Hearing her name brought that familiar ache, that empty feeling, that sense of being unmoored. Alone. Dear gods, he missed her. The fight helped. Her death wasn’t the only reason to go to Tillinghast. But for him it was the most important.
Vendanj looked back at Jamis. “I think it’s the only time I am happy.” He gave his old friend a half smile.
That restored some of the good humor between them.
“You’re like your brothers of old,” Jamis said, returning the smile. “The ones that held the Second Convocation of Seats accountable for the death of an entire Sedagin brigade. That’s why I like you.”
They shared a quiet laugh, even as Jamis reminded Vendanj why he wouldn’t be attending this new Convocation.
Jamis sat back, and looked over all his guests with new warmth in his face. “We’ll talk more later. Tonight a dinner will be held in your honor, Sheason, for the home your order gave us here on the Teheale.” He lifted his own cup and drank a solitary toast to Vendanj.
“And in remembrance of your sacrifice for the First Promise,” Vendanj replied, reminding him of his commitment.
“Just so,” Jamis agreed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Release of the Shrikes
It is simply time to put away superstition. It makes men and women dependent, rather than aspirant to their own greatness.
—From the new Creed of Civility, issued by Roth Staned in his second year as Ascendant
Helaina Storalaith, regent of Recityv, ruling seat of Vohnce, threw open the doors to her High Office and stormed inside. Close behind came Roth Staned, Ascendant—the highest officer—of the League of Civility. Soon General Van Steward and Sheason Artixan followed. These four members of the High Council, which had just concluded a bitter season, stood in the sunlit office.
The argument had followed her unbidden to her sanctuary.
“It’s foolishness, my lady,” Ascendant Staned said. “Don’t be baited into action by rumors. It sets us back as a people to fall victim to outdated beliefs and false traditions.”
“Watch how you speak to the regent,” Van Steward cautioned.
Roth cocked an eye at the general. “We are in open debate. Deference is set aside.”
“Not while I’m in the room,” Van Steward said.
“The High Council hasn’t ruled on this, Helaina,” Staned reminded her. “You cannot call a Convocation of Seats without a unanimous vote of the Council.”
Artixan lifted a finger. “That’s not entirely correct. The regent alone holds the power to call a Convocation. She may seek the wisdom of the Council, but it is not a matter to be voted on, let alone requiring unanimity. You know this, Roth.”
The leader of the League glared at the Sheason. “It’s not an authority the regent can claim in these times. Once, yes. But that was long ago, when superstition ruled the wits of men … and women. Calling a Convocation of every ruling seat, nation, and kingdom cannot be the capricious act of a single individual. Right actions must come by the consent of even the most conscientious objector. If they’re right, they will prove out. That is the civility we’ve grown to. Let us not devolve because of a few stories out of the west.”
The regent finally turned. “You don’t believe Quietgiven have descended into the land, Roth? Didn’t you hear the stories related to the High Council just now? What else explains them?”
“Dear lady.” The Ascendant softened his tone, resuming a politic air. “Fear of the Quiet runs deep in the race of men. We were all raised on the stories. But what we heard could be a hundred nightmares confused with Quiet. Will you displace so many kings and rulers without certainty? Suppose you recall the Convocation after so many thousands of years … and you are wrong. What then?”
“I should rather think that prudence and solidarity would make an acceptable reason,” the regent fired back. “Whatever the threat, a broad agreement throughout the Eastlands would serve all interests.”
“Except the interests of a man who would have that power for himself,” Van Steward offered.
Roth turned on the general. “Do you wish to say something to me directly?”
Van Steward stared back with the glare of a man who could no longer be threatened. “When at last I wish to do anything concerning you, it won’t be to talk.”
Roth Staned turned back to the regent, undeterred. “I appeal to your wisdom, Helaina. The other members of the Council are deferring to you out of respect and duty. They’re well meaning, but they are not rulers, or even leaders. They’re caught in the fear that grips a tiller or fisher, because these are the people they represent. But reason today resides in the places of learning and progress. Don’t let all we’ve worked for pass away with a choice that smacks of superstition or shibboleth.”
The regent didn’t immediately speak. She noted the thoughtful look of her most trusted advisor, Artixan, whose heavy brow told her all she needed to know of his opinion. Then she cast her gaze at her general, an iron-willed man the left side of whose face bore three severe scars that ran down his forehead and cheek like white runnels. Van Steward was harder to read, since his place was to receive an order without question. But when the man dropped his chin ever so slightly in a half nod, she knew his mind, too.
Leaving only the Ascendant, Roth Staned.
He was an intelligent man, one she believed always represented the people’s best interest, at least as he saw it. And for that, she was grateful. But he’d not been successful in turning the Council to his view of the rumors. And so he’d stormed after her when the Council was dismissed. He challenged her now because she had rejected his proposal to wait for evidence of the Quiet before committing to recalling the Convocation of Seats.
He did this, she knew, because when it was all said and done, he wanted to possess the chair of the High Office, and couple his rule of the League with the regent’s seat.
Political maneuverings. I’m too damned old for this.
An oppressive silence had settled over the room. It bore the weight of choices that would take a heavy toll on the lives of countless men and women and children. Today, the people had no worry that the darker side of history could come back upon them: no fear of Quietgiven returning to the land, no concern that legends might actually be true. Most of the tales were no longer even recited in the streets of Recityv; the League had a hand in that.
She finally returned Van Steward’s nod. The general swept past Staned to the door and spoke a soft summons into the hall. Shortly a dozen young boys entered with caged shrikes.
“Roth—” she began.
The Ascendant held up a hand to stop her. “Do this if you wish,” he said. “But you should know I intend to formally call for an end of the Song of Suffering. I may not be able to stop Convocation, or agree with your reasons for calling it. But the superstitious practices in this city are something I can do something about.”
Roth showed them all a condescending smile and strode out, his heels tattooing the marbled floor in a quick, mocking rhythm.
Roth’s intention struck a new fear in her heart. Convocation was an attempt to prepare a military response if the Quiet somehow breached the Veil in force. If Suffering ended, there could be no doubt. The Quiet would roll into the east like a tide.
Artixan and Van Steward held grave looks at this new League plan. She needed them focused. “We’ll fight Roth on Suffering in the Council. For now, we need to concentrate on preparing for Convocation.” Artixan and Van Steward nodded.
She signaled to the boys holding their bird cages, and the shrikes were set free from the windows of her High Office. The flutter of wings echoed from the hard marble walls as the birds escaped into the sky, angling in every direction from her eight windows.
“Send the riders and criers, as well,” she said to Van Steward. “Every nation and king will be offered their seat again. And let’s hope this is the last time.”
Together, the three watched the birds fly until they could no longer be seen.
Will the rulers of men answer the call? she asked herself. The answer to that question was less certain than she might have hoped.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hot Water
Your effectiveness in battle will double when you come to understand that your weapon isn’t what you hold in your hand. It’s you. And your effectiveness will double again when you lose regard for yourself.
—Preceding Principle to the Latae combat dances of the Far
The sun burned low in an azure sky. Tahn coughed and spat up blood. Waves of pain rolled across his chest and back and made him sick again. He dry heaved several times, most of his dinner already spewed beneath him. He shifted on the ground among dead sage, raising plumes of dust into his mouth and nose. He coughed up more blood. Looking west, past the legs of his attackers, he saw a figure. A silhouette of a man stood against the horizon. Watching.
Heat shimmered as it rose off the plain. Was the silhouette a mirage?
Anger grew inside him.
He crawled toward the figure. He didn’t get far before boots laid into him again. They knocked the wind from his lungs. He collapsed to the ground, tasting the fallow, barren soil.
What he wouldn’t give for his bow right now.
Dust filled his nose and throat, and the sweat on his brow ran dirty into his eyes, biting with salt and grit.
He blinked against the sting, and wiped his face with his sleeve. The stumps of a few trees long dead, bleached white and forming jagged patterns, jutted up like gravestones amidst patches of dry grass.
The dreary plain continued, heat shimmering at the line of earthsky. Shimmering around the silhouette …
“You bastard!”
Someone grabbed and shook him.
His scream died in his throat and he looked up into Sutter’s questioning eyes. “Must have been one hell of a dream, yeah? Who’s the ‘bastard’?”
Tahn stared, disoriented. “I’m not sure.”
He’d been in a fight of some kind. But against who? For what? His mind reeled in the wake of it … begun when the Velle had found a resonant note inside him.
“How are you feeling? Still sore from your tussle with the Quiet?” Sutter asked.
Tahn had gone back to bed after their talk with Jamis. He sat up, wincing some with the effort. “I feel like one big bruise. Inside and out.”
“Wonderful,” Sutter said, mischief in his eyes. “Wait until you see what I’ve found us.”
Half an hour before sundown they slipped naked into a natural hot-water spring not twenty strides from the bluff’s edge. It felt damn good to ease muscles they’d been working for weeks without rest. Not to mention the deeper ache and shiver inside himself.
Sutter splashed Tahn in the face. “Silent gods, it’s like water boiled over the pit.” He leaned back, his head lolling against the bank. Together they watched the water steam in the evening sun and let the strains ease from their bodies.
“I wish my da could be sitting here.” Sutter smiled sadly. “He could use a good hot soak.”
“Earns it every day,” Tahn agreed.
“Can hoe a furrow faster than any two other men at the same time,” Sutter quipped.
Tahn scrubbed his face. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. But it’s still true.” Sutter grinned, and stretched his arms. “It’s a good ache, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yeah, wonderful, Nails.” “Nails” was Tahn’s nickname for Sutter, whose fingernails, on account of him being a rootdigger, always looked like dark crescent moons at the tips.
“Truly, Woodchuck,” Sutter replied. “Woodchuck” because Tahn spent so many hours in the woods hunting. “I haven’t used the sword skills the townsmen taught us … well, since they taught us. Makes me wish I’d kept practicing.”
Tahn was still sharp with his bow. Constant use. But he knew what Sutter meant.
“I know this is all serious.” Sutter pointed back toward the Sedagin city. “But wasn’t that what the Change is about? Things getting more serious?” He stood, raising his arm in theatrical fashion, like a pageant wagon player might. “Taking life in hand. Being responsible.” He laughed and sat back down. “Did you intend to put meat in Hambley’s storehouse forever?”
Tahn raised his brows in thought. “And who’s going to play the part of First Steward at your Standing? Now that you’re off your da’s farm and finally have your adventure.”
The question caught Sutter off guard. “Hadn’t thought of that.” He tapped his lip. “But I’ll figure it out. What about you? Maybe our charming Sheason?”
Tahn laughed. “Was going to ask your da,” he said as their smiles faded. Then he finally asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were adopted?” The fact had come up unexpectedly as they’d left home.
The question hung in the air between them, and for several moments Sutter didn’t respond.
“Not sure how to say it,” Sutter began. “Sometimes I felt ashamed. Always felt lucky to have a home at all. I wanted to tell you. But what do you say when your parents leave you because they have something else they’d rather do? Because they play skits on a pageant wagon and can’t be bothered.” He paused, shrugged. “What difference does it make, anyway?”
“None to me … Nails,” Tahn said, trying to lighten the mood. “But all this time I could have been calling you ‘orphan Nails,’ or ‘vagabond Nails,’ or ‘Nails, the homely abandoned waif.’”
Sutter laughed. “Believe me, I have names for the shitheaps who left me behind.”
Tahn saw something in Sutter’s eyes when he said it. He got the feeling maybe part of Sutter’s desire to leave the Hollows was to track his birth parents down. Or maybe it was something else he saw in his friend’s distant look. Whatever it was, Sutter kept it to himself.
They fell silent, until approaching footsteps brought Mira into view. She came to the hot pool, and without a word started removing her clothes.
Tahn and Sutter could do nothing but stare.
If Tahn had thought she was beautiful before, this defied every dream he’d ever had. He became suddenly aware of his own nakedness, and his bodily reactions to seeing her this way. Sutter gaped, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Tahn wanted to cover Sutter’s eyes, but realized how stupid it would look.
Despite their gawking, Mira didn’t appear the least bit inhibited or embarrassed. Nor was she clumsy or rushed. She placed her things out of the way and set her blades near the pool’s edge, within reach. She then slipped into the hot water, and traded looks with them. Her expression was one of confusion or wonder over Tahn and Sutter’s sudden silence and attention.
She gave a patient sigh. “I see neither of you are used to seeing a female bare.”
Sutter said something unintelligible.
Tahn caught that slightest of smiles on the Far’s lips. He looked through the steam rising off the water between them, and could think of just one thing to say: “Subtle.”
It was the first time he’d ever heard her laugh. The sound of it could break a man’s heart, or make of him the best self he had to offer.
When her laugh had receded she explained. “The unclothed body is not as … noteworthy in my country as it is in the kingdoms of men. Our customs aren’t the same.”
“Suddenly glad the Quiet chased us out of the Hollows,” Sutter quipped.
Which reminded Tahn of something he’d heard Vendanj say that morning. He looked at Mira. “Why did Vendanj call the Hollows ‘the Hallows’?”
Mira eyed them both.
“Tell us already; I’m getting to look like Merid Lavia’s sunned fruits in here.” Sutter held up his fingers, showing them his wrinkled skin.
“The First Ones knew the Quiet might eventually breach the Veil.” She nodded at the logic. “So they consecrated a place where the Quiet couldn’t walk, or Velle render. The soil was sanctified.”
Mira paused, cupping a handful of water and dripping it back into the pool.
The Hollows had been Tahn’s ho
me since he could remember. Sanctified by the Framers? He stared, a bit dumbstruck, and more than a bit chilled.
Sutter seemed to have forgotten his concern for his shriveled fingers, examining them instead like newly found jewels. “The soil…” he muttered.
“With time, the Hallows lost its name. Became the Hollows.” Looking at Sutter she added, “I suspect its purpose was mostly forgotten, too.”
“I suspect its purpose was lost,” Tahn countered. “The Quiet walked right into my home. Nearly killed Wendra.”
Sutter shook his head with irritation. “You two are ruining my hot soak.” He shared a quick look with Tahn: Going to give you two some time alone. And naked! Then he climbed from the hot spring, clumsily hiding his manhood as he pulled on his trousers, and headed back toward the city.
Before Sutter had disappeared, a dark bird flew into the light of the setting sun. At a fair distance, it still seemed headed toward them. They watched it for a few moments.
Tahn had managed a handful of private conversations with Mira in the weeks before. He’d even stolen a kiss. A wooden, clumsy thing on his part. But he’d made her smile. Damn good wages. But right now, his head spun with stories of the Far.
“Is it true you live a short life?” He stopped, wishing he’d framed his question better, and started again. “I mean, the stories say the Far are fast in life and fast in death.”
She smiled in that slight way that made her look beautiful and dangerous all at once. “That sounds like an author’s pen. But it’s essentially true. My people keep an old covenant. We watch over the language of the Framers.”
The Covenant Tongue is real. It still struck him. Every time he heard it, it struck him. A language with inherent power. A language used by the First Ones to create the world. Tillinghast might be their destination, but Vendanj had told them they must also find a way to bring the Language back. To use it against the Quiet. That meant a few stops along the way, including Mira’s home in Naltus Far.
“We keep it safe,” she continued, “until it might be needed.”
The Unremembered Page 4