The Unremembered

by Peter Orullian

  Vendanj’s brow furrowed with concern. “I’m not sure. But I heard Zephora say it. We’ll see if we can find its meaning in Naltus.”

  Tahn didn’t have the energy to pursue it further, and let it lie for now.

  Vendanj stood in Tahn’s company for some time, before adding, “And keep safe the token you hide in your tunic. It may serve us at some point.”

  Tahn kept the surprise off his face. He should have known Vendanj would sense the Draethmorte glyph.

  The eastern horizon warmed faintly with the hint of sunrise. “Was this all worth it?” Tahn asked.

  Vendanj stared toward dawn. “At the end of it, we came here to see about a possibility.”

  “We did all this for a possibility?” Tahn wasn’t angry. Just tired.

  Vendanj took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m glad for possibilities. And really, what more could you want?”

  “Certainty,” Tahn answered. They shared a quiet laugh over that.

  Vendanj showed Tahn a look of gratitude. “You survived Tillinghast, Tahn. We believe one who can do so stands a much better chance against the Quiet.”

  “We’ve already been—”

  “No,” Vendanj interrupted. “Not like they’ll come if the Veil falls. And your time at the ledge will have changed you. Not in any way you probably recognize yet. So, in some ways,” he put his hand on Tahn’s shoulder, “your survival of Tillinghast has just begun.”

  “That’s comforting,” Tahn said.

  “That, my young friend, is a possibility.”

  * * *

  The evening of the second day after Tillinghast, they spotted the Soliel Stretches beyond the lower peaks of the last range of mountains. Their rations gone, Sutter dug some roots he recognized, and they drank from a nearby stream. Tahn sought an opportunity to talk with Wendra, but his sister kept her distance, speaking only occasionally to Braethen. Like Wendra, Sutter was changed, too, but Nails seemed to fight the change, turning their minds toward home.

  “Can you imagine the welcome we’re going to get from Hambley?” Sutter licked his lips. “I can taste his roast duck already. Hey, Woodchuck, maybe you can hunt us up something good for him to roast in those magic Fieldstone ovens. This time, we’ll be the ones everyone buys spiced bitter for. I think I’ll take a glass of warmed cinnamon and some plum brandy to wash it down with.” As he spoke, Sutter casually rolled his own sword in his hands, its use seeming to have become more familiar to him.

  Tahn laughed. “Well, so long as you put some fine roots beside that duck, rootdigger, I’ll spare not the carafe.”

  Distantly, Wendra sang as she drew more water from the stream. If nothing else, it gladdened his heart to hear her sing again.

  Braethen wore a quizzical half smile, his books for once put away, and only his sword in sight, lying near to hand. “Place another plate at that table, and a handful of cups for me alone.”

  Sutter gave Braethen a look of pleasant surprise. “And when Hambley sets the glasses down, will our resident scop favor us with an emotional retelling of the events of Tillinghast?” Having baited him, Sutter waited expectantly to see how the sodalist would respond.

  Braethen cleared his throat, preparing to orate something, but with his first word broke down laughing. His laughter was contagious, and soon they were all doing it.

  “That’s all right, Sodalist, after all,” Sutter said, standing and drawing a deep breath as though he meant to issue a battle cry, “you are you!”

  That got them all laughing again. Tahn rolled off his rock, holding his stomach, while Sutter struck a noble pose.

  * * *

  King Elan shifted around abruptly, and returned Vendanj a despairing look. “Zephora? Then the Veil is thin, indeed.” He glanced over them all in his forum hall, quickly searching their faces. Lighting on Tahn, the king asked, “But you made it to Tillinghast?”

  “I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for Mira,” Tahn said.

  Elan nodded gratefully to Mira, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

  “They failed to stop us at Tillinghast. Now they’ll likely seek the Covenant Tongue,” Vendanj said matter-of-factly.

  Concern rose in the Far king’s face.

  * * *

  That night, after all the details had been shared, they were treated to hot baths, assigned beds, and allowed to sleep. This time, though, they slept without the company of standing guards—an exception the king made to give weary companions some privacy. Braethen went with Vendanj, a kinship forming between the two. Grant went with Mira to the training yards, where immediate preparations began to defend Naltus, in case the Quiet came. Wendra took her own room, saying a soft goodnight to them all before retiring. Tahn and Sutter bunked together, opening their window to let the night air touch their chests as they’d always done on hunting trips into the Hollows.

  “What’s next?” Sutter asked, staring over the foot of his bed at a bright moon through the open window.

  “I’m sure they’ll tell us,” Tahn remarked, lending both contempt and humor to his words.

  Sutter raised his hand that bore the unique glove of the Sedagin. “Do you suppose I’d be welcome back into the High Plains again?”

  “Sure. You make a wonderful impression wherever you go.” Tahn chuckled and turned likewise to view the risen moon.

  Sutter laughed.

  It felt good to banter with his friend again, even if the familiarity of that banter didn’t put him completely at ease. Looking at the moon, Tahn recalled the last room he remembered sharing with Sutter, and the disturbance at their window that had caused Nails to take refuge under his bed. The memory of the leagueman’s charity and his friend’s vision sent a chill down Tahn’s back, and he drew his covers up over his chest.

  “Do you think Wendra will ever forgive me?”

  Sutter exhaled into the cool, comfortable air. “I’ve never seen her this way,” Sutter said thoughtfully. “But I have faith in her. And why not, as I intend to marry her one day.”

  Tahn gave his friend a playfully quizzical look. “Do you suppose she’ll return to Recityv?”

  “I think Vendanj would like that,” Sutter replied. “But I’ve a feeling Wendra will make up her own mind. What I want to know is if Braethen intends to tag along with Vendanj to Estem Salo. That’s a place I’d like to see.”

  “Not me,” Tahn shot back. “That’s a secret I’ll gladly let them keep.”

  “The real question,” Sutter said, a smile audible in his voice, “is what you intend to do about Mira. I mean, a Hollows boy finding romance with the elusive Far. I’m starting to think you’re keeping things from me.”

  “I’m no good at secrets,” Tahn said.

  “Well, don’t delay, that’s my advice. A ripe root goes soft if left in the ground too long.” Sutter belly-laughed.

  Tahn joined him, unable to resist Sutter’s infectious laughter. When they’d finished, Sutter wiped his eyes of mirthful tears, and asked, “What do you think happened to Penit?”

  The mention of the boy’s name caught Tahn off guard. “I hope he gets away,” Tahn said. “If there’s a lad in the world who could do it, it’s Penit.”

  They both nodded at that.

  “And what have you decided about Grant?” Sutter asked, treading lightly.

  Tahn didn’t immediately reply. “There’s a lot to think about.”

  Sutter nodded at that, too. “I don’t know. He’s just so full of fun and love. You know, if the exile career doesn’t work out, maybe we could put in a word for him at the tenendra. I hear they have a few empty cages to fill.”

  They went back and forth for some time, their jests and laughter resounding in the room, and pealing through their open window toward the moon.

  When they’d calmed down, and Tahn was starting to feel sleepy, he turned his head on his pillow. “Thanks for coming along, Nails.”

  Sutter shifted in his bed and returned Tahn’s grateful look. “And thanks to you, Woodchuck. You got me
out of the fields.”

  “Well, you may thank me the day we dine on that duck and plum brandy. Until then, simply call me … master.”

  Sutter sat up and bowed his head in jest. “Especially now that you’ve passed your Standing, right?”

  “Of course, boy,” Tahn said in a kingly tone.

  “Woodchuck, that might have worked out fine, but it’s common knowledge that a master’s generosity springs from his loins. And when we shared a room tonight for our baths, I noticed that despite what you might have hoped, in that regard the Change hasn’t been terribly kind to you, has it?”

  Again their laughter rose, even louder this time, so that they almost feared a knock on the door to quiet them. Just as Balatin had often done when they were boys. Forgotten were Sutter’s greatsword and Tahn’s new bow.

  * * *

  Down the hall, Vendanj sat up, quietly placing an herb on his tongue. With Braethen fast asleep, Vendanj reflected on the brightness of the moon, and listened to the laughter echoing from a few doors away. His first thought was to quiet them, afraid their noise would draw undue attention from the sober-minded Far. But easing into his pillows, he let them alone. If they could find even small joys here and now, then perhaps there remained hope for them all. Perhaps it was that one quality that most suited them to this endeavor. Perhaps the very thing that gave Tahn success at Tillinghast. With that thought, Vendanj nodded silently to himself.

  So with their laughter in his ears, Vendanj drifted to sleep with belief ever more alive in his heart.

  Read on for a preview of

  TRIAL OF INTENTIONS

  by

  Peter Orullian

  Available in May 2015 by Tom Doherty Associates

  Copyright © 2015 by Peter Orullian

  Prologue

  A Third Purpose

  After long years in the Scarred Lands, Tahn Junell realized their patrols held a third purpose.

  First and most obviously, they were meant to provide early warning when visitors or strangers came into the Scar. Patrol routes held long sight lines of the wide, barren lands. From a distance, newcomers could be easily spotted and reported.

  On a second, practical level, patrols were used to build and maintain stamina for fight sessions. Every ward of the Scar—age three to nineteen—spent no less than six hours a day in ritualized combat training.

  It wasn’t until later that Tahn finally came to realize a third, more subtle reason for patrols. They were a way for wards of the Scar to monitor themselves and guard against one of their own wandering from home, alone.

  With the purpose of self-slaughter.

  Tahn and Alemdra ran fast, arriving at Gutter Ridge well ahead of sunrise. They slowed to a walk, catching their breath and sharing smiles.

  “You’re starting to slow me down,” Alemdra teased. “I think it’s because I’m becoming a woman, and you’re still a boy.”

  He laughed. “Well, maybe if we’re going to keep running patrols together, I’ll just put a saddle on you, then.”

  She hit him in the arm, and they sat together with their legs dangling from one of the few significant ridges in the Scar. Alemdra was twelve today, barely older than Tahn. And he intended to kiss her. From the glint in her eye, he wondered if she’d guessed his intention. But if so, the unspoken secret only added to the anticipation.

  Casually wagging their toes, they looked east.

  “See that?” He pointed at the brightest star in the eastern hemisphere. She nodded. “That’s Katia Shonay, the morning star. It’s really a planet.”

  “That so.” She squinted as if doing so might bring the distant object into sharper focus.

  “Katia Shonay means ‘lovelorn’ in Dimnian.” He liked few things better than talking about the sky. “There’s this whole story about how a furrow tender fell in love with a woman of the court.”

  She made no effort to conceal her suspicion of his timing for sharing the story of this particular planet. “You might make a good furrow tender someday. If you work hard at it, that is.”

  “Actually,” he countered, smiling, “the story’s only complete in the conjunction of Rushe Symone—the planet named after the god of plenty and favor. You know, bountiful harvests and autumn bacchanalia.” He nearly blushed over the last part, having learned the richness of bacchanal rituals. “Rych is the largest planet—”

  She was giving him a look. The look. “You seem to think you’re smarter than us now.”

  “What do you mean now?” And he started laughing.

  She broke down laughing, too. “You really liked it there, didn’t you? In Aubade Grove.”

  “I’d go back tomorrow if it didn’t mean leaving you behind.” It came out sounding rather more honest than he’d intended, but he wasn’t embarrassed. He stared off at Katia. “It’s amazing, Alemdra. No patrols. No fight sessions. Just books. Study. Skyglassing to discover what’s up there.” He gestured grandly at the eastern sky.

  She smiled, sharing his enthusiasm for the few years he’d been away before being called back here. “Do you think you’ll ever leave the Scar for good?” There was a small, fatal note in her voice.

  He turned to see her expression—the same one she always wore when they talked about Grant. While all the wards were like Grant’s adoptive children, Tahn was the man’s actual son. He supposed someday he might leave this place, especially if he were ever to learn who his mother was. If she was even still alive.

  “Eventually. After my father goes to his earth. I don’t think I could leave him here alone.” Tahn threw a rock out into the air and listened for it to hit far beneath. In his head he began doing some math to determine the height of the ridge. Initial velocity, count of six to the rock’s impact, acceleration due to gravity—

  “He’ll never be alone, Tahn,” she said, interrupting his calculations. “Not as long as the cradle is here.”

  Tahn nodded grimly. The Forgotten Cradle. It served as a big damn reminder of abandonment to all the wards of the Scar. And it was the way most of them came to this place. Every cycle of the first moon a babe was placed in the hollow of a dead bristlecone pine. Orphans. Foundlings. And sometimes children whose parents just didn’t want them anymore. Grant retrieved the child, tried to find it a proper home outside the Scar. Those for whom no arrangements could be made came to live with them inside the Scar. Not knowing their actual day of birth, wards celebrated their cradleday—the day they were rescued from the tree. Like they were doing for Alemdra today.

  “I don’t know why you feel any loyalty to stay, either.” She looked away to where the sun would crest the mountains to the east. “Not after what he’s done to you.”

  His father put more pressure on him. Tahn’s lessons were less predictable. Harder. One might wonder if being his son, he bore the brunt of his father’s exile to the Scar. A sentence he’d earned for defying the regent. And his father could never leave; otherwise who would fetch the babes from the cradle.

  Their special morning had struck a somber note. But he couldn’t let her comment lie, even though in his heart he agreed. “He just has a different way of teaching.”

  Alemdra seemed to realize she’d touched too close to private insecurities. “If you go, will you take me with you?”

  Tahn smiled, grateful for a change in the direction of their morning chat. “You think you can keep up? I mean, I have been off to college and all.”

  This time she hit him in the shoulder, soft enough to let him know she wasn’t offended, hard enough to let him know she was no rube. Then they fell into another companionable silence. The sun was near to rising. They wouldn’t speak again until its rays glimmered in their eyes. This was Tahn’s favorite time in the Scar. Morning had a kind of wonder in it. As if the day might end differently than the one before it. That moment of sun first lighting the sky was something he made time every day to witness. And he liked these sunrise moments best when Alemdra was with him.

  He wanted to kiss her when the sun began to
break. Sentimental, maybe, but it felt right anyway. As the time drew closer, his left leg began to shimmy all on its own.

  What if he’d misread their growing friendship? What if she rejected his kiss? He’d be ruining future chances to run with her on morning patrol.

  When the sun’s first rays broke over the horizon, he turned to her, his mind racing to find some words, debating if he should just grasp her by the shoulders and do it.

  He neither spoke nor grasped. In the second he turned, Alemdra inclined with a swift grace and put her mouth on his. Her eyes were open, and she left her lips there for a long time before closing them and uttering a sigh of innocent delight.

  The sound brought Tahn’s heart to a pounding thump, and he knew he loved her. The other wards would tease him; maybe try to convince him he was a boy who couldn’t know such feelings. Let them. Because even if he and Alemdra never knew a more intimate moment than this, he would always remember her kiss, her sigh.

  Sometime later, she pulled away, her eyes opening again. She smiled—not with embarrassment, but happily. And together they watched the sun finish its rise into the sky.

  Then an urgent rhythm interrupted the morning stillness. Distant footfalls. Someone running. Together they turned toward the sound. A hundred strides to the east, from a behind a copse of dead trees, a figure emerged at a dead run toward the cliff’s edge. They watched in horror as their friend Devin leapt from the edge. Her arms and legs pinwheeled briefly, before she gave in to the fall, her body pulled earthward toward the jag of rocks far below.

  Alemdra screamed. The shrill sound echoed across the deep, rocky ravine as their friend fell down. And down. Tahn stood up on impulse, but could only watch as Devin stared skyward, letting the force of attraction do its awful work. Initial velocity, acceleration due to gravity …

  A few moments later, Devin struck the hardpan below with a sharp cry. And lay instantly still.

  “Devin!” Tahn wailed, wanting his friend to take it back. Angry, frustrated tears filled his eyes.