Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1)

by Amarcya, Zuri

  “High Priest, I strongly advise against this plan. We have a security issue in Torak and there is no pressing reason to grant this kind of access to this woman.”

  “I’m not asking your opinion, Kelvedon. I’m asking you for suggestions on the logistics.”

  Kelvedon lowered his head and thought for a moment. “There would need to be someone who would collect unwanted stock from the merchants in the Arc. Then it would need to be transferred to outside the Arc wall to be collected by Mss Saraethien. She could, in turn, deposit any requested or offered stock to the wall at a specified time to be transferred into the city or the merchants could visit her factories in their own time.”

  “And putting aside your concerns about security, and your poor attitude, what are your thoughts on this proposal?” Essen asked.

  Kelvedon’s lower jaw shifted but he held Essen’s eye. “It could be viable. It will increase sales in Torak, which would be welcomed as I’m sure the Charter Sect could then increase merchant taxes. Certainly Aspatria and Teheera would be interested in how it would increase relations and quality of life between magiens and citizens. But I must stress that additional traffic through the wall is unwise with the current threat.”

  Essen agreed. “Could we set up a code to transfer the stock at a specified time?”

  Kelvedon nodded. “That would work. I also would prefer if a magien negotiated with magien merchants.”

  “You are aware that that won’t assist in improving relations? There’s no reason why a citizen can’t enter the Arc, there’s simply never been any reason for them to do so.”

  “But a magien can better deal with the needs and ways of magien merchants.”

  Essen shrugged. “All the more reason for a citizen to undertake the job. Magiens will have to be tolerant.”

  “It’s your decision, High Priest.”

  Essen nodded. “Please ask her back in.”

  Kelvedon hesitated. “I’d like to ask something, High Priest.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why have you asked me to attend this meeting? Were you planning on giving this woman a ward?”

  “I sense you don’t like her.”

  “I have nothing against her but I’m concerned about your judgment of her.”

  Essen stared at him. Surely he could not be questioning the judgment of the High Priest? He rose from his seat. “Explain yourself.”

  “I’m disturbed by the way in which Mss Saraethien is using her plight to push her own business agenda. There must be other citizens who have left the Arc with the thirst for knowledge who have not found their way into asking for such a privileged business development opportunity. It seems as though she was leading to this all along.”

  “Whether or not this was her plan from the beginning, I cannot see what has led to you question my judgment.”

  Kelvedon’s eyes did not leave his but he shifted on his feet. “High Priest, she has a similar look to your late wife. And her determined spirit—”

  “You seem to have become confused about your rank, Priest. It’s not for you to question my motives or my ability to judge character.” He walked over to Kelvedon, his voice becoming harsher. “If I wish to provide opportunities for all the beautiful, dark-haired, fair-eyed women in Hannaw, you have no right to question me. If I wish to remove you as Thaide Priest and give Mss Saraethien your post, you have no right to tell me that my judgment is flawed. You command the Thaide but under my instruction. You don’t shoulder the weight I bear of commanding the entire Realm on behalf of our god and creator!”

  Kelvedon’s stony stare did not change. “I apologize for offending you, High Priest. That was not my intention.”

  Essen realized he was breathing heavily. Turning from Kelvedon, he sucked in a breath before sitting back down and pouring more fenyac into his cup. Kelvedon may be right to some degree, maybe he was giving her special consideration, but it wasn’t because she was a pretty face. Her approach, ideas and demeanor were a breath of fresh air.

  “Mss Saraethien was passionate about becoming a lord and had thought through her argument carefully,” Essen said. “You didn’t see her before.”

  “But there is something not right about this proposal,” Kelvedon said. “Even her own guarantor wants to keep her in hand.”

  Essen permitted a slight smile. “Most likely because she will be embarking on something he himself has never strived for nor thought of. However as he does have the experience in merchant law and he oversees multiple businesses, they are a good pairing.”

  “When I went to collect the child, Mss Saraethien seemed to be in a heightened emotional state. When I removed your detection ball I sensed something odd in her energy. Now we are about to give her access to the Arc. I don’t trust her, or anyone, in light of recent events.”

  “Her energy is crippled. So if her emotional state was heightened there are likely to be a number of oddities, however, I agree with your concern. She will be assessed before we allow her venture.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And if she is clear I would like you to coordinate her activities in the Arc.”

  “Me personally?”

  “Yes.” Essen held his hand up to interrupt Kelvedon’s objection. “I know you are too busy for minding duties, but in the current climate—and with your knowledge about her—I think you will be best to start her off in the Arc. She will need the backing of someone like you for the merchants to take her seriously.”

  “But I’m not always in Hannaw, High Priest, I can’t be tied here when I have the Thaide across the entire Realms to command.”

  “You are investigating the deaths of two Thaide that occurred just outside the Torak Gates. Where else will you be?”

  The tightness at Kelvedon’s mouth betrayed his annoyance. He recognized his punishment.

  “Good,” Essen said. “Ask the attendant to send them back in.”

  Twelve

  Nemma lay on a bed staring up at the ceiling through heavy eyelids. Her mind drifted in a sea of nothingness.

  The door to her room clicked open. Red robed figures surrounded her bed and pressed their warm hands over her body, sparking a tingling sensation into her muscles causing them to tense and contract. A wriggling wave worked its way along her body, over her head, feet and face. Nemma did not acknowledge them. Rolling her over, they applied the same treatment to her back before flipping her back over. After a moment, footsteps shuffled to the door and it clicked again. All became quiet.

  A force yanked Nemma’s body up from the cushions and held her upright a few inches from the ground. Disorientated, she raised her head, nausea flooding her stomach.

  “Hello, Isa.” A Puryth stood in front of her in a crimson robe. Her voice was calm and mellow but her eyes tore into Nemma like teeth into bread. “How are you this fine evening?”

  Nemma pried her tongue away from roof of her mouth and slowly worked her jaw so that saliva began to flow. Her head ached, and she tried to close her eyes from the woman’s cutting stare but found she could not.

  The Puryth smiled. Your commitment to playing dead is so convincing I wondered if you had indeed begun your Journey.

  Nemma squinted at her. Her mouth had not moved when she spoke.

  The Puryth tilted her head and a lock of mahogany hair peeked out from under her crimson hood. I am in your mind.

  Nausea saved Nemma from answering and she clutched her stomach as it rolled over. Nemma tried to remember when she last ate but her mind refused to function.

  You haven’t eaten for weeks, the Puryth said. This must stop. You’ve had enough time to grieve your old life.

  Father and Mother sprang to her mind. Mother at her laceboard sipping cherryflower tea and Father crafting, focused and determined, but the memory flew out of her head.

  Enough. Dwelling on the past won’t help you to adjust. You have a new family now.

  “Put me down,” Nemma croaked, her throat sore. She must get the woman out of her head.

 
She dipped her chin, looking at Nemma. “You agree to remain upright?”

  Nemma nodded and the ground appeared at her feet.

  Pain shot up her legs and they shuddered under her weight. She staggered back to the bed and sat down. Her back throbbed, longing to feel the support of the cushions, but she forced herself to stay upright.

  “Isa, you seem intent to remain unresponsive, but there’s no reason for you to continue like this. I’ve already explained to you that you’re safe here and you will be treated with respect and courtesy as long as you abide by the rules,” the woman said, sitting on the bed next to Nemma.

  “Are you out of my head now?” Nemma asked, her voice a whisper.

  “Yes.”

  “How can you tell me I will be treated with respect after you enter my mind without permission?”

  The Puryth’s eyes narrowed. “You will only be treated with respect if you abide by our rules. You have been here for three months and you continue to behave like an empty shell. You don’t eat, you don’t stand, you don’t clean yourself… You’re putting a great deal of pressure on medics to keep you alive and healthy.”

  Nemma tried hard to swallow. Three months? Surely it could not have been that long. “What if I don’t wish to live?” Nemma asked.

  “Then we must find the cause of such thoughts and release them,” the Puryth said, a determined edge to her voice. “It’s our priority to ensure you’re properly prepared for what is to come. Suicidal notions have no place here.”

  “Why should I give you the pleasure of killing me when I can achieve it on my own?”

  The woman laughed. “Why would we want to kill you – a magien, one of our own? It’s in our best interests to increase our ranks, not kill new magiens. I’m afraid the stories that entertained you in the fourth quarter are false.”

  Nemma stared at her, a thought overwhelming her as her mind gripped the situation: they did not know who she was.

  “There are many who arrive here scared and worried about how they will fit in or how their families will fare without them,” she continued, “but you must remember that you are part of a new family now, and your old one would wish you well. It may seem like your world has ended but I assure you we won’t be ending your life. This is the beginning of a wonderful new journey. You will learn things you never thought possible. You will get to do so much fulfilling work.”

  “I’m a prisoner.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Then I wish to leave.”

  “Once you have finished your training, you may leave if you wish.”

  Nemma lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “That’s not true.”

  “Yes it is,” the Puryth insisted. “This offer is given to all. If you don’t wish to stay once you have finished your training, you may go.”

  “How many people have ever left?”

  She shrugged. “Many. But they could only do so once they have acquired full training. As you know, we can’t allow untrained Giftborn to roam the Realms, it’s too dangerous. I personally don’t see any life better than living in the Arc.”

  Nausea rose in Nemma again as the Puryth stood up.

  “It’s time you ate. Do I have your word you will integrate yourself into the Arc?”

  Nemma nodded. It would not do for them to root around in her mind. “You have my word.”

  “Good, I’ll send a girl in to assist you and you’ll start your training tomorrow.” She hesitated. “I’ll be watching your progress.”

  She left the room with a click, her warning hanging in the air.

  Nemma looked about her. The room was spacious and decorated in neutral earthy colors. A simple bed filled most of it but a desk and chair sat next to one wall with a vibrant picture of a beautiful garden above it. A large window opposite the bed offered a view of the indigo sky scattered with stars. When she arrived she had not bothered to take in anything about her surroundings. She could not even remember entering the room. Her thoughts had rolled over her life, and the memories she did not want to forget. Carrick was dead, as were her parents. Aunt Gabby and Rish were probably dead and there was no way to return to Ryim, even if she wanted to. The only hope she held was one of joining her family through death.

  Yet it seemed she may escape that. They intended to treat her like a new magien—a child to train, a future murderer. She almost choked with dread at the thought but there was no escaping it. She could not easily slip out of the Arc as she had the foundhouse.

  The door clicked again and the aroma of fresh bread sailed into the room, kindling a memory of Mother kneading dough at the stove. She made the best bread, herby, spicy, warm and heavy—Father always devoured most of it before the morning was out.

  A harsh bang made Nemma jump. A girl staggered into the room, hauling a large cart behind her as the door banged against it.

  “Sorry,” the girl called, panting. “This is so heavy.”

  With tremendous effort, she dragged the cart into the middle of room, before flopping down on the bed next to Nemma. Her curly chestnut hair was tied neatly away from her face and her pale pink dress rode up past her knee.

  “Unbelievable,” she said, breathing hard. “I had no idea that service was going to be so…. physical.”

  Nemma stared at the cart. It held steaming bowls, a block of bread and jugs of liquids.

  “My name’s Innogen, what’s yours?” the girl asked.

  Nemma did not answer, though her stomach replied loudly enough. The intoxicating smells coming from the cart drowned her thoughts.

  “Most people call me Gen, but I’m not sure I like that.” The girl rolled onto her stomach. “Still, I suppose it’s better than ‘Ini’. My sister used to call me that when she was being spiteful—it was torture.”

  Nemma heaved herself onto her feet.

  “I thought about changing my name to something unusual, like Loia or Toiha, or something that sounds Central or Eastern but I don’t look foreign, do I? I look typically Hanwyan. Hey...”

  Nemma swayed towards the cart taking slow unsteady steps.

  Innogen rushed to her side, her dark blue eyes wide. “I’m supposed to help you walk until your strength returns.”

  “Start helping,” Nemma said through gritted teeth, her legs pulsing with pain.

  Innogen put an arm around her waist, pulled Nemma’s arm over her shoulders and led her to the desk. “You needn’t be so impatient,” she scolded as she helped Nemma into the chair. “What if you fell and hit your head or something? In your condition you wouldn’t survive that. What would I say to Puryth Mayea? It would be a disaster. I’d get sent back home.”

  The soup was the most magnificent liquid Nemma had ever tasted. It glowed on her tongue with fragrant and intense flavors that warmed her through from the first sip. Her aches suddenly seemed less of an immediate priority. The girl had to stop her from pouring a third bowl.

  “It’s delicious, isn’t it?” Innogen enthused, placing the soup jug back onto the cart. “I’ve been trying to figure out the ingredients since I arrived but I can’t get it quite right.”

  Nemma bit into the small chunk of bread the girl had laid by her bowl. It was spongy and light, with a crusty salty shell. Mother’s was better.

  “I love cooking,” the girl continued, leaning against the desk. “I used to cook all the time when I was at home. I’m a much better cook than my sister, she thought she knew everything…”

  Nemma glanced at her as she sipped a cup of warm water. She seemed to be the same height as Nemma but her frame was wider. She certainly didn't look as though she had ever starved.

  “… didn’t enjoy brackle-berry porridge as much as Pa but she would eat it just as quickly,” Innogen was now saying. “Have you ever tried baby bushtail? I had a pet bushtail when I was young so I don’t even eat the adult ones, but a baby? That’s so cruel, don’t you think?”

  Nemma sat back in her chair as the girl placed hot cloths on her arms, back, neck and legs. They soothed the ache in
her limbs and her head started to feel clearer. She watched the girl, trying to keep up with what she was saying, but it was impossible. Perhaps her brain could not work that fast yet. As the girl spoke on, replacing cooled cloths with hot ones, Nemma examined the bowl, spoon and plate in front of her, amazed by the materials they were crafted with. They were solid and heavy, smooth to the touch and styled with such beautiful intricate patterns.

  Innogen pulled her from the chair. “You’ll need to sleep off the effects of the medicine before you’ll feel any better.”

  “Medicine?” Nemma tried to say, her tongue felt numb.

  “In the cloths,” Innogen replied. Her words blurred together in Nemma ears. “Tomorrow you’ll be able to start your training—you’ll enjoy it.”

  She led Nemma to the bed just before she dropped into a heavy sleep.

  ***

  Nemma woke to the sound of singing. She yawned and stretched before sitting up, remembering where she was. Her mood dropped. The girl that brought her food the evening before was unloading another cart, placing plates and bowls onto the desk singing a joyous tune.

  “Good morn,” she said, grinning at Nemma.

  Nemma pushed herself up. Her muscles felt considerably better. “You reminded me of my mother when you sang.”

  “Really?” Innogen asked. “I love singing. Does she sing that song?”

  “No,” Nemma said, getting up from the bed. “She sang songs from her childhood. They made her feel young again. She sang with joy, like you do.”

  The girl seemed pleased by that. “I don’t see the point in being moody. Life is about doing what you can to make the best of what you have been given by the Sovereign. Why be glum? He doesn’t allow his people to suffer.”

  Nemma didn't reply. Sitting down at the desk she eyed plates of fruit, bread, meats and eggs with a jug of warm lemon water and small round pot with an attaching cup and little mini pots.

  “Eat up, while I treat you,” Innogen said to her. “Lower dosage this time.”

  The eggs had a complex flavor and firm texture, and were just as delicious as the soup the night before.