EXILE'S RETURN

by Kate Jacoby

  “You’ve made Finnlay quite happy. He despaired of ever getting me to this Gathering. But I suppose it could be worse. It could be snowing!” He laughed and shook his head. “It’s funny how things work out. I help you out of a spot of trouble with the Guilde and in return—you give my brother something he’s wanted all his life. Still, I’d better go and slow him down, otherwise we’ll lose him in the fog. As things are, I would not be as efficient as he at finding him on this mountain.” With that, he kicked his horse and cantered along the track.

  Jenn frowned. “Is he always like that?”

  “Yes,” Micah nodded. “As long as I’ve known him. He seems to have the most extraordinary inability to take himself seriously. Sometimes I almost despair.”

  Despite herself, she smiled. “And what did he mean about things being as they are? Is he not a Seeker?”

  “Most certainly. My master is the most powerful sorcerer within the Enclave, stronger than any in its past. Finnlay, however, is a more powerful Seeker. It’s the only thing at which he excels, since Finnlay is relatively weak in his other powers. Aside from that, my master has lost the use of his ayarn and therefore cannot use his powers.”

  “Why not?”

  “The ayarn is a tool for focusing power, as he told you. But it also shields the user from over-exertion. To use your power without one could kill you. However, you moved the bridge without one and suffered no ill effects. I believe that’s why he wants you to go to the Enclave.”

  “But I...” Jenn shook her head. She was used to surviving difficult situations, but this was all too much. “Oh, I give up!”

  Micah chuckled but Jenn couldn’t take offence. “All right, tell me. Where is this Enclave?”

  He reached forward and pointed out across the deep valley they were approaching. “See that peak yonder? The sharp jagged one? That’s the Goleth itself—and that’s where we’re going.”

  The valley rose almost vertically on either side, topped by seemingly impassible needle ridges. Between them, dusted with a fine layer of cloud, was a single peak, grey and forbidding. No plant lived there, no trees or animals. A bleak grey rock, towering above its neighbours. The Goleth.

  The Enclave.

  Chapter 5

  Ayn returned to her seat at the end of the council chamber and faced the children. They sat on both sides of the long table, wide-eyed, curious and not a little in awe of this room where their history was painted on the stone walls surrounding them. Some of the most famous Enclave debates had seared the air of this room—not to mention some of its most infamous decisions. This was the heart of the Enclave Council of Elders, and Ayn had brought them here to explain some very particular lessons.

  She folded her hands together and looked at each of the children in turn. Their waiting faces were illuminated by candlelight shining from the tall stands in each corner of the room and the silver star-shaped holder lying in the centre of the table. Ayn let her eyes drop to the star and the eleven lit candles standing on its points. There was one more candle, but it was unlit and would remain so until another elder had been chosen to take Marcus’s place.

  Ayn drew in a breath and began speaking. “Upon these walls you see our history; these are the years after our people came to this mountain. The story you are now beginning to learn. Before that lies a greater history, that of the centuries before we came to this place, of the time before we had to hide our talents for fear of death. Despite our best efforts, to this day sorcery is still believed to be the greatest power of evil by those outside these walls. You, children, are the new generation. By the next moon, you will all move up into your next class and begin the training which will define your adult lives, but before you do, it is my duty as an elder to make you aware of some of the most important aspects of your life here.

  “We live on the precipice of mortal danger. This Enclave—these caves we live in—was created out of bare rock to house and protect us. It does so with the aid of the skilled members who live here—but that does not mean it will always remain so. It would take so little for our home to be discovered and once done, we would be destroyed. Yes...” She paused, taking in the doubtful glances of the children. None of them were much above twelve years of age, still fresh in their enthusiasm and new to their powers. For such as these, dire warnings held little weight. “There are still those within the world who desire nothing but our blood. And then there are the Malachi.”

  Ayn paused and leaned into the back of her chair. This was such an unpleasant task, but it was about the only one she felt capable of attending to. This was a grim speech—she was in a grim mood.

  “Soon after our forefathers came to this continent, there was a tussle for power between those remaining who had together created the Key. Two groups emerged, one led by a man called Edassa, whose father was reputed to have created the Word of Destruction. Edassa, embittered by guilt for abandoning our ancestors to fight the empire alone at Alusia, wanted to take the Key and make the empire pay for having turned on them. The Key, however, chose another path. It struck down Edassa, paralysed him until he was barely able to speak. Then our forefathers left Edassa and his followers and came here to found the Enclave. Edassa and his people travelled elsewhere. Over the last five hundred years, we have come to know them as the Malachi—and that their sole intention is to eliminate us all and regain the Key. They called us the Salti Pazar, in our ancient language, the Treacherous Ones. Out in the land, a Sealed sorcerer cannot be sensed by a Malachi, though lessons you will learn here will help you to sense them. Never forget, however, that the Malachi have sworn to destroy us. And why?”

  She looked at each of them in turn but didn’t receive an answer. Good: they were listening.

  “Because they want the Key and its power. They would use it to find the lost Calyx and unleash a terrible power upon the land. They would discover the Word of Destruction and then there would be no power on earth that could halt their domination. Even as we rely on the Key for our safety, we are also entrusted with its safekeeping. Although we do not possess a sorcerer powerful enough to wield the Key to its full potential, we live in the knowledge that one day there will be among us one who will rise and speak to the Key. Legend tells us that on that day, we will find where the Calyx is hidden. From that day we will have the power to emancipate ourselves from this prison and be free once again to walk the land as sorcerers.”

  Ayn rose to her feet. The children came to theirs also. Not a single one shifted or fidgeted or murmured. “Until that day, you must all learn, study, practise—and most importantly, obey the laws governing us all. To that end,” she paused and looked directly at the fair-headed boy on her left, “I must warn you: under no circumstances are any of you to attempt the kind of dimensional shift you tried this morning. It is dangerous—to you and anyone close by. But whether it’s dangerous or not is irrelevant. The point is: it is forbidden.”

  The boy lifted his chin defiantly but said nothing. She would have to keep an eye on him. She was about to continue when there was a knock at the door. She turned to find her friend and fellow councillor, Henry, sticking his head into the room. His bushy eyebrows framed his face like a ledge on a cliff, but his face wore a grin.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mistress Ayn, but somebody has come through the gate.”

  Ayn frowned. “Of course they have. People are arriving all the time. Or have you already forgotten about the Gathering, Master Henry?”

  “I think you’ll want to see this for yourself.”

  Ayn studied him for a moment. Whatever it was, it was obviously nothing bad. Well, she was about finished anyway. She dismissed the children and followed Henry out into the main cavern. As they took the corridor to the surface she couldn’t help glancing sideways at him, but his face was merely smug. Ayn was not amused, but she refused to ask. Instead she said, “How many candidates have we ready to Stand the Circle so far?”

  “Six—the same as this morning. What are you hoping for—a miracle?”
There was a twinkle in his eye but Ayn ignored it.

  “I always hope for miracles, Henry, otherwise I wouldn’t keep talking to you.”

  His laughter echoed along the stone walls and vanished into the sunshine beyond. Ayn limped up the incline, cursing the pain in her hip. It always got worse as winter approached. Normally Marcus would be able to ease the pain a little. But now Marcus was gone and this winter she would have to cope without him. She would have to cope without him for the rest of her life. They’d been together so long that it was still difficult to believe he was no longer around. Their daughter Fiona had been a great comfort over the last few weeks, but even so, Ayn still found it difficult to talk openly about her loss. There remained something very private about the whole thing.

  But it was early yet. Time would dull the pain, if not remove it. The real problem was surviving until then.

  “There,” Henry said as they came out into the sunshine. He pointed across the wide green bowl which sat atop the mountain like a crown. With the jagged edge of the peak lining the outer rim and reaching to the sky, it was sometimes difficult to remember that there was a world outside to worry about.

  Ayn squinted in the dwindling light, but all she could see was a knot of people gathered around the entrance to the gate. “Who is it? Damn this secrecy, Henry, and tell me!”

  He didn’t, though. He just took her arm as if she was an invalid and walked her across the grass, stopping only when they reached the knot of people. His behaviour irritated her, which is why she didn’t really grasp what she was seeing. At least, not at first. Then—

  “Robert!”

  The crowd parted and made way for her as he turned with a smile on his face. He strode towards her and swept her up in a hug which threatened to crush her frail old bones. “Oh, Robert, I don’t believe you’ve really come home to us! Finnlay always said one day he’d change your mind but I was so sure you wouldn’t.”

  “Actually, I haven’t, but we’ll get to that later.”

  She stood back a little and looked up at him. She’d forgotten he was so tall. With his broad shoulders draped in an old black cloak and his wavy hair tousled from the wind, he was a commanding presence. And the rest? The warm smile, the confident bearing and the laughter in his voice did nothing to hide the shadow around his sea-green eyes. She was burning to ask him why he’d returned, but for now it was enough to know that he had.

  She turned her gaze to the others with him. “Micah! How you’ve grown. Martha, Arlie? What happened?”

  The joy of Robert’s return paled as he told her. She quickly gave orders for Arlie to be taken to the healers and soon they were left alone. With a grim face, Ayn turned back to Robert, then paused as she noticed the girl standing behind Micah.

  “Who’s this?”

  Robert shrugged. “This is a problem.”

  “That’s no kind of introduction, Robert! But come, my bones are too old to stand outside like this. Let’s go in.”

  Half an hour later, with the others shooed off to find food and drink, Ayn heard the rest of the story in her apartment. Robert sat on the edge of his seat with an absorbing stillness, full of concealed power and raw energy—and yet totally relaxed. As always, she was mesmerised just listening to him. Three years had changed nothing.

  “That’s really all I can tell you,” Robert finished, leaning back in his chair. “And Micah’s wounds are nothing compared to the bruise to his dignity. Still, it could have been so much worse.”

  “What about your burns?”

  “It’s nothing. They heal well enough. It just means I’ll have to wait a little before I make another ayarn. It doesn’t matter—after all, I doubt I’ll see much more trouble between here and Dunlorn. What does concern me, however, is the girl.”

  “You were right to bring her here. You didn’t... help her in any way?”

  “How could I? I couldn’t even marshal my own powers to save Micah. You know what it’s like, how much concentration it takes to do something that big.”

  Ayn smiled. “Actually, I don’t, since you’re the only person I know who could have done it, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  “And another thing—why didn’t we pick up on her before now? You’ve often Sealed candidates long before any physical sign of their powers has manifested.”

  “Our scans are not infallible, Robert. We would never have found you at all if it hadn’t been for that little accident you had all those years ago.” Ayn smiled. “I’ll call a meeting of the Elders. I’m sure they’d like to hear your story firsthand—and meet our newest candidate in person. I assume that’s the reason you came to the Enclave?”

  Robert raised his eyebrows as though the truth was something he should apologize for. But Ayn knew him too well, and despite her disappointment she managed a smile. “And what have you done to annoy Finnlay so much, eh?”

  Robert glanced sideways at her. “I’ll give you one guess.”

  “He wants you to Stand the Circle? It’s only natural. You shouldn’t hold it against him.”

  “But you saw those people just now. Greeting me and celebrating my return like I was some kind of conquering hero, when we both know I’m nothing of the kind. I know what they expect from me, but I just can’t give it to them.”

  Ayn was silent for a while. It amazed her that after so many years, this extraordinary man was still incapable of seeing the obvious. They loved him because of who he was—not for what he could do for them.

  “Finnlay and the others want you to Stand and let the Key choose you. Find the Calyx, give us our freedom. Until you do, I fear your brother will never give you peace. He believes you’re the one to wield the Key. So far it has given us little of what we need, and yet we know it holds so much more. But none of us here has the ability to control it well enough to find those answers. Marcus nearly killed himself trying, and he was strong. We know so little: the Key holds our answers.”

  “So you agree with Finn?”

  “Robert.” Ayn paused, framing her words from shreds of instinct. “You’ve become a man without a path in life. You have no goals, nothing to work for. You’re like a lost child wandering a dangerous forest. Your enormous talents are wasted, yet all around you, people cry out for your help.”

  She stopped as he turned to look at her. His green eyes held a fathomless light that she could neither touch nor understand. “Why can’t you feel anything any more?”

  Robert held her gaze, unyielding. Even his breathing stopped and for a moment, Ayn was powerless to move a muscle. Then abruptly Robert smiled, breaking the moment. He stood and bent down to kiss her forehead. “Go call your meeting, old woman. I’ll be with Patric if you need me.”

  “And you really saw the Palace of Bu? In the flesh, as it were?”

  Robert gazed across the cluttered room at his friend. Patric Ferguson was his own age, and quite a powerful sorcerer. But there the similarity ended. With the exception of their shared love of books, Patric was almost his total opposite. He had an incisive mind possessed of an extraordinary ability to take huge leaps of logic—and generally end up with the right answer—usually quite some time before Robert. But where Robert was tall, Patric was a little less than average height, slightly built and with the translucent white skin of a man who sees little sunlight. Patric didn’t like going outside—he never had. He’d been born in the Enclave and would die there, without ever having had any real desire to go anywhere else.

  Right now though, his keen dark eyes were alight with excitement and he kept running his hands through his messy blond hair. “Was the Palace as you expected it to be? I mean, I’d have thought that after five hundred years of neglect it would be little more than a ruin.”

  “Certainly not!” Robert laughed, lifting a pile of manuscripts from a chair to make room to sit. “It’s virtually untouched. I guess the stories of sorcery are so established now that people avoid it at all costs. It’s eerie though, walking through rooms which are almost as they were left, days
before the last battle. Really, Patric, you should go and see it for yourself. You know far more about it than me. I’m sure you’d be able to make sense of it.”

  Patric leaped from his chair and grabbed a bottle of something, then paused in the middle of the room, absently looking around for cups. “I thought we had a deal, Robert. I never hound you about Standing the Circle and you stop telling me to go out into the big wide world.”

  Robert found a pair of empty cups by his elbow and held them up. “Did we have a deal? I don’t remember anything of the kind. On the other hand, I do remember you promising that one day you’ll come and visit me at Dunlorn—or are you now going back on that?”

  Splashing wine into the cups, Patric shook his head vigorously. “Not at all—I just never said when. Of course, I would’ve gone last Caslemas—but you weren’t there, so what can I say?”

  “You’re lying through your teeth, Pat, but I forgive you.”

  Handing Robert a cup, Patric watched him through a fringe of hair, quiet for a moment. Then, without any preamble, he murmured, “Why did you come back to Lusara?”

  Robert found his gaze drawn to the depths of his wine. He felt no desire to form any kind of reply and yet he’d known this question would come—particularly from Patric.

  “Oh come, Robert, or I’ll start saying you got tired of running away!” Patric shook his head but persisted, “I don’t think you could stand it any more, could you? Not knowing what was going on? Not being here to see it for yourself? Not being able to do anything?”

  Robert consoled himself with a noisy swallow of wine. “If you know so much, why ask me?”

  “Because you never let anyone inside your head, do you, you old fool.” With a chuckle, Patric plumped back into his chair. “Actually, to be honest, I’m not that surprised to see you. I always knew you’d come back.”

  “Conveniently wise after the fact?”

  “Not at all.” Patric shook his head again—then had to brush away the hair that landed in his eyes. “You see, about six weeks ago I was studying this old book on Bonding. You know the one, green binding, from Hastmere? Anyway, I found this interesting dialogue on the patterns of Bonding between families of the upper hierarchy in the last century of the empire and it was really engrossing. Next thing I knew, I’d fallen asleep with my head on the book ...”