The Unremembered

by Peter Orullian

  “I’m still headed to Tillinghast,” he answered.

  She nodded as if it was the only answer.

  He looked down then at the ground. “The snow will make make it easy for the Quiet to track us.” Tahn had often gone immediately to the woods after a good winter snow. It made hunting easier.

  “Yes, but there’s no mystery about where we’re headed. The Bar’dyn know it. And the Velle have probably counseled their scouts to find a good place to make a stand.” She looked out over the delicate green-and-white blanket of pine and frost spread below them.

  A couple of ravens were startled from their branch on a dead hemlock.

  She noted the birds, then leaned over and put a hand on his own as it rested on his saddle horn. “I have faith in you.”

  Then she spurred her horse and disappeared into the pines.

  He couldn’t explain or deny it.

  He might not be ready for Tillinghast, but he was as ready as he’d ever be.

  Mira’s confidence helped.

  He loved her.

  Then he remembered what Sutter had said, about Mira’s spirit.…

  * * *

  They moved with caution over the blanket of snow. Towering pines rose around them, many with an ivory bark Tahn hadn’t seen before. Patches of sunlight fell through the trees, producing shards of light. With the scent of pine needles and snow, the air smelled clean, free of the molder of last year’s leaves. The crunch of hooves broke the silence, louder than usual in the stillness. But even Grant seemed at relative ease.

  Until boots pounding through the crisp snow shattered the morning air.

  The sound spooked the horses. Several of them reared up. Their shrill whinnying filled the morning with panic. Footfalls ahead. Down slope. Upslope.

  They were trapped.

  Tahn pulled his bow and nocked an arrow. Braethen already had his sword in hand, touching the blade in a thoughtful way.

  Mira dismounted and pulled Tahn from his saddle. They ran into a clearing, just up the hill from the path they’d been taking.

  Vendanj and Grant already stood at the northern edge, kicking back snow and clearing a wide circle in which to fight.

  Wendra sheltered Penit behind Sutter and Braethen, as she strode into the small clearing and shot worried glances at Tahn.

  Sutter drew his sword, looking anxious.

  The ground shivered with the pounding of so many heavy feet, snow sifting and crusts of ice cracking. Birds took to the air, calling as they went.

  It sounded like a stampede. The splintering of wood cracked loud, and Tahn imagined small trees being snapped like kindling beneath the bodies of towering Bar’dyn. Movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see treetops bristling as the Quiet crashed toward them. The air grew thick with the expectation of violence.

  Then into the clearing on the left came six Bar’dyn. Grant waited patiently in the small area he’d cleared. Vendanj smote his hands together, calling a whirlwind from the ground that twisted ice and snow and the hard, cold rocks beneath it into a maelstrom. He then thrust both hands at the coming Quiet. The whirlwind leapt at the Bar’dyn. Three were drawn into the tangle of roots, stone, and ice, and lifted from their feet, tumbling over as they were battered and slashed.

  Two Bar’dyn turned on Grant, the remaining one fixing his eye on Tahn and heading for the center of the clearing. As it did, six more Bar’dyn emerged at a full run from the east. But these were different; they wore charcoal tunics with a dark grey insignia in the center of their chest: the symbol of a single tree whose roots spread and grew downward to become several smaller, withered trees. These six each carried a heavy pike in one hand, and a spiked shield in the other.

  Sutter turned toward the six, as Tahn loosed his first arrow at the leftmost. With his shield, the Bar’dyn batted Tahn’s arrow away as if it were a slow fly.

  Braethen started toward Vendanj, but the Sheason shouted at him to stand with Sutter against their flank.

  The three Bar’dyn caught in Vendanj’s swirl crashed down in a dead heap. The two spoiling for Grant came into the exile’s circle. They fanned out to opposite sides of the man. But before they could strike, Grant drew a small hidden knife from his belt and threw it at the first Bar’dyn’s sword hand. It pierced the creature’s wrist, and the Quiet made a low sound in its belly. Tahn felt it in his gut. The second Bar’dyn threw itself at Grant, and went tumbling with him to the ground.

  Vendanj turned his attention to the dark-clad six, and began gesturing at them with one hand, then the other. Bits of the bark tore from tree trunks and hurtled toward Bar’dyn eyes as sharp as tiny daggers. Two lost their sight. The others pushed against the onslaught, covering their eyes as they came.

  The single Bar’dyn heading for Tahn slowed as it came near Mira. It drew a second sword, and began swinging each in tight looping figures. The swords created a wall of whistling blades as the Bar’dyn pushed toward Mira.

  She sprang forward, dropping low at the last moment and thrusting her sword with savage intent. She caught the Bar’dyn in the lower belly. The creature staggered backward, and fell, bleeding fast.

  A flail clipped Sutter, spinning him around and dropping him. The attacking Bar’dyn lifted its weapon to deal a death blow. Tahn let fly an arrow. The missile caught the Bar’dyn in the neck. He fired a second, and a third. All three hit the Bar’dyn in the same place, driving it backward.

  A second Bar’dyn leapt at Sutter, who lay in the snow. Before it could strike, a cry filled the air: “I am I!”

  The call raised the hair on Tahn’s neck. Braethen surged into the space between Sutter and the Bar’dyn, whipping a blow at the creature in a tight, vicious arc. His sword hummed in the morning light. Then the steel found home, and tore open the flesh of the beast’s chest.

  Grant escaped the Bar’dyn that had wrestled him to the ground. As he did, Vendanj raised his hands again, sending the creature skyward thirty strides. Then the Sheason fell to the ground, breathing heavily.

  The two remaining Quiet ran past Braethen, heading for Wendra. Nothing lay between them and Tahn’s sister, and he knew he wouldn’t reach her in time.

  He nocked and fired another arrow. It stuck in the Bar’dyn’s side, but hardly slowed the beast.

  Wendra pulled Penit behind her and stared savagely at the creatures as they bore down on her. She opened her mouth, as though to sing. Alarm lit her face as she found she hadn’t the voice for it. She tried again, but managed only a husk. She began to back away, pushing Penit along.

  Tahn fired again, this time missing completely. An airy rasp rose from his sister’s throat as she pushed harder to vocalize something. The Bar’dyn closed in.

  Wendra turned to Penit, trying to get him to flee. The boy shook his head. Wendra pushed him in a safe direction. Penit began to sprint away.

  She wheeled and headed in another direction, hoping to draw the Bar’dyn’s attention from the boy. The Bar’dyn Grant had stuck with his knife was up again, and took off after her, pointing for his fellows to stay on Penit.

  As Wendra dashed away, the last two Bar’dyn followed Penit. And they began to gain on the boy.

  Only Mira could catch up to them. Tahn shouted to her, and she gave chase. In eight strides she looked like she would rescue Penit.

  On the other side of the clearing, Braethen and Grant took down the Bar’dyn pursuing Wendra. She turned back, watching helplessly as Mira streaked toward the lad.

  One of the Bar’dyn pursuing Penit turned suddenly to meet Mira. She lost her footing in the snow and fell. A menacing grin spread on the thick, rough features of the Bar’dyn as it jumped and planted its foot on Mira’s arm, kicking the sword from her other hand.

  In unison, Tahn and Wendra lifted their cries: “No!”

  Vendanj lay spent in the bright snow several paces away.

  Grant and Braethen started to plow toward Mira. But they were too far away, and spent besides.

  Sutter was down.

  On
ly Tahn could help. He raised his bow and nocked an arrow.

  He drew down on the Bar’dyn pursing Penit, then shifted his aim to the Quiet hovering over the woman he loved. The moment lengthened, and the world grew dreadfully still. Plumes of labored breath hung in the air.

  Tahn looked at the exhausted Sheason, his face gaunt and as pale as the snow. Then to his sister, who’d taken the boy as her own. Wendra gave Tahn a pleading look, and his mind filled with the memory of his own suspended action when another child had been taken from her.

  The memory seared him still.

  He’d not truly stood passive in her moment of need, had he? Not the son of Balatin. Not Tahn.

  But he also thought of the face in Sutter’s visions, Mira’s face. Nails had seen the haunted, anguished expression of a woman burned by the League the night before her death. At least he thought he had. But Sutter believed it, and so Tahn believed it.

  Tahn spoke his words in his mind as cries and yells sounded all around him. He recalled Rolen standing for him in a dank prison cell, and was reminded that he was now accountable for his choices.

  Then Tahn narrowed his aim. And between the towering pines and over the fallen snow, he released his shot.

  The arrow sailed true, slicing the brittle morning air, and whistling toward its target. As it struck the Bar’dyn down, Wendra raised a cry that broke Tahn’s heart. The Quiet pinning Mira fell back, releasing her. A moment later, Penit was caught and whisked away into the forest.

  Tahn dropped to his knees. He caught the tortured look on his sister’s face before tears blurred his own eyes.

  * * *

  The quiet sound of sobs came to him sometime later. Tahn looked up into the impassive face of Vendanj. Over his shoulder stood Mira. The Far wore a mixed expression of gratitude and concern.

  Vendanj heaved a weary sigh. “You made your choice. You must own it.”

  To one side Braethen stood with one arm heavily bandaged and blood on his neck. The sodalist looked too weary to stand, swaying as he attempted to steady himself with his sword. Sutter winced every few moments and finally sat on a large rock to roll up his pant leg, revealing a purpled bruise that ran from his calf to his knee. Nails placed tentative fingers on the crown of his head, and pulled them away bloody. The exile seemed to have no injuries and kept his distance.

  Wendra sat collapsed at the far side of the clearing. She wept softly, hiding her face deep in her garments. The sound rasped from her bruised throat.

  He’d chosen to save Mira instead of the boy, a boy Wendra had virtually claimed as her own.

  Putting words to it, Vendanj said low and even, “It was a selfish draw.”

  Tahn snapped his head in the direction of the Sheason. His anger flared. And he was grateful for it. The anger replaced the ache growing inside him for Penit. For Wendra. For failing her twice. What use were the old words, if he chose to serve himself instead?

  And yet, he was glad Mira was safe. The ache inside ebbed as he imagined the possibility that they could be together. The thought calmed his deepest grief.

  “Sutter, Braethen, gather the horses,” Vendanj ordered. “Be quick and quiet. If they’ve wandered too far, leave them to their instincts.”

  Tahn shook his head. “Why was Penit here in the first place?” he asked, mostly to himself.

  Vendanj turned back to Tahn and exhaled slowly before explaining. “The child was a contingency, in the event you made a poor choice.”

  Tahn shook his head, failing to understand.

  “He was to be a sacrifice, Tahn. Not a blood sacrifice,” Vendanj clarified. “But to Penit we could have transferred the stain of some misstep. He’s far from his Change, and could have taken on himself whatever mistake you might have made.”

  Understanding dawned in Tahn’s mind. He’d known he should have shot to save Penit.

  “You not only chose selfishly, you also let slip the one to whom we would have moved the blemish … to keep you ready for Tillinghast.” Vendanj drew back and looked about him, appraising the situation. When his eyes rested again on Tahn, he reiterated in a soft, defeated voice, “It was a selfish draw.”

  The Sheason crawled a few strides away, and rested his back against a rock. He fell deep into thought and weariness, leaving Tahn staring at Mira. She returned his gaze for several long moments, her grey eyes sympathetic but sorrowful.

  Then she took a small step and touched Vendanj’s shoulder lightly. They shared a long look, ending with a mutual nod. Mira drew near to Tahn again, and knelt in the snow beside him. She searched one eye, then the other. Without a sound, she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  It was all the reward Tahn needed.

  Then she spoke. “‘Melura’ is a word from the Covenant Tongue, meaning first inheritance. The blessing given to the Far is that they remain in this condition all their short life.” She gave Tahn a reassuring look.

  The realization of what she was about to say hit him.

  “As one who stands spotless in her first inheritance,” Mira said with firmness, “I will take Penit’s place.”

  The snow creaked as Grant wheeled about, his impassive, sun-worn face now taut with concern and admiration.

  Tahn didn’t know how to respond. He stole a look at Wendra, who was still lost in her grief.

  Looking back into Mira’s eyes, he searched for direction. “What would it mean for you?”

  “It’s not yours to count the cost, Tahn. It’s only yours to accept or deny my gift.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “But there is no choice. If you won’t allow it, then all we’ve done may have been in vain. If you go to Tillinghast burdened.…”

  He’d shot to save her. Because he loved her. Now she needed to try and save him from what he’d done. And somehow he sensed it would have painful consequences for her.

  What do I do?

  Sutter and Braethen were nowhere to be seen, on an errand the Sheason had put them, to take them away from here. Vendanj offered no council. Tahn wished Balatin were here; he’d have wisdom to share.

  Unable to decide, he simply said, “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Then let me do this for you,” Mira said, “For all of us.”

  “Isn’t it selfish of me to be saved from my own mistake?” he asked.

  “You didn’t seek it.” Mira leaned closer. “I offer it freely.” She noted his reluctance with a kind smile.

  The sight of it eased Tahn’s concern, but only slightly. “Tell me what it means if you do this?”

  This time, she didn’t hesitate. “I forfeit my first inheritance.”

  Tahn’s eyes grew wide. “Your next life? Reunion with your family?… Your mother?” He shook his head. “I can’t let you do that. Not for something I’ve done.”

  She smiled again her slight, nearly imperceptible smile. “People often do such things for those they care about.”

  The revelation spread through Tahn, and made him certain he couldn’t allow it. As he began to protest, she interrupted.

  “There isn’t time to argue about this,” she said. “This is right. Trust me.”

  Tahn thought of his compulsion to await sunrise, his lost memory, and all the things he and Sutter had shared in recent days.

  “Trust me,” Mira repeated.

  Again Tahn began to argue.

  “Tahn, even if you were a stranger traveling to Tillinghast, I would insist.”

  He stared into her grey eyes a long time.

  “So much easier that you are not,” she finished.

  Tahn felt like he was again unable to defend someone he loved, like in his Hollows home at the start of all this madness. But the truth was, he did trust Mira. Slowly, he gave a simple nod.

  Vendanj stood and came to them. He placed Tahn’s hand on Mira’s and bound them with a silken cord he drew from his cloak. Clasping the union in his hands, he began to speak in a soft, calming voice. Words Tahn didn’t understand. Warmth spread up Tahn’s arm.

  In his mind, Tahn saw h
is moment of choice. He saw it from high above the clearing where he now sat, his bow drawn toward the Bar’dyn. He watched in terrible clarity the release of his arrow. The moment came like a knot in his throat, suffocating him. He felt his deliberate betrayal of trust in the appropriate shot. And while Mira had been spared, he realized something more: new repercussions in the life of the child, Penit … were now Tahn’s.

  Soon to be Mira’s.

  A wave of dread and dismay overcame him as he realized the consequences of his mistake would touch many lives. He saw flashes of burning pages, the rending of the air, and a bloodied figure leading an army out of a dreary place.

  Then, a moment later, Tahn felt lighter, new. He opened his eyes and saw Vendanj staring intently at Mira. Her eyes still shone with razor awareness. But her brow furrowed now with a concern, a weight, he’d never seen in her before.

  It’s done.

  * * *

  Mira crept away on her hands and knees. Over the snow she went, assuring the others she was fine, but wanting to be alone.

  Where she could feel the stinging tears of relief and regret.

  Carrying Tahn’s stain, she could no longer bear an heir for Elan, for her people. Her long fear of loving a child for the few short months before she moved beyond this life … was gone. And that eased her heart in a way that surprised her. But blemished, she would also not inherit the promise of the Far. Whatever awaited her beyond this life, she wouldn’t rejoin any of those she’d known and loved.

  Then an awful realization hit her. The end of her bloodline was now certain. That might mean the end of the covenant itself to safeguard the Language. She looked away from the others and wept. And hoped Tahn stood well at Tillinghast.

  * * *

  Vendanj slumped back onto the snow and lay down, staring up into the deep blue. His body and spirit were weary. And not just from the use of the Will. This flight across the Eastlands had reminded him of a past he’d tried to forget. The closer they came to Tillinghast, mounting losses brought that past to mind in starker relief.

  His breath plumed in the frigid air above him as he thought of Penit, now gone—just like his own wife and child. He shut his eyes and gave himself up to a more recent memory. In the Halls of Solath Mahnus he and Penit had walked together. Vendanj had learned what a remarkable young man Penit was. Then Vendanj had told him how he thought the boy might help them on their way to Tillinghast—bearing Tahn’s mistake, should that occur.