by Lucy Hounsom
Kyndra peered around the curtain. Her mother didn’t seem to have noticed her absence. She was probably too busy. Kyndra propped a cushion behind her head and leaned back. The Inheritance was not to begin for another two hours and perhaps she could snatch a few minutes of the rest this morning’s dreams had stolen. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and the clamour of the inn dimmed.
… A burning valley spreads at her feet, bloody earth bare of life. A light blazes at one end like noon sun on glass. She flies through the air, its dry pressure hot on her cheeks. Something takes shape within the light: a building, tall as a mountain. The shine she imagines is sun on glass is indeed that: glass so fine, she wonders how the wind doesn’t shatter it. Crystal towers spin dizzily into the sky.
And then she sees the man. Behind him, the glorious building crumbles and falls and all the light is gone. The man’s face beneath his white hood is strong-boned and harsh. His eyes are black like crows’ feathers. His mouth opens, lips start to frame a word: Kyndra …
‘Kyndra, wake up!’
Blearily, Kyndra opened her eyes, struggling out of sleep, but it clung to her, weighing her down.
‘Kyndra!’
She realized her eyes had closed again. Fighting the impulse to sleep, she tried to hold them open.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jarand asked, as he held the curtain back. His gaze was worried. ‘You look awful.’
‘I feel awful,’ Kyndra groaned. She raised a hand to her forehead, trying to relieve its throbbing. There was something she needed to remember, but the dream kept getting in the way. Just thinking about it made her eyelids heavy.
‘Kyndra!’
She frowned at Jarand, still massaging her forehead. ‘Stop shouting, Jarand. What is it?’
Jarand stared at her, mouth open. ‘What’s the matter with you? You were supposed to be at the green half an hour ago.’
For a long moment, Kyndra gazed at him. Then, ‘The Ceremony!’ she cried, springing to her feet.
‘Steady,’ Jarand said. He retrieved the cushion that Kyndra had kicked off in her haste. ‘They haven’t started yet. Reena thought you’d already left, but I spotted your coat upstairs.’
‘Thanks, Jarand.’ Kyndra took it and rushed for the door. The common room was all but empty now. How could she have forgotten?
‘Good luck!’
Kyndra waved and bolted outside. Forcing her arms into the coat’s sleeves proved impossible in her dress. She thrust it under her arm and scooped up her skirt to leap puddles and potholes, running as fast as she dared towards the green. She arrived out of breath, ankles spattered with mud.
It looked like everyone in the Valleys was present. Kyndra edged through the crowd and made what she hoped was an inconspicuous dash to the group in the centre. Miraculously the rain had stopped, although vast, murky pools swamped the area. The earth was so wet that water oozed over her cramped boot toes.
‘What kept you?’
Jhren appeared beside her, dressed in his formal clothes. ‘I overslept,’ Kyndra said shortly, ignoring her friend’s startled laugh. She took a quick glance around. The Inheritors’ families stood in a semi-circle surrounding their sons and daughters. There were probably a few curious spectators here too, Kyndra thought, come to witness a local custom. Everyone’s gaze was fixed on a high-peaked tent in the centre of the green. The Relic Keeper stood in front of it, speaking, hands clasped on the waist of his robes.
‘… We receive these young people in the Ceremony of Inheritance, gifted us by our most precious artefact, a wonder of the ancient world. In this we honour the Relic!’
Cheers rang out among the watching people, accompanied by clapping and the slushy stamping of children’s feet. As the Keeper hoisted up his sodden robes and disappeared inside the tent, Kyndra’s fellow Inheritors mumbled, ‘We honour the Relic, the illuminator of our paths. We are thankful for its guidance.’ Kyndra opened her mouth to speak the words along with them, but her throat was strangely dry and nothing came out.
A sturdy man, in garb more practical than the Keeper’s, organized the Inheritors into an alphabetical line. Then he stood back and consulted his parchment. ‘Jane Abthal,’ he called.
A nervous girl Kyndra didn’t know shuffled her way to the tent. The man greeted her solemnly. With a last look over her shoulder, she slipped inside. It was only a few minutes before she emerged, pale-faced but smiling. She waved at the crowd. They cheered her, and the girl went to stand with some people Kyndra supposed were her family. She looked relieved.
The Inheritance continued in much the same way. As she moved slowly up the line towards the tent, Kyndra wondered why she hadn’t spoken the devotion. Perhaps Reena had not been as zealous as some parents in her attempts to make her understand the Relic’s importance, but she’d still grown up here. She had watched past Ceremonies with a child’s trusting eyes, standing in the safety of the crowd. She had copied the mumbled devotion out on paper when Jarand had taught her the letters. So why now – on the day it mattered most – had she not been able to speak it?
Kyndra tried to distract herself by searching for Jhren, but the press of Inheritors blocked her view. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Colta a few people behind. The girl waved when she saw Kyndra looking, but as the Ceremony progressed, Kyndra noticed that she chewed on her lower lip and her hands trembled.
‘Jhren Farr.’
Kyndra started at Jhren’s name and squinted at the tent just in time to see the blond boy flash an exultant smile. She waited nervously for Jhren to return, twisting one of the buttons on her coat.
The button came away in her hand and Kyndra hastily shoved it in a pocket. The noise of the crowd lifted. She raised her head to see her friend emerging from the tent.
‘I am Huran!’
Jhren yelled out his true name, his eyes brighter than ever, and the crowd shouted their pleasure. Kyndra could see Hanna and Havan right in the front. They stretched out their arms and clasped their nephew’s hands. Jhren met Kyndra’s eyes and Kyndra found she couldn’t bear the look of triumph on her friend’s face. Why did it all feel so wrong? Hadn’t she wanted this as much as Jhren?
With only nerves for company, Kyndra resigned herself to waiting. The Ceremony and the dream fought for dominance in her mind. Her fear might influence the Relic. Dreams were odd creatures, Jarand said; they usually told you things you already knew. Would her mother insist she accept her calling? She looked for her in the crowd. Reena’s red hair stood out against the drab mass of coats, but her face was wan. She looked as worried as Kyndra felt. Her eyes lifted to find her daughter in the dwindling group of Inheritors. She smiled and Kyndra did her best to smile back.
‘Eram Tyler.’
Kyndra found herself at the front of the line and wiped her hands on her coat. There were only nine Inheritors left. She kept her eyes on the tent entrance into which the last boy had just vanished. When the boy returned several minutes later, wearing a rather sick smile, Kyndra tried to slow her thundering heart.
‘Kyndra Vale.’
Kyndra took a deep breath and walked towards the tent. She felt the stares collect on her back. When she reached the entrance, she turned to look over her shoulder. The faces of the crowd merged, until they became a blurred mass of watchers. A strange thrill coursed through her and she looked closer. There was one face that remained separate, one face in the whole crowd whose features were clear. The breath froze in her lungs. Dark, almost pupil-less eyes found hers, burning beneath the shadow of a white cowl. Kyndra stared, mesmerized. None of her limbs would move. The man from the dream smiled then, a surprised stretching of his lips. He nodded once and, between moments, was gone.
‘Girl?’
The Keeper’s assistant was speaking to her. The crowd gazed at her curiously. Kyndra tore her eyes away and stumbled into the tent. Her heart pounded. I must have imagined it, she thought, staring numbly at her surroundings. The tent’s canvas walls stretched up to a pointed dome, supported by poles at each
corner. The Keeper sat behind a small table, which held only one object. Kyndra looked at the Relic.
It was a bowl – shallow and wide, as rumour alleged, but nothing like as wonderful. To Kyndra’s eyes, the Relic appeared distinctly ordinary, sitting there full of water.
‘Come, come.’ The Keeper gestured her to the stool in front of the Relic and Kyndra sat down. Sweat slicked her palms, but the tips of her fingers were cold.
‘As I said at the beginning of the Ceremony, I am Iljin, the current Relic Keeper. No doubt you have heard of me …?’
Kyndra nodded slowly, throat still too dry to speak.
‘When the Relic senses your approach, its appearance changes,’ the Keeper explained. ‘Through time spent in close proximity, I am able to witness this alteration.’A pompous light brightened his face. ‘The Relic has been thirty-five years in my keeping and I am considerably experienced in its use. You must place your hands on either side. Do not let go until I tell you. I shall interpret the water’s riddles.’
The Keeper looked from the grey bowl to Kyndra’s eyes. ‘Perhaps it’s a good omen that I have never seen the Relic adopt this likeness before.’
Kyndra frowned. Was that the truth? The dull bowl looked as grim to her as the leaden sky outside and a sense of foreboding arose, so strong that she began to believe she should not touch it. She drew back.
‘There is no need to be afraid,’ the Keeper assured her. ‘You will not be harmed.’ He clasped his weathered hands. There was nothing else to do. Kyndra reached out and took hold of the Relic.
It felt insubstantial and icy cold. She lifted it off the table without meaning to do so. A hum built in her ears, low at first, but growing higher and louder with every second. Was this supposed to happen? She saw the Keeper frown. The bowl darkened, becoming so unbearably cold that she let out a grunt of pain, but when she tried to drop it, she couldn’t pull her hands away. The water inside hissed and for a moment she saw a thousand pinpricks of light reflected in its depths. Then it hardened into crystals of steaming ice.
‘No!’ The Keeper threw himself forward, but it was too late. With a sharp crack, the great Relic shattered. Shards of ice ricocheted off the tent walls.
The pieces fell wetly from Kyndra’s stinging hands. Covered in chill fragments, she stared at them, unmoving. The silence that ensued, when the last reverberation of the hum had died away, stretched for endless moments. Then the old man gave a whimpering cry. His eyes shone with unshed tears.
‘What have you done?’ he wailed at Kyndra. ‘What have you done?’
2
A drum beat steadily in her veins. The Relic had broken into three uneven pieces. One lay in her lap; the other fragments had fallen onto the rush matting. Water had begun to ooze up from beneath and a damp smell filled the tent.
Kyndra felt as if she had been sitting on the hard stool for hours, staring at the remnants of the Relic. She couldn’t hear the crowd and thought for one wild moment everyone had gone. Something moved at the top of her vision. She looked up to see Iljin lowering himself onto hands and knees. Bones clicked and the old man winced. Kyndra watched him gather the two fragments slowly into his arms. Their shallow curves glistened wetly. The old man hugged the pieces, ignoring the moisture that seeped into his robes.
Kyndra slipped from the stool to kneel beside him. Small, half-smothered sobs came from the old man’s throat, his head bowed low over the broken bowl. Kyndra gingerly held out the fragment that had been in her lap. ‘Here,’ she muttered and thrust it forward. ‘I … I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry?’ Iljin lifted his head. Beneath the tear stains, his skin was corpse white.
Kyndra laid the fragment at the old man’s knees and backed away, hands coming up in front of her. ‘I didn’t mean it.’
Iljin looked from the spilled ice to Kyndra’s face and for a moment his eyes burned with suspicion. Then, ‘Stupid child!’ he cried, breaking the stare. ‘Why should you be sorry? How can I blame you for this?’
Kyndra said nothing.
‘What am I supposed to tell everyone? That a girl broke something made with the old powers? The Relic that has weathered five hundred years?’ He stumbled to his feet, cradling the fragments. ‘It’s inconceivable, impossible.’ His nose ran, but the old man didn’t seem to notice. He stared at Kyndra, mouthing uselessly. Then he began to stagger around the tent, until he found a large velvet pouch that had fallen under the table. The mouthing became a barely audible gabble. Iljin placed each piece of the Relic gently inside the bag.
Kyndra’s body began to shake. Her head felt light, just like the time she’d stayed out in the sun too long. She had skipped her chores to play with her friends, splashing in the streams that spilled out of the hills above Brenwym. The memory made her wish for a glass of icy water and she blearily thought of the crystals that had formed in the bowl before it broke. Maybe one was still lying around.
‘You –’ Iljin gripped Kyndra’s arm. The old man was surprisingly strong. ‘You are to say nothing about what happened here. Do you hear me? Not a word.’ He shook Kyndra until she nodded and pulled her arm free. The effort seemed to exhaust Iljin, who swayed then and grabbed at one of the tent poles.
‘I should have known,’ the old man whispered. His face slackened and Kyndra watched the blue eyes turn inward. ‘The Relic was ancient. I should have seen it coming … that grey colour a warning, and I missed it.’
She would never receive her life’s calling, Kyndra realized numbly. She would never know her true name. She felt a pang as she remembered Jhren’s happy shouts, Hanna’s wide smile as she welcomed her nephew into adulthood.
Kyndra bit her lip too hard and tasted blood. Roughly, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She’d been so worried about what the Relic might tell her, and now it would never speak again.
There were noises outside the tent. Someone raised their voice in a muffled question and Kyndra remembered the other Inheritors. They’d never receive their true names either. A cold sorrow settled in her stomach. Colta was one of them. Kyndra thought of the other girl’s excitement, of the way she had touched her dress. She thought of the anticipation that had brought light to her dark eyes. Colta could be difficult sometimes, but she was still Kyndra’s friend. She didn’t deserve this. ‘Can the Relic be mended?’ Kyndra asked hesitantly.
Iljin puffed out his chest and she braced herself for another tirade. ‘You can’t,’ the old man began angrily, but then he deflated. ‘I don’t know,’ he confessed in a broken voice. ‘I don’t believe so. Its power has probably leaked away.’
Moments passed in which it seemed to Kyndra that the old man would never move again. He leaned against the tent wall, clutching the velvet pouch, his eyes watery and distant. The noise of the crowd grew louder and finally Iljin straightened. ‘What am I going to do?’ he asked.
Before Kyndra had a chance to answer, the old man began to ramble. ‘I must tell them that the Relic was fragile. Yes. That I could sense its power waning, but didn’t realize it would break so soon. They have to believe there was nothing anyone could do.’
Iljin shuffled to the tent flap. He dragged a hand across his nose and looked at Kyndra. ‘Go out the back way. You must not call attention to yourself.’
‘What about the other Inheritors?’ Kyndra blurted, but Iljin swiftly pulled the canvas aside and stepped out.
Kyndra retreated. She hadn’t noticed the back flap, hidden behind the old man’s chair. She shoved the chair to one side and quickly undid the strings that held the canvas closed. Her fingers fumbled on the knots.
Outside, the sky was forbidding. It began to rain again. Large drops spattered Kyndra’s cheeks, but she ignored them, carefully peering around the side of the tent.
Although most families had left to escape the weather, there were at least fifty people still watching. Iljin seemed to be speaking, but Kyndra was on the wrong side of the wind and couldn’t hear.
Guilt dug at her. She felt its claws de
spite the old man’s claims about the Relic being old. What ill luck had chosen her to witness its destruction? To be the one holding it when it broke? She began to walk quickly, heading for the line of trees that marked the far edge of the green.
The past week’s anxiety suddenly resembled childish worry. She felt no relief at escaping the possibility of a future she didn’t want. The Inheritance was dead. The young people of the Valleys would have to be content with their birth names. They would have to choose their calling without the Relic’s guidance.
What if it was her fault?
Kyndra had almost reached the trees when a shout went up from the crowd. She quickened her pace. How long would it be before they realized it was her? Would anyone believe Iljin’s claim that the Relic had broken on its own?
It was no drier under the trees. The wind-shaken branches lashed her with old rain. Kyndra ploughed on until she caught sight of the road that curved back to town. Then she sat on a wet log and leaned against the tree behind. Though the wood felt damp through her dress, she dropped her coat on the ground and left it there.
Weeks of rain had melted the road into a wide, muddy track. Kyndra stared at the sodden ruts and felt an awful gloom seep into her. She watched the puddles deepen and let the minutes pass. She didn’t want to go back to the inn. She didn’t want to answer the inevitable questions.
A slapping, sucking sound made her look up. Kyndra wiped the rain from her face and peered through the murk. The sound came again, regular, growing louder. It was hoof beats, she realized. Someone was on the road.
She scrambled off the log and stepped back into the trees, but her movement had caught the rider’s attention. A male voice murmured and the hoof beats stopped. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Kyndra stepped out onto the road.