The Unremembered

by Peter Orullian

  … as the Will allows. Tahn let his arrow fly.

  A hatch opened and the two men fell. The ropes tightened with the weight of their parcels, and when the rope holding the man on the right drew taut, Tahn’s arrow sailed into the sunlight of the yard and sliced the rope a fist’s length from the high beam that held it. The man plummeted to the ground. A gasp of horror and shock erupted from those gathered. And several thousand heads turned to see Tahn standing with his bow still pointed toward the gallows.

  Moments later, a squad of soldiers swarmed onto the balcony and put Tahn and Sutter into irons.

  “I guess we won’t be needing to look for a room,” Sutter said. But there was no humor in his voice.

  The guards led them away. Tahn could think only of Wendra, her lifeless child, a moment of indecision, and how much better this moment had been.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The Bottom of Pain Reprise

  When two things are brought into Resonance with one another, each is changed.

  —Fourth Precept of Sound, authored and taught by the Maesteri of the Descant

  Wendra stood inside the cabin, just a pace back from the doorway, peering out at Jastail and eight Bar’dyn. She shivered at the sight of them, recalling the feel of coarse hands tearing her undergarments away and the incredible power in the beast’s grip as she was forced to drink a pulpy fluid from a bone vial. Guttural voices responded to the appeasing tones of the highwayman, who motioned toward her.

  “Come out here,” Jastail said, glancing toward her. “And bring the boy.”

  Wendra looked despairingly at Penit, who returned a terrified expression. He grasped her hand and together they eased out the door. Wendra shielded her eyes against the brightness of the sun as she tentatively approached Jastail, keeping the highwayman between her and the Quiet. She saw cold appraisal in the heavy brows of the Bar’dyn, their attention shifting from her to Penit and back again.

  “Did I tell you?” Jastail said in a confident, pleased tone. He looked back at Wendra and gestured toward her with splayed fingers, as one might do to invite inspection. “And this is why I ask my price.”

  The Bar’dyn didn’t speak at first, running another emotionless gaze over her and the boy. “Perhaps we will just take them,” the foremost Bar’dyn said with its rumble of a voice.

  “Ah, Etromney, you test my patience with this needless litany each time we meet.” Jastail turned his back on the Bar’dyn and paced around behind Wendra and Penit. “You come to me because I deliver goods no one else can.”

  “Not every time,” the Bar’dyn said pointedly.

  “Perhaps,” Jastail admitted, unruffled. “But I have access to”—He looked at Wendra and seemed to alter his words—“circles that the pedestrian traders never will. But you know all this. I’ve explained to you my connections many times. So why begin with threats?”

  Etromney’s expression never changed, remaining as flat as Jastail’s had ever been. “The times are changing.” The Bar’dyn paused, raising its thick nose to the air as though it could smell what it described. Wendra remained still, feeling as much as hearing the deep resonance of the creature’s voice, like a single, thick chord drawn by a heavy bow.

  “More threats?” Jastail submitted.

  “No,” the Bar’dyn answered. “Soon, there will be no need to meet here. No need of any trader or highwayman.” The Bar’dyn seemed to frown, but the lines in its folded skin hardly moved.

  Jastail let a strange smile crawl over his face, but said nothing.

  “Is the boy hers?” Etromney asked.

  “No,” Jastail said. “But she’s still capable of breeding.”

  “Can you prove her womb is not barren,” the Bar’dyn went on. “And what of—”

  “See for yourself.” Jastail violently ripped Wendra’s dress upward, exposing her belly and hips, and pointing to the stretch marks in Wendra’s skin from her recent pregnancy. “The marks of one recently with child. Now, no more accusations or doubt! She will suit your purposes well enough. And the child is a suitable receptacle, I’m sure. And I’ll share this advice: Control the lad, and you control the girl.”

  Wendra’s legs trembled as she stood exposed to Bar’dyn again. She locked her knees to keep her feet. Jastail held up her dress for several more moments as the Bar’dyn looked on. Finally, he dropped the hem and took a wide-legged stance in front of her, facing the Quiet. Jastail’s zeal and confidence in the face of the Bar’dyn surprised her. The creatures out of the Bourne stood two heads taller than he did.

  “What of this ability you mention?” Etromney asked. “You demand an unheard-of price. I must know the truth of this to grant what you ask.”

  “Sing him something, Wendra,” Jastail said with a near hint of fatherly pride.

  The request caught her entirely off guard. “What?”

  “A song, let’s have a song.” He turned, irritation creasing his brow.

  “Like a trained animal.” She stared at the highwayman, confused. And angry. “To raise my stock for your purse.” She gritted her teeth.

  But the intimations of a melody did come. It boiled up from her belly like acid. She found it suddenly hard to breathe, and began to pant.

  “Don’t make me use the boy to encourage you,” Jastail warned.

  “Enough,” Etromney said, shuffling mighty feet. “We did not come to trade today. We will take what we like.”

  Jastail snapped his head back to the Bar’dyn leader. “Hold there, Etromney.” He raised a finger in objection then used it to point toward the trees. “Don’t forget that I’m not alone. A party of men stands all around us. To keep things honest, you understand.”

  The Bar’dyn didn’t bother to look. Instead, it came a step closer to Jastail, narrowing its eyes. Wendra recoiled, pulling Penit back. The little clearing became thick with the threat of violence. “I could pinch your head from your neck, grub. I would sooner watch you die than listen to you lie.”

  “Have I ever come alone before,” Jastail said, staring up into the broad, thick musculature of the Bar’dyn’s face. “And my stock ought to honor you.”

  The Bar’dyn stared, then finally looked toward the trees. “Done.”

  “Wait,” Wendra cried. “He’s lying. No one will come.” She let go Penit’s hand and stepped forward, shivering with fear. Her legs betrayed her, and she fell to the ground. But she got to her knees amidst a cloud of dust.

  Jastail whirled, lashing her face with his fist. “Silence, cow! You’ve not been given permission to speak.”

  Wendra swallowed blood, her vision swimming with tears risen suddenly from the blow. She reached into her dress and pulled free the parchment, clenching it tightly in her hand. “At Galadell he left a note for these men he says will come. But I found the note and took it, hiding it until now. You see. No party is coming. He trades alone today.” She raised the note toward the Bar’dyn.

  From blurry eyes she saw Jastail raise his hand again. Before he could hit her, the Bar’dyn swept its arm across the highwayman’s back and drove him savagely to the ground. “You lie and then abuse the stock.” Jastail remained on the ground, spitting dirt from his mouth as Etromney took the scrap of parchment from Wendra’s hand. Revulsion rose in her throat at the touch of its rough skin. So close, she caught the scent of carrion on the creature. Etromney examined the note, then let it fall to Wendra’s lap.

  “She creates this lie for revenge against me,” Jastail quickly offered. “And regardless, I have brought you a woman and child. I might have brought you … Leiholan.” Jastail crawled to Wendra, and thrust a hand into her blouse. He wrestled from her the parchment she kept there from the Ta’Opin—her song. He held it out to Etromney. “So, this time, I’m coming with you.”

  The highwayman’s request stunned Wendra. Perhaps the only thrill left to him was gambling with his own life.

  The Bar’dyn leader snatched the parchment from Jastail’s hand, and returned to his band, speaking to them in a t
ongue Wendra didn’t know. He then paused to look over the rendering of Wendra’s song. With each pass of his eyes over the page, Wendra thought she saw a change in the Bar’dyn’s face. At last, Etromney lowered the written song, and whispered to his companions. Immediately, two of the Bar’dyn came toward her and Penit. Wendra’s eyes still stung from her tears, but she scrambled back on her hands and feet. Penit stood transfixed as the second Bar’dyn lifted him up and placed him on one great shoulder.

  “Please, Etromney,” Jastail said stridently. “I’ve much to offer. I know things.”

  At that, the Bar’dyn stopped and seemed to consider. He then motioned to one of his party, who went to Jastail and helped him to his feet. The highwayman clutched his own shoulder with one hand as he strode to join the other Bar’dyn.

  In front of Wendra, the Quiet moved quickly, grasping her wrist with one clawed hand. With a jerk, it brought her to her feet, turning to drag her back to the others. Wendra blinked the dust and tears from her eyes and found Penit gulping air from his perch as he fought the need to cry. He was terrified.

  In that instant, Wendra recalled a conversation with a Sedagin scop on songs sung from the bottom of pain, and felt a hundred moments of isolation and frustration and dark melodies coalesce in her chest and rush like a flood through the gates of her teeth.

  The song burst from her virtually unbidden. Tortured sounds that ascended in powerful crescendos, notes turning in and over one another in sharp dissonance. The dark song came in a series of screams that rasped like moving stones without the cushion of mortar.

  The terrible sound resonated through her, from her; yet she listened to it and watched, through eyes that saw nothing but white and black, the world all a stark mosaic. She saw the skin of the Bar’dyn begin to blacken, smoke rising from it. The beasts yawped with their chesty voices, a few dropping and rolling through the dirt and brush.

  The strains of her song filled the entire meadow with a mighty roar. With every note she grew angrier, the contrast in her vision more severe. Grey deepened to black, white glowed in fiery brilliance. She sang to bring it all to darkness, divest everything of its light. Distantly, she felt her arms and legs tremble with the power rushing from her mouth. Her skin burned, but the feeling of it pleased her, and she smiled around terrible song as it shot forth into the meadow and fell upon the Bar’dyn.

  The glory of the harsh sounds enveloped her. At the sight of Penit—a white form on a dark canvas—the tenor of her awful song moderated slightly. And in an instant, she couldn’t remember his name. She recognized the shape, the rounding of his chin, the thin chest and legs, but his name was gone to her.

  The sadness and frustration of forgetting the child welled in her, cycling toward her song like a reprise, when a sweet, low counterpoint joined her. Wendra whirled toward it, seeing a shining light in the shape of a tall man. She recognized this, too, but likewise had no idea who it might be. The harmony coming from the figure soothed her, eased her own melody, reshaped it, and she found herself naturally working to follow the progression of his simple, beautiful tune. Some phrases threatened to ride away from the new song, to take her back to the soothing certainty of singing everything black. But the gentle insistence of the countermelody assured her, guided her. Gradually, what she felt and heard became one, color coming again to the things she saw.

  When their melody joined in a soft unison, she saw Seanbea walking toward her, a paternal smile on his full lips. She sang until her breath forsook her, and collapsed into the Ta’Opin’s arms, her dark song at an end.

  * * *

  Wendra woke to the creak of axles and the jounce of hard wheels over stones in the road. A sour taste lingered in her mouth, like curdled milk and soot. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see a leafy world passing by lazily overhead. The slant of the sun said that night would soon come. The thought unsettled her, reminding her of the darkness in her vision when last she’d sung.

  She then felt the press of a warm, small hand clinging to her own. Adjusting her head on a blanket rolled for a pillow, she saw Penit sitting in the wagon bed beside her. The boy stared into the forest beyond, a troubled look giving his young face an age beyond its years.

  Wendra squeezed Penit’s hand, drawing his attention.

  “Hey, she’s awake!” he hollered at Seanbea, climbing to his knees and scooting forward to huddle over her. “You passed out,” Penit explained. “Are you all right?”

  Wendra smiled at the concern. “I’m fine, but I could use some water.”

  Penit kept hold of her hand while he reached forward and lifted a waterskin from a jumble of gear stowed to the side. He uncorked it for her and raised it to her lips the way she’d done for Balatin with her own small hands when her father had taken ill. The connection of the two events eased the aching in her limbs as much as anything could. The water washed the bile from her mouth, and she rested back on the blanket.

  “The Bar’dyn?” she managed, coughing the word.

  “Mostly dead,” Penit answered. “The rest crawled into the trees before you stopped singing.”

  The memory of her song came back to her, the forceful, angry melody inviting her to give it voice again. But her heart felt none of the former rage, and the feeling passed.

  “Jastail?” The thought of the highwayman made her anxious.

  It was Seanbea who replied. “When his deal was broken, he made a quick escape. Got away from your song.”

  The Ta’Opin’s deep, resonant voice soothed her like honeyed tea. It lilted and trailed in easy lines, unlike the horrible evenness and clipped speech of the Bar’dyn’s deep tones. She wanted him to keep talking so she could listen, could breathe in the music of his words.

  “He won’t come after us,” Penit assured her. “He’s afraid of you now. And Seanbea is with us.”

  Wendra looked at their rescuer. “How did you know?”

  The man laughed, and pointed with delight at Penit. “This one’s crafty.”

  She turned her eyes on Penit. “How?”

  “Seanbea’s cup, remember?” He grinned with pride. “I got Jastail’s trust. So, he didn’t worry too much when I asked to run Seanbea’s cup back to him.”

  “The one he conveniently hid,” Seanbea added, “so he’d have the excuse to do just that.”

  Wendra began to grin herself.

  Penit eagerly shared the rest. “When I handed Seanbea the cup, I told him about Jastail. About the auction blocks. I told him we were being taken to be sold. I asked him to help.”

  She laughed at that, and squeezed his hand.

  “And now, Seanbea’s taking us to Recityv so I can run in the Lesher Roon.” Penit smiled again, as if the rest was already the distant past.

  But it seemed Penit still clung to one of the lies Jastail had told, that he would take part in some kind of race once they reached Recityv.

  “The boy might win, too,” Seanbea added. “Saw him run to you when that Bar’dyn dumped him to the ground. He’s got quick feet.”

  Wendra looked back. “You mean there really is a race in Recityv? That wasn’t just something Jastail made up to trick Penit?”

  “You really haven’t a notion, do you?” Seanbea said.

  “I’ll get to meet the regent,” Penit exclaimed.

  “True enough,” Seanbea said. “Whole thing started a long time ago. King then considered a number of tests to qualify one child to sit on the Council. But knew these would favor noble children, who could afford tutors. He settled on a simple foot race. Some still grumbled, because the older children would have a clear advantage, so the king limited the race to those twelve years of age and younger.”

  Penit shook Wendra’s hand to get her to look at him. “I do run fast, you know.”

  She smiled. The race might mean good things for Penit, after all.

  “And if I win,” he added, “then maybe I can tell them all about the Bar’dyn. They can send their army to save your brother.”

  Worry leapt inside her at
the mention of Tahn. She hoped he would be safe in Recityv by the time they got there.

  “The regent has called a date for a running of the Lesher Roon … and she’s put out a call for the Convocation of Seats. Whole thing has to do with the Quiet, if you ask me. I suspect that’s why the Maesteri sent me out visiting cities and towns, collecting instruments and looking for singers.” He gave her a knowing look.

  Wendra let the discussion of the race end, and looked about her at the instruments and parchments pushed aside to make room for her. She remembered there being a great deal more in Seanbea’s wagon when she’d seen it a few nights before.

  “What happened to your cargo?” she asked.

  “My cargo is still in the wagon,” Seanbea answered, the sound of a smile on his face as clear as laughter.

  “Yes, but not all of it,” Wendra persisted.

  “Right you are,” the Ta’Opin conceded. “I had to stow some in the hills so that you could rest. But don’t you—”

  “Seanbea, you can’t do that. Those instruments were old, they’ll—”

  “—concern yourself. I’m still carrying an old instrument.” Again the wagon bench creaked. This time he cranked his head around so he could see her face. “There’s nothing in this wagon as important as you, Anais. I think I knew it when you joined my song beside the fire. That’s why I pretended to leave, then tracked you into those mountains where the highwayman took you.” He paused, his voice sounding far away. “I’ve not heard those sounds in my life. I’ve seen them written on parchment, but that’s about all.”

  “How could you have heard—”

  “Music is a response, Anais,” he said reverently. “A response to what’s in our heart. There’ve been some who put those feelings to parchment. Not exactly the way you did, but enough that I recognized the sad beauty of them … the danger in them.”

  He reined in and stopped the cart. He turned all the way around, putting his feet into the back of the wagon, and looked down at Wendra, commanding her attention. He knitted his fingers, and leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. “You’ll want to listen close, Anais. Think back and you’ll probably remember a time when your songs seemed to do more than just tickle your tongue. A time when they did more, when they caused more. Don’t bother to tell me about it, and don’t try to deny it to yourself.”