  “Carrick’s remains are at the Journey Grounds. He died eighteen years ago.”

  “What?” Color drained from Isa’s face. Her eyes widened to frightening proportions and her mouth fell open.

  “He… died,” Clisantha said, watching the girl’s face transform to a haunting look of horror.

  The girl became unsteady on her feet. She rubbed her head, her expression troubled. Clisantha approached her and led her back to the soft-seat, kneeling next to her.

  “How could you not know he died, if you knew him?” she asked.

  “I didn’t know him,” Isa whispered, tears forming in her eyes. “He found me when I was a baby, and took me to his parents to be raised.”

  “His parents?” Clisantha said, surprised. “I thought they were dead?”

  “They are now,” Isa sniffed, tears running down her cheeks. “That’s what I wanted to tell him.”

  “His parents were alive all that time and they didn’t know he was dead?” Clisantha was astonished. She tried to think back to any conversation she could remember where Father mentioned his parents but it was so long ago.

  “How could they?” Isa asked.

  Guilt gripped Clisantha’s heart. They could have known. She could have found them after moving out of the Arc to Torak. It would not have been difficult to find out which quarter they lived in and maybe if she had had them, she would not have had to deal with Orna alone.

  Clisantha placed a hand on Isa’s arm and smiled at her. She had never forgotten how much the pain of losing Father had suffocating her and this girl was suffered the same raw hurt for her own adoptive parents. She went to the kitchen and wet a clean cloth with warm water from the pump.

  “How did you find me?” she asked Isa, handing her the cloth and sitting opposite her.

  Isa wiped her face and cleaned her nose. “I went to the library on the Red Road to see if I could find where he was stationed. But the last record of him being stationed anywhere was eighteen years ago at the border.”

  Clisantha frowned, realizing she had not known that.

  “So I looked among all the information to see if I could find his name in any of the documents or information in the library,” Isa continued, “and I found your name on a number of research articles. They said you were based in the second quarter so I just walked around until I found this house. Why do you have your names on your doors here?”

  Clisantha barely heard the question. A warm breath blew in her mind and the living room of her childhood home appeared in her mind’s eye…

  The paintings and lumni sculptures had been taken down and all of the furniture had been covered. The large room looked cold and gray.

  “What are you doing with those things?” Mother descended from the upstairs rooms in a traditional black dress of mourning with a white scarf around her neck and her hair pinned into a simple bun.

  Biting her lip, Clisantha looked down at the folded pile of clothes in her hands. “I want to take them with me.”

  Mother grabbed the bundle, spun around and headed to the living room.

  “Mother, no.” Clisantha followed her. “Mother, I want to keep them.”

  Mother threw the clothes on the fire, which swallowed them, belching out black smoke into the chimney.

  “Mother!” Clisantha cried. “I want to put them with him at his burial.”

  “Your father isn’t having a Thaide burial.” Her hazel eyes were hard and mocking. “He doesn’t deserve one. I will not have any of his belongings with me in Torak.”

  Clisantha pressed her lips together. “Why isn’t he having a Thaide burial?”

  Mother smiled at her, turned and walked to the door.

  Clisantha’s chest burned with anger and the blinding heat overwhelmed all other emotions. “Orna!” she roared.

  Orna stopped and turned back, her mouth tight.

  “Father was a celebrated Thaide!” Clisantha shouted. “Why isn’t he getting a proper burial?”

  A smirk spread on Orna’s face. “You’re so self-absorbed. You never see anything that’s more than a finger-width past your nose. Your father may have treated you like the most precious crystal found in the Dyera Desert but he was not the person you thought he was.”

  Clisantha flinched as Orna gathered her phlegm and spat, her anger muted.

  “He betrayed the Sovereign,” Orna said, wiping her mouth with the heel of her hand. “He betrayed me. He betrayed my family and everyone who respected him. He got people killed. He murdered Thaide. He murdered children.”

  “No,” Clisantha said, her voice sounding small against Orna’s throaty accusations.

  “I can see you are growing up,” Orna said, running her eyes down Clisantha’s body. “Who knows, maybe Carrick helped turn you into a woman on your little trips away together, but when we get on this carriage to Torak in an hour you will shut your mouth and do as you are told. You have been sheltered. You have no idea how the world works and it is I who will keep the lorel coming. If you upset me, I will send you to work in the luxury entertainment services until you learn the meaning of hard work and—”

  A finger touched the back of her hand. “Are you alright?”

  Clisantha jerked out of her thoughts. Isa stared at her. “Yes,” she said, with an unsteady sigh. “I’m just… remembering memories I didn’t realize I had.”

  “I’m sorry to dredge up unpleasant feelings,” Isa said. “It must be horrible to recall.” She hesitated. “But… can I ask you, how did he die? He couldn’t have been very old.”

  Clisantha clenched her jaw and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Suspicion crept into Isa’s eyes.

  “It sounds strange, I know,” Clisantha said. “I was sixteen at the time and my mother refused to tell me.”

  “Why?” Isa asked, her brows crumpled in confusion.

  “I don’t know that, either. I only remembered it now. I hated her for not telling me. I vowed that when I grew up I would find out myself… I don’t know why I forgot that.”

  Isa nodded and sighed. “Well, it seems my journey has been for nothing.”

  “You said someone sent you?”

  Isa nodded. “Father. Well, Carrick’s father. Before he died he told me to find Carrick, and that he would help me.”<
br />
  “Why? Why do you need help?”

  A sudden banging on the door caused them both to jump. Isa leaped out of the soft-seat. “Who is that?”

  “I’m not expecting anyone,” Clisantha said, irritated at the interruption. “Stay here.”

  As she approached the door, it banged again so roughly that the door latch almost broke. She wrenched the door open in anger and two Thaide stormed into the house. They headed straight for Isa, who stared at them.

  “What do you want?” Clisantha shouted, as they each grabbed one of Isa’s arms.

  “This girl is unchartered,” said a gravelly voice from behind.

  Clisantha spun round. Thaide Priest Kelvedon stood behind her. His face looked more haggard than when she last saw him at Telmar’s household, but it suited his generally rough demeanor. The hard drive in his eyes was still there and the black hair falling to his square jaw looked greasier while thicker stubble layered his chin.

  “May I ask what you are doing here, your grace?” It was a bold question to ask the Thaide Priest but she was too annoyed to be concerned about etiquette.

  He stepped closer to her and dipped his head. “My duty, Mss Saraethien,” he said, with a low voice that rumbled through her. “Please accept my apologies for the discourteous entrance. I will have words with my Thaide.”

  Clisantha glanced at Isa as she was led from the house. The fire had gone from her demeanor. “Unchartered children seem petty for your status, Priest.”

  He held his hand up to halt the Thaide as they passed, Isa between them. With a gloved finger, he lifted Isa’s face from under her chin and stared at her. Then looked at Clisantha.

  “How do you know this girl, Mss Saraethien?”

  “She’s one of my workers,” Clisantha said.

  “What is her age?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “And her name?”

  “Isa. She is an orphan.”

  He nodded and flicked his hand. The Thaide led Isa outside. The girl looked at Clisantha for a passing moment, an accusation in her eyes.

  The Thaide Priest turned to Clisantha. “The High Priest asked that I attend this collection so I could pass on a message to you.”