He felt very much in the country of Rolen’s “dark backward and light upside down.”
Rolen disappeared again into the darkness of his corner, dragging his chains after him. Tahn had no will to sit or even move.
Finally, he cast his eyes upward into the vaults of the darkened cell and pictured the creep of the sun into an ashen sky cloaked by bruised clouds and imminent showers. The image held for the time it took Tahn to gather the courage to sit back down on the indifferent stone. Once there, he curled into a ball and gathered his chains into a pile to rest his head.
With his face to the wall, carefully shielded from even the sallow light of the high window, he chased old memories down toward sleep. The last he thing he recalled was the image of Sutter ruffling the dresses of girls as they wandered too close to his and Tahn’s concealed seats beneath the rear steps of Hambley’s inn. He hoped Sutter was all right.
* * *
Sutter opened his eyes to the dark. The day of my Change.
He knew it because he’d been counting down the days for the last year. Always before, he’d imagined it would be the day he would set out from his root farm. But that day had come a bit sooner, and its path had brought him here.
To this cell.
It was still deep in the dark hours of night. And his cellmates were asleep.
Sutter sat up off the rough stone, his bones and muscles aching with every movement. Across from him, the two scops had not returned. He tried not to think.
He missed his father. Today more than most. No one would stand for him. No First Steward. He’d still leave his melura years behind him, but they’d go with a whimper, nothing to commemorate the occasion except the dank, cloying smell of filth and stone.
Maybe his cellmates, the pageant wagon players, could do something festive. But the dark irony of it hit him—more of the old wounds.
But he really only had one regret: unspoken gratitude. He’d like to have said thanks to his father and mother for giving him a home when his birth parents had not. A home and a feeling he belonged.
And just now he wondered if they’d be proud of him. He realized suddenly he wanted that. On the day of his Change, he wanted that most of all.
Then, his thoughts turned to Tahn. His friend had always treated him well, something many in the Hollows found difficult due to Sutter’s constant jokes.
He hoped Tahn had survived the Recityv dungeon. If he had, what would Tahn be doing for his own Change? What would either of them do if they never escaped or were freed? Would the others find them?
All hells, he was tired.
He lay back down on the stone, wanting to escape in sleep for a few more hours. And sleep took him quickly, easing the many pains.
Until another face rose up with the mists.
Until another waking dream.
Though this time, Sutter didn’t start or shiver quite so much. Perhaps because he grew more accustomed, or perhaps because the sadness of it tempered the fear.
He stared back for a long time into the vacant eyes of this one … who soon would die.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Quite a Price
The only true threat to a movement’s success is the self-sacrifice of its opposition.
—Concerns of a Dictator, a guide to negotiation—required League reading
The echo of many feet brought Tahn half awake. The hallway beyond his cell door stirred with an unusually large number of guards. Then the sound of a key turning in the lock caused Tahn to come fully awake. Always before, the sound had sparked a bit of hope. Today he didn’t bother to turn. He only hoped the guards wouldn’t beat him again.
A harsh wash of light fell across the cell. Tahn squinted, even with his back to the door. Murmuring voices interrupted the dark and quiet, and soft shoes carried their owners down the stairs. The guards wore hard soles. Who were these visitors?
He raised his head, and a stabbing pain shot down his neck. The bright light made his eyes water. From the corner of his vision he could see several dark shapes like the figures in his dreams.
“There,” he heard one say.
A collection of feet, all shuffling toward him. Slowly, his eyes adjusted. He blinked away the water and attempted to focus. Faces swam in and out, seeming familiar before blurring again.
One of the forms began to bend down, when a man beside her clasped her arm. “Patience, Anais. There’ll be time for reunion later. There’s a dispute to be settled first.”
Tahn knew this voice, but a haze remained over his mind. He struggled to sit up, managing only to roll onto his back. He panted from the effort.
“What are you staring at?” he said, unable to say it as bitterly as he’d intended. The words sputtered unevenly through his gasps.
No one replied. But one of the forms came toward him. The figure didn’t pause at the chalked line drawn on the floor to mark Tahn’s reach. The man stepped across it, fixed his eyes on Tahn, and dropped to one knee beside him. The figure’s head blocked the light from the door, becoming a misshapen silhouette. Tahn blinked again, trying to clear his vision, and still saw nothing. The man took Tahn’s hand, lifting it into the light from the door to study the hammer mark. Gently, the stranger placed his hand back on the floor, and turned to the rest.
“Take a look for yourself,” the man said. And again Tahn thought he knew the voice, though it came with more rasp than he remembered, as though too much wind and heat had traveled through it.
A second figure then came fully into the light. She looked old, though not fragile. “Be sure he behaves,” the woman said.
“He’s in no condition to threaten you,” the man replied. He stood and stepped aside, making room for her. “This Archer you’ve chained, Helaina, is the boy Tahn.”
The woman bent over him. A look of understanding bloomed in her eyes. She dropped to her knees, taking Tahn’s face in her hands. Tears welled over her lower eyelids, falling directly onto Tahn’s chin. All in a moment, Tahn saw joy, relief, concern, and shame. The old woman thrust her face into Tahn’s neck and cried in silent heaves. Hot tears rolled down his skin into his collar. He was confused, but grateful for the warmth of both the woman’s tears and embrace.
The woman repeated something over and over, but Tahn couldn’t make it out, her cheek muffling his ears. When the tears stopped, she drew back, looking through eyes rimmed with the lines of age. An expression of grief stood on her brow as she put her forehead to Tahn’s and whispered, “Thank the silent gods.”
The woman let go of Tahn’s face, wiped her eyes and cheeks, and extended a hand for help in standing. The rough-voiced man came to her aid.
“Get him out of those chains,” she said.
“What about the ruling of your court?” the man asked.
“It’s like you said, we both know who poisoned the girl.” The woman’s voice came quietly. “But there’s too much at stake right now to make an enemy of the League by overturning the ruling. The two boys will be released. And when they’re found missing, it will be called a miraculous escape.”
A moment later, the manacles simply fell off Tahn’s wrists and ankles. Had to be a bit of rendering. Vendanj must be here.
“Take him to the Levate healers,” the woman commanded. “I will join you shortly. Don’t leave him until I come to you.” She nodded, satisfied, and turned toward the stairs.
The man hoisted Tahn to his feet as easily as a father might a child. Tahn’s muscles sang painfully at the sudden jostling, but he bit back his cries. The man ushered him toward the stairs, when a sudden shock of clarity filled Tahn.
“Wait,” Tahn said. The man kept on. “Wait!” he yelled, the sound echoing around the cell. The man finally stopped.
Tahn turned toward the shadows where Rolen remained cloaked and forgotten.
“Free him, too,” Tahn said. He clenched his teeth against pain drumming in every cut and sore. “If I’m innocent, if the man I cut free is—”
“Tahn.” It was Rolen. Hi
s voice came like a calm out of the shadow-veiled corner. A moment after, the Sheason stepped slowly into the light. “Don’t worry about me. Remember, I choose this.”
“But Rolen,” Tahn protested. “They see it was a trap. They’re letting me go because the man I cut free was innocent. You shouldn’t have to—”
“Tahn.” Again a voice of serene assurance. “Whether a trap or not, I broke the law. I knew what I was doing. But I’ll say this. I have new hope after what I’ve just seen.”
“What do you mean?” Tahn asked. “This isn’t fair. It isn’t right.” He wrestled to free himself from the man’s arms, but his body held little fight.
“I won’t accept a pardon from the regent. It would give her critics more ways to attack her.” He turned to look at the woman.
It dawned on Tahn who the woman was, and he stopped struggling in the man’s arms.
When he turned toward her, he also clearly saw for the first time the faces of those standing near the wall: Vendanj, Wendra, Braethen, Penit, and Mira. Even in the dark, even weakened, he could see Mira’s grey eyes, and even now they lit fire in his loins.
A crash of emotions descended on him. His heart swelled to see his sister safe, to see his old friend. Even the sight of Vendanj was comforting. Soon Sutter would join them, too. Emotion tightened his throat. He raised a hand to Vendanj for help. For Rolen.
“You’re weak,” Vendanj said, taking a step toward him.
“Vendanj.” Tahn’s tongue clucked dryly. He licked his lips and swallowed. “Vendanj, don’t let them do this, please. You have to know about Rolen. He’s one of your Order. He was only trying to help a dying child. Please.”
Vendanj gave Tahn a strange look, then stepped past him toward Rolen.
“Is this how you intend to serve?” Vendanj asked.
“If I try to avoid punishment for my crime, the tension between the League and the Sheason, not to mention the League and the regent, will grow.” He smiled weakly. “The law’s misguided. But I’m bound to it just the same. What kind of servant am I if I choose which laws to obey?”
“We won’t agree about that,” Vendanj said. “And since we don’t, I can accept the risk for you, take you away from this place.”
“No,” Rolen said. “This is how it must be. I’ve no regret.” He looked past Vendanj to Tahn. “I’ve found meaning in it beyond my oath.”
The regent came forward in her resplendent dress and extended her hand to Rolen. He took it. “Thank you,” she said.
Rolen offered her a weak smile.
The man then started leading Tahn away. At the door, Tahn grasped the wall, stopping them again and looking down into the pit.
Rolen turned and looked up at him. “It was an honor.”
The man bore him away.
* * *
Tahn lay still while attendants worked swiftly but methodically through their ministrations. One woman wearing a scarf tight around her face applied a cool salve to his wrists and ankles. The cream smelled of peppermint and nut oils. It burned icily, soothingly. Afterward, she wrapped the areas with clean, white strips of fabric. A second woman soaked a rag in a pungent liquid and rubbed it over the purple bruises that covered his body. Another forced him to sip water from a glass, and mopped his head and face with a damp towel.
When they’d finished, another woman came and dismissed them. She walked around the bed, eyeing Tahn’s naked body with observant detachment. He wanted to cover his nakedness. She made a small grunt and came forward, leaning over his bed and looking at each of his eyes by turns. She took her hands from the folds of her heavy robe and placed her thumbs beside Tahn’s nose, her fingers cradling the sides of his head. A look of confusion rose in her eyes.
Just then Vendanj came in. “Thank you for your help. I’ll see to what’s left.”
The woman didn’t acknowledge him.
“Do as I say,” Vendanj said firmly.
The woman removed her hands from Tahn. Her head bobbed up and a faltering expression passed over her face. “This one, he’s not whole. He—”
“He’s weak, Anais,” Vendanj said, firmer still. “Thank you. I will tend to him.” Vendanj motioned toward the door.
The woman tucked her hands into her robe and scuttled from the room, some pallor in her cheeks. Vendanj had that effect on a lot of people.
As the woman left, Mira and Braethen brought in Sutter, his arms holding on to their shoulders for support. One eye was swollen shut, and dried blood had caked on his collar. His friend wasn’t using his left foot.
“What happened to you?” Tahn asked.
“I complained about my food,” Sutter said as he was hefted into a bed. “I see you’ve had it pretty light.” With his one good eye, Sutter looked around at the spacious room.
“Yeah, they just don’t care much for rootdiggers here.” Tahn chuckled, the laughter descending into his chest in a fit of wracking coughs.
“Save your talk for later,” Vendanj admonished.
The Sheason came to Tahn’s side as the first three women reentered and began dressing Sutter’s wounds. “You’ve had your Change,” Vendanj said. It wasn’t a question.
“This morning,” Tahn answered.
“Rolen stood for you.” Again the Sheason spoke with certainty.
Tahn nodded. “Though I’m not sure why we get so excited over this day. I think I might prefer to stay melura.…”
Vendanj’s lip curled ever so slightly into an honest grin. The Sheason drew his thin wooden case from inside his cloak and produced a sprig, which he handed to Tahn. Tahn put it on his tongue. The bit of greenery dissolved quickly, leaving a hint of something peppermint. Almost immediately, Tahn began to relax from the stiffness in his body.
Vendanj moved to Sutter’s side and placed a hand on his friend’s eye. He also gave Sutter a sprig, and shared a long stare with Nails as the three women finished their dressings and made a silent exit.
“You’ve had your Change as well,” Vendanj said, looking at Sutter.
Nails nodded. “Quite a story.”
“Let’s have it,” Tahn insisted.
His friend focused instead on the Sheason. “The League has arrested a seat holder under false pretense. They mean to assume the Seat of Risill Ond in his place.”
“The Reapers,” Vendanj said softly.
“I don’t think they plan to just keep him down there in that pit, either.” Sutter’s words grew anxious. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I’ll speak to the regent about it.” Vendanj put a reassuring hand on Sutter’s chest. “Now rest, both of you.”
Just as the Levate women left, Wendra burst into the room and rushed to Tahn’s side. “Thank the abandoning gods.” She gave him as firm a hug as she seemed to dare, and kissed him on the cheek. “What a mess you got yourself into.” Her mouth tugged into a smile that betrayed her scolding. “What happened?”
Tahn gave Vendanj a look. “Later,” he said, lifting his hand to gently take hers. “I’m kind of tired right now.”
“Of course.” She kissed him again, and turned as Penit came in and stood beside her. “We’re all safe,” she added, putting her arm around Penit’s shoulders.
Tahn noted the look Wendra gave the boy. It reminded him of Vocencia, their mother, but also something else. Something had changed.
Mira came to Tahn’s side, freezing him with a look. “A lot of grit to cut a man loose from the gallows, especially a leagueman.” She gave him her small smile. “A day in irons is worth a hundred in battle. A man once held captive fights with more purpose. Don’t forget.”
The sight of her helped his spirits as much as the healing Levate hands.
“I’m glad you’re well,” Mira finished. And she finally returned the impetuous kiss he’d given her some days ago, pressing soft lips briefly to his.
The kiss seemed wonderfully slow compared to how fast she did everything else. Then he saw Braethen holding Tahn’s weapons and pack and cloak. He sat up and point
ed at them.
“Easy, Tahn,” Braethen said. “Your things are safe.”
“Hurry. Bring them here!” Tahn insisted.
“All right,” Braethen said. “Nice to see you, too.”
Tahn shook his head. “It’s important.”
Tahn tore his cloak from Braethen’s hands just as the regent entered the room. She walked carefully, placing her feet in a steady rhythm. Behind her strode the man who’d first knelt at Tahn’s side in the cell. Everyone in the room bowed, except the man behind the regent, whose weathered face held little emotion.
The last to enter was an old man who wore at his throat the same three-ring symbol as Vendanj. A snowy white beard fell on his chest, and wavy white hair hung to his shoulders. Spectacles adorned his bulbous nose, and the man moved with the deliberateness of the regent, his steps careful. Once he’d entered, he closed the door, and smiled warmly at Vendanj before turning his attention back to the woman.
“I’ve called for the Convocation of Seats,” the old woman began, her voice filled with authority. “Detractors accuse me of politics, but I’m too old for such nonsense. I sent the birds and criers because there are reports of Quiet south of the Pall. Every day the gate is flooded with people who’ve abandoned their homes for the protection of Recityv walls. I suspect it’s much the same in cities all across the east.”
She turned to the man with the weathered skin. “It even coaxes Grant from his Scar?”
“I’m not here for Convocation,” Grant said.
Grant? His was the familiar voice Tahn had heard in his cell.
Vendanj added, “He’s agreed to go with us to Naltus Far and on to Tillinghast.”
“Are you telling me that Grant intends to stand at Tillinghast?” The old woman’s voice held a hint of amusement.
Vendanj turned and came to Tahn’s bedside, suggesting who would stand at Tillinghast.
The regent looked from the Sheason down to Tahn, understanding in her eyes. “My dead gods.”
The Unremembered Page 45