Deviants of Giftborn (The Etherya Series Book 1)

by Amarcya, Zuri

  “He told me to see him if I had any concerns.” Kelvedon’s eyes were alive with a dark fire and he held his chin up. He clearly felt no regret or remorse, which angered Essen further.

  “You come to me if you have concerns,” Essen ordered. “Right now your concern should be your ability to do your job. You failed to detain this Nemma girl twice. At some point I have to step in and guide you. You told me, on your appointment, that you would be willing to do anything for this job. Is that still true?”

  Kelvedon hesitated for a moment. “If I say yes, I’m agreeing to marry. If I say no, I’m no longer willing to do what it takes to do the job.”

  Essen inclined his head. “I’m glad you understand. If the job is important to you, marriage is the next step. You need it to do your job successfully.”

  Kelvedon breathed heavy, lowering his eyes. After a moment he raised them and the fire had cooled. He looked again at Clisantha, lowering his voice. “Why her?”

  “Why not? She’s the perfect candidate for you. She is beautiful, she is smart, she understands how the Arc works to some degree. She is strong-willed and independent—she won’t be clinging to you constantly or expect you to be home all the time. She’s not too young, I know you appreciate that, yet she can still bear children. Her father was powerful, you could have some very strongly Gifted children.”

  “That’s not a concern for me, High Priest,” Kelvedon said, bitingly.

  “That’s the problem, Kelvedon. You cannot do this job effectively if some emotional experiences still elude you.”

  “Not all of the previous Thaide Priests were married.”

  “Not all of them needed it.”

  Kelvedon clenched his jaw. “I would like to choose my own wife.”

  Essen held his eye for a moment and walked back to the drinks counter. Surely Kelvedon could not believe he could find his own wife with his infatuation with Aspatria still strong. As far as Essen knew, Kelvedon had not sought any meaningful relationships in years even though he knew he could never build a relationship with Aspatria. Not only was her husband too infirm to release her from marriage, but she was too old to have children. And Thaide Priests were expected to sire children as it made them more likable to the Realms.

  Clisantha sat in the chair before his desk, looking down into her hands. It was impressive that she had not cried, begged or pleaded. She held her emotions well. He poured another three vynths and handed one to her, which she threw into her mouth. He returned to Kelvedon with the other glasses. “There’s no one that will live up to the one you love, Kelvedon,” he said. “You will spend weeks and months or even years searching for someone exactly like her, and you will not find one. Only poor substitutes.” Essen held out one of the drinks. “You’ve spent too long pining. Embrace this change.”

  Kelvedon’s eyes shone as he took the glass.

  Essen almost felt sorry for him. “You are relieved from duty immediately to prepare for the wedding. You have three months to prepare and wed and another three to introduce her to the Arc and the Realms.”

  Kelvedon’s lip trembled as he tipped the liquid into his mouth.

  Essen turned to Clisantha. “You will be given quarters in the Arc’s Consul House for now, but you will be moved into a shared home with Kelvedon in due course. You may go with the officer waiting outside to be taken to your temporary home. They will organize moving your belongings to the Arc.”

  She placed her glass down on the table and stood up. “Why are you punishing me in this way?” she asked, her voice husky.

  Essen put his glass down. “I’m arranging your marriage to the strongest, most respected and desired magien in all the Realms. You should not see this as a punishment, but an opportunity.”

  She lowered her eyes and headed to the door.

  ***

  “I don’t know anything.”

  Essen watched the girl as she tried her hardest to be sincere. She held the typical features of a serf, brown hair, pasty skin, broad frame with wide hips. She had obviously enjoyed aide duty. If she had stayed on her ward she would not be so flabby. She sat trembling on the cold floor in the empty square cell looking up at him. Her release was slight but as he questioned her he detected fear, defiance and loyalty.

  He crouched. “I know you are lying.” Her vibration quickened. “But I know you are loyal to the Sovereign Order. I will give you one more chance to tell me where this girl, Nemma, is hiding.”

  The girl’s dark blue eyes darted around as she searched for something to say.

  Essen straightened and extended his reach towards her. As her energy release submitted to him, she cried out and shifted herself backwards toward the wall. As soon as he began to withhold the natural flow of her release, she screamed out, her body jerking until she was almost lying on the floor.

  As she cried and writhed, he thought back to Clisantha. She had been oddly tolerant to pain. It was impressive. She must have some of her father’s resolve in her after all. If she was clever she would use her marriage to Kelvedon to her advantage and forget about her business. It was a position women across the Realms had been seeking for decades.

  After another few moments, the girl went into a seizure. Sighing, Essen stopped withholding her release and watched her flailing subside.

  He walked towards her and crouched again. “Is there anything you would like to say?”

  The girl sobbed but did not answer.

  “Innogen, I understand that Nemma is your friend. I know you care for her, it has been your job to look after her since she arrived. But she is hurting people, she is dangerous. She is a murderer.”

  The girl raised her head, snot smearing her face. “No,” she said, her voice thin, “she was protecting herself.”

  “How so?”

  “The Thaide were trying to kill her.”

  Essen tilted his head. “Based on the evidence, I wouldn’t disagree with you.”

  The girl’s face lifted in surprise.

  “But I can’t agree either. She has never explained her side of the story to us. We just want to know what happened and to make sure she gets the training she needs.”

  “Those Thaide killed her parents,” the girl said, her voice stronger. “And tried to kill her. She will never trust the Arc.”

  Her release felt relatively calm. She thought this to be the truth. Kelvedon had not come up with conclusive evidence of the two Thaide’s intentions. He had maintained that the girl had killed her own parents. “But she was in the city for seven or eight months,” Essen said. “That’s a long time to stay somewhere that you hate.”

  “What choice did she have?” the girl said, gasping for breath between every few words. “It’s not like you can leave the Arc.”

  “Ah,” Essen said. “But that’s exactly what she did. She chose when to leave. Can you imagine what someone working against the Sovereign may have been doing all of that time?”

  She closed her eyes and exhaled a few breaths.

  “Now, I need you to tell me where she went.”

  Innogen swallowed. “Will you hurt her?”

  “I can’t make any promises.”

  The girl took a deep breath. “She’s in Hannaw. On the Northern edge.” But as she spoke, her release vibration quickened again and started to emit in an increasing pulse. Straightening up, he took command of her release and she cried out again, her body jolting harder. Keeping the pressure steady, he exited the room and joined the Sovereign, who stood at the wall watching her through the one way panel.

  “Even though she is loyal to me, she feels she must protect this girl,” the Sovereign murmured.

  “She is weak,” Essen said. “I will send her on her journey as soon as we get what we need.”

  “No,” the Sovereign said. “I want to spend some time in her mind, searching her memories. I want to learn more about this Nemma.”

  Essen nodded and returned to the room.

  The sun was skimming the horizon before the girl became useful.
Essen used a range of release and mind questioning methods and although she suffered, the girl had a surprisingly stubborn resolve.

  “Osrien!” she finally screamed. “The Osrien camp! She is there!”

  Essen withdrew from her release and she slumped over against the wall. Kneeling beside her, he grabbed her jaw and turned her head. A grayish yellow tone tinged her skin and small streams of blood trickled from each ear. Vomit surrounded her and it smelled as though she had urinated and defecated, but she would survive.

  He rejoined the Sovereign, who had not moved from the wall. “Osrien camp?” the Sovereign asked.

  “We suspected that the Phalorians may have a camp in the Osrien, near the border, but have never managed to locate it.”

  “So she is indeed with the Phalorians.”

  “I don’t think they sent her into the Arc,” Essen said. “The number of beggars questioned suggest their information is highly reliable. The Phalorians must have found her along the way.”

  “Along the way,” the Sovereign repeated, peering closer at the girl. She lay on the ground, her soft flesh shuddering and her eyes rolling up in her head. “That would suggest that they found her in the city or in the Arc.”

  Essen frowned. Phalorians in the Arc? That had to be impossible with the measures they had taken after Carrick Saraethien.

  “If that’s the case, we could have a bigger problem than this girl, Essen.”

  “I can’t believe that Phalorians have infiltrated the Arc again, Sovereign.”

  “You will believe whatever is the truth. You cannot keep making assumptions. Too many mistakes have been made. We must know exactly what is going on in the Arc and the city.”

  Essen bowed his head. “Of course, your worship. I’ll get to work on this personally.”

  The Sovereign beckoned to the two officers standing by the door to the cell. “Clean up the prisoner,” he ordered, as they approached. “Take her to a cell in the tower. Make sure she is fed and looked after.” He turned to Essen. “Collect this Nemma girl and destroy the camp. Take every Thaide in Hannaw.”

  “Yes, Sovereign,” Essen said hesitantly. “It may take some time to locate the camp…”

  The Sovereign turned back to the panel and watched the officers carry the prisoner out. “I will find them.” He smiled. “Now let us discuss a strategy to capture the girl.”

  Twenty-Six

  The warm sun skimmed the bulging treetops and slim, ridged trunks causing thin shadows to fall on the small sand-colored huts that filled the spacious circular clearing, the center of which held the remains of a fire. The camp was filled with black-clad men, women and children strolling, sitting or talking in tight clusters in low voices.

  Nemma stood looking at the fire remains, the ashy scent filling her nose. The numbing emptiness of loss expanded beyond her stomach to her nerves, mind and skin, overwhelming her.

  Someone clasped her by the shoulders and led her around the fire and towards a large hut further away from the camp half hidden by trees. Inside, short fat candles positioned on standing lamp poles lit the main room, flickering on the faces of the people that turned to her. A rectangular table surrounded by chairs was positioned in the center, with maps and knifes, fenyac pots and cups, and other unrecognizable equipment sprawled over it. Past this room, the back room held worn, brown soft-seats and slim beds. She was pushed down onto a soft-seat and moments later handed a mug of warm fragrant tea.

  As she sipped it, her eyes and throat ached from unreleased sobs. Innogen had been captured by no other than the Sovereign. In the end she had decided to stay with her but instead had been caught. Tears darted over Nemma’s cheeks and onto the soft muddy ground. Innogen would be tortured. Nemma closed her eyes trying to sink into the nothingness of depression she had lived in before, where there was no pain, but the image of Mother at her laceboard floated up and she opened her eyes with fresh tears. Everyone she loved ended up being in danger because of her. Innogen had helped Nemma at a time she was suffering. She offered her friendship and what did she get in return? Father’s lifeless, blood-stained body came into mind.

  Nemma stood up and set her half-drunk tea down on a short-table.

  She walked back into the main room. Endra and Riyen stood leaning over the table talking and looking at papers and equipment with a man with a shaved, square-shaped head that Nemma had seen through the bridge in the basement. Chesna sat at the table looking at a map. They all looked up at Nemma when she entered.

  “There’s time to save her.”

  Riyen straightened. “Nemma, there’s no way to do that,” he said, his voice soft. “Do you know how far we are from Torak?”

  “If there’s a way to get here, there’s a way to get there.”

  “She’ll be under the watch of the Sovereign, himself. In Torak Tower. How do you propose we get to her?”

  Nemma did not answer.

  “I know you want to get her back,” said the square-headed man. “But it’s not possible. She has probably already told the Sovereign where you are and an army of Thaide will be on their way.” He looked at Riyen. “If her memories are searched, you and Carrick’s daughter will have been compromised. The best we can hope for is that she dies quickly. Our time is best spent figuring out how to—”

  “I’m not a Phalorian,” Nemma snapped, annoyed at his brisk dismissal of Innogen’s life. “I don’t have to do whatever you tell me.”

  “We don’t have the manpower to fight an army of Thaide, Nemma,” Riyen said.

  Nemma looked at him, determination gripping her. “I will save her whether you help me or not.”

  Silence filled the hut. The two men glanced at Endra, who still stared at the papers on the table. Finally she straightened, beckoned to Nemma and exited the hut.

  Sun shards filtered through the tree leaves over the quiet but active camp but it was difficult to tell the time of day and it left Nemma with an unsettling feeling. Endra led her back towards the camp and they walked amongst the huts. Everyone they passed wore black tunics of unusual lengths and black trousers. Endra wore a loose fitting black tunic with black trousers and boots, and Nemma started to feel conspicuous in her gray robe.

  “Let’s discuss your friend in a moment,” Endra said. “Let’s just talk.”

  “I don’t want to just talk,” Nemma protested. “She’s being tortured.”

  Endra strolled across the camp, nodding at those that passed her. “This is your second time at this camp. Are you sure you have no questions?”

  A prick of curiosity seared through Nemma’s focus on Innogen, and twisted into a realization. She may as well find out what she could while they were still being friendly. “I want to know about my gift,” Nemma decided. “Why is it so different to everyone else's?”

  “What makes you think I know anything about that?” Endra asked.

  “I know you know something. I want to know what it is.”

  Endra nodded. She was much slimmer than Nemma had first imagined but her arms and neck were extraordinarily muscular. Her short hair ruffled in the wind, coming to rest frequently on her forehead. She looked young enough to be Clisantha’s sister but her eyes held a wary intelligence that Nemma had rarely seen in any adult other than Father. “When you were learning about taking command of energy, were you told about the different energy levels?”

  “No.”

  Endra veered away from the huts towards the cool shade of the woods. Nemma accessed her Gift and stayed alert.

  “Energy falls on different levels depending on its state of existence,” Endra said. “Earth and air energy are at very low levels, lower than energy from trees or plants. But trees and plants are on a lower level than animals.”

  “Why are there different levels?”

  Endra clasped her hands in front of her. “Not all things are the same. Does it make sense for their energy to be the same?”

  Nemma pursed her lips. “No.”

  “Giftborn people fall on what is considered to
be the highest level, which is the same regardless of Gift strength,” Endra said, angling further into the woods. “The Giftborn can manipulate any energy that’s on the same level as them or lower.” She slowed, crouched and scooped up a handful of soft dirt from underneath a shrub. Standing, she held her hand flat and the dirt began to float in the air. The palms of her hands and fingers were black.

  “This dirt makes use of earth energy to exist, but it’s not earth energy. The fact that it has a form means it’s on a higher level than earth energy.”

  Nemma nodded.

  “If I pull the energy out from this dirt,” the dirt began to shrink and fall away, “the energy will try to go back to the earth.”

  “Yes, I noticed that energy is always trying to return to its original place or the earth.”

  “It’s easy to control this energy because it is on an extremely low level, but pulling energy from things that have a more rigid or harder form is harder to do and the energy is harder to control.” Endra released the energy hovering above her hand and it flew to the ground. “The higher the level, the harder it is to take command of and control.”

  “What has this got to do with my energy?”

  Endra dropped her hand. “There is a level of energy higher than the Giftborn that consists of the energy of other beings. But the Arc doesn’t register it or acknowledge it.”

  “Other beings?”

  “Yes. Specifically, beings that have no solid form.”

  A moment of silence passed as Nemma tried to think of what beings were made of energy.

  “They’re hard to detect because they are on a higher level than us. We cannot take command of them for the same reason.” Endra faced Nemma. “My feeling is that you have the energy of these beings.”

  Confusion trickled through Nemma‘s mind.

  “You can barely be detected by Giftborn people and you were not affected by the codes protecting the Arc wall or Torak Gates because they’re aimed at the Giftborn. There’s no other reason I can think of other than that your Gift is on a higher level.”

  “How could I be?” Nemma asked, bewildered. “How is that possible?”