Starborn

by Lucy Hounsom

  Two horses stood side by side. She had only expected one. The riders had their cloaks pulled tight and heavy cowls hid their faces. One of the figures sat lower in the saddle and, after exchanging a whisper with the other, drew back her hood. Her companion threw off his own cowl. He seemed tall, though slightly built, with ragged dark hair.

  The woman turned and Kyndra sucked in a breath. Her gaze was blank and unseeing, a winter-sky white. ‘Girl,’ she said imperiously and Kyndra jumped, ‘the town Brenwym is how far from here?’

  ‘A mile … half a mile or so down the road,’ Kyndra stammered. The woman’s answering smile contained little warmth and she continued to pin Kyndra with her white, pupil-less eyes. They seemed to glow against the backdrop of dim woodland.

  Then without another word, she heeled her mount, drawing the hood back over her pale hair. The man nodded at Kyndra, whispered a word of command to his own dappled horse and trotted slowly off. Mud sucked at the animals’ hooves, causing the odd sound Kyndra had heard earlier. Uneasily, she watched them leave. It was not a good time for strangers.

  The wind wailed, urging her home before the riders arrived in town. Kyndra snatched her coat and picked up her pace, jogging alongside the swollen river and through a curtain of willows. A gloomy twilight shadowed Brenwym. The old boots pinched her toes and the blue dress stifled her like a shroud. Mist crept over the riverbank and Kyndra broke into a clumsy run.

  She was soaked by the time she reached the back door of the inn. Kyndra slipped into the hall, hoping no one was there. Water dripped from the hem of her dress. Shivering, she headed for the stairs.

  ‘Kyndra!’

  Kyndra groaned silently. Not Jhren, not now.

  ‘I’ve been searching all over for you.’

  She turned. Jhren looked as wet as she did. Rain beaded on the fine wool of his trousers and his hair lay flat against his head.

  ‘You were in the tent when it happened,’ he said, as if he couldn’t bring himself to mention the Relic by name.

  Kyndra stared at him, wondering what to say. If Jhren told Colta, and he would, then every young person would know within the hour. It was inevitable. She sighed and dropped down to sit on the rough boards of the stairs. Jhren came to sit beside her.

  ‘There isn’t much to tell,’ she began, avoiding her friend’s eyes. ‘I just did what the Keeper told me to … and then it broke.’

  ‘Surely there’s more,’ Jhren said, and Kyndra caught a strange hint of desperation in his voice. ‘What did it look like? Were there cracks in it?’

  ‘No.’ Kyndra kept her voice low. ‘It was plain, kind of ordinary. The Keeper told me to put my hands on it, but when I did, I couldn’t let go.’ The memory of that awful hum came back to her and she swallowed, aware that Jhren was hanging on her every word. ‘The water inside turned to ice,’ she whispered, ‘and it broke. The Keeper said it can’t be mended.’

  Her hands trembled, perhaps remembering the pain of the chilled Relic. However, they were unmarked. Jhren was very still beside her. She knew he was watching her; she could feel the intensity of his gaze.

  ‘It broke when you were holding it?’

  Kyndra winced. ‘The Keeper thought it was weakening,’ she said quickly. ‘It was just an unlucky coincidence.’

  Jhren was silent. She thought she sensed a change in him but when he spoke, his voice was level. ‘So you never received your Inheritance?’

  Kyndra glanced at him. ‘No,’ she answered shortly. ‘Listen, Jhren. How many people know it was me?’

  Jhren shook his head, as if stirring from a reverie. ‘Everyone started shouting, so it’s hard to say. I saw Reena.’ He paused. ‘It was weird, Kyn, her face. Almost as if she’d expected something to happen – or dreaded it.’

  ‘Great,’ Kyndra said roughly. She stood, intending to go upstairs, but Jhren caught her hand. Startled, she turned to look at him as he rose.

  ‘You’ll never know your true name,’ he said with a strange catch in his voice. ‘You’ll never know what you were born to do.’

  Kyndra frowned at him. ‘Colta won’t either.’

  ‘I don’t care about Colta.’

  His hand was hot on hers. She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Jhren, I—’

  ‘I don’t understand you, Kyn. Aren’t you upset? Worried? What are you going to do?’

  She stared at him, her frown deepening. ‘I don’t know. Of course I’m worried. But I don’t want to think about it just now. I want to go upstairs—’

  ‘And do what? Pretend nothing’s happened?’ Jhren’s grip tightened. A flush rose up in his cheeks like flame. ‘I don’t want you to be alone, Kyn. You need people around you at a time like this. You need your friends. You need me.’

  Kyndra snatched her hand away. ‘I don’t need you,’ she said fiercely. ‘I don’t need anyone. I’m fine.’

  Her rebuff only served to encourage him, for Jhren seized both of her arms and pulled her down a step. Unprepared, Kyndra gasped and fell against him. ‘Shush,’ she heard him say, close to her ear. ‘Just listen a moment.’

  ‘Let go, Jhren.’

  ‘Please, Kyn. I …’ He released her arms and stood there, breathing heavily. Kyndra retreated, her own wild heartbeat in her ears. What was wrong with him?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jhren said. He took a deep breath. ‘It’s just that … I want you to know you can always rely on me, that I’ll always be here for you.’ He made as if to touch her face, but she jerked back. Jhren dropped his hand. ‘You don’t have a name, or a future. I do. I can support us both—’

  ‘Stop.’ His words woke a cold fury in her. ‘I do have a name. It’s Kyndra. And I have a future. I may not know what it is yet, but an old, broken bowl isn’t going to take it away from me! And neither are you.’

  Jhren stiffened. ‘Don’t be stupid, Kyn. I’m not trying to take your future. I’m trying to give you one.’

  ‘I don’t want your future!’ she shouted at him and watched the words hit like a slap. Without waiting for his response, she turned and ran up the stairs, her dress catching under her heels. Just before she reached the top, the material snagged on a nail and she felt the hem tear. With a dry sob, she hurled herself into the attic. Jhren was still standing where she’d left him when she turned to slam the door.

  Clenching her teeth against a howl, Kyndra threw the bolt and then all but ripped off the dress. She yanked a shirt and trousers down from the rafters. They were damp. She put them on and then lay on her bed, fighting the whirl of feelings in her chest. That Jhren could think … that he would ask— No, she wouldn’t spend another minute on him. Nostalgia, sharp and wistful, seized her and she yearned for those lost years when they were both just children, running over the fields. How had everything gone so wrong?

  She let her thoughts drift to the rhythm of the rain and slowly they calmed. Her clothes warmed. The Ceremony had driven this afternoon’s dream right out of her mind, she realized. Now it rushed back, vivid and compelling. It beckoned. Her eyelids grew heavy. She didn’t want to close them in case the man with the black gaze returned. To think she’d seen him in the crowd …

  Kyndra struggled to focus on the solid wooden beam above her head. The rain pounded and her heart beat, twin drums whose rhythm set a pace for her walk up the hill.

  … She doesn’t know where to go. The air is blinding; light shines behind her, above her, all around. She can’t get away from it, so she walks up the hill, watching red earth pass beneath her feet. The light hounds her to the crest and, instead of the village in the next valley, she sees a towering citadel, a fortress of sun. Its spires are bright fingers pointing skyward …

  ‘Kyndra!’

  The wooden beam was back. Kyndra jerked upright.

  ‘Are you up there?’

  ‘Yes!’ she called and then gasped and clutched her head, trying to halt its spinning. When she heard footsteps on the stairs, she stood up unsteadily and unbolted the door. Jarand came in.

  They stared at each ot
her for a few moments before Jarand awkwardly moved to grasp her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about your Inheritance,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘Reena told me you never left the tent. No one could have guessed that the Relic would fail after all these years.’

  The words sounded rehearsed and Kyndra didn’t have a reply. Jarand sighed and took his hand away. ‘It’s going to be crowded tonight,’ he said apologetically. ‘We could really use your help downstairs, but if you need to be alone …’

  You need people around you at a time like this. You need your friends. You need me –

  ‘It’s fine, Jarand,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll only think about it if I stay up here.’

  Jarand smiled faintly. ‘I promise we’ll make time to talk. But for now –’ he shrugged – ‘business must go on. I was wondering whether you’d help me bring in those cider casks outside the back door.’

  Kyndra pulled on her own high boots, now mercifully drier, and followed Jarand downstairs. He was doing his best to understand, she thought, but she knew he didn’t. No outsider could understand the Relic and what its absence would do to the Valleys. Not even Jarand.

  When she reached the bottom, her head swam and she grabbed at the wall.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Jarand studied her. ‘You’re pale.’

  Kyndra nodded. ‘Just overtired, I guess.’

  ‘We won’t keep you late.’

  She went outside, Jarand on her heels. The chill air of evening felt good on her skin and Kyndra slowly exhaled. How much could change in a few hours. Even though she had no true name and no certain path ahead of her, she felt her childhood slipping away.

  Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Kyndra shifted the last cask into place and straightened with a groan. She dusted down her hands and climbed the stone steps that led to the brightly lit kitchen. It was heavy with the aroma of roasting meat and her stomach rumbled.

  Halfway across the room, one of the two cooks who worked the kitchen on busy nights swooped down on her, an apron dangling from stained fingers. Kyndra sighed and took it. A long evening of waiting tables loomed ahead. So no dinner yet, she thought glumly. She looked through the archway that led into the common room and saw with dread that the place was full.

  ‘Kyndra.’

  Reena stood beside her, balancing a tray on the palm of one hand. She gently touched Kyndra’s face with the other. ‘I am so sorry.’

  Kyndra looked away. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ her mother said. Damp strands of hair clung to her cheek. ‘I always hoped this day would turn out right for you.’ Her eyes were distant and Kyndra abruptly remembered Jhren’s words about Reena expecting something to happen at the Ceremony.

  ‘I hoped …’ Reena blinked and shifted her fingers on the tray. ‘We’ll talk about it, you, me and Jarand. We’ll talk as soon as the night is done.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  Reena’s eyes were kind. ‘Yes there is,’ she said and Kyndra had a sudden urge to bury her face in her mother’s neck, as she had done as a child.

  Reena smiled at her. ‘Things will work out.’ She turned away then, but not before Kyndra heard her mutter, ‘Perhaps it’s for the best.’

  Before Kyndra could ask what she meant, Reena nodded her head at the common room. ‘I see a few people waiting to order.’ She stepped back to let a cook add another plate to her tray.

  Kyndra nodded. Now wasn’t the time to discuss it. Her mother moved off and she followed in her wake, taking orders for food and juggling plates and cups. She immersed herself in the familiar routine and tried to put the Relic from her thoughts.

  On top of her serving and clearing duties, Reena encouraged her to sell wine by the cask wherever she could. Over the last few years, Kyndra had developed an eye for spotting likely customers. She remembered one occasion several months ago when they’d over-ordered on Serean Red, a wine made in the sour lands south of the Valleys. Nobody had shown much interest in buying or trading for it, so Kyndra had simply removed its label and pretended it came from somewhere more unusual. Even when customers asked to taste it, the deception had worked surprisingly well.

  Although her mother was grateful for the extra coins when business was slow, Kyndra hoped Reena never found out exactly how she’d earned them. Now, as she scanned the heaving room, looking for likely customers, Kyndra spotted her mother returning from a table in the corner. Hands full with steaming bowls, she beckoned Kyndra over with a jerk of her chin.

  ‘Kyndra, could you serve those people their drinks?’ she said briskly, balancing the food. ‘That small table there. They want wine.’ She paused, eyeing the table she’d mentioned. ‘Fetch goblets,’ she said quietly, ‘and choose something nice. They’re strangers here.’

  Kyndra found the goblets and dusted them off. They were cut-glass and only ever used for special occasions. She chose their best white wine from the cold cellar and hurried back to the common room. As she approached the dim table, she noticed that one of the strangers had pulled up their cloak, despite the heat from the fire. The man sitting opposite was uncloaked, but faced away. A prickling began on Kyndra’s skin.

  ‘Wine?’ Her voice sounded loud in the silence surrounding the strangers.

  The man nodded, but didn’t look up. A couple of coins already lay on the tabletop, more than enough to cover the wine. Wondering whether she should just pour it and go, Kyndra’s curiosity got the better of her. She only wanted to see their faces.

  Her eyes alighted on the flask she held. It was risky. She couldn’t trust the strangers not to have visited some of the places she usually claimed her wine was from, so she chose another city and smiled, knowing they would not have heard of this one.

  ‘We keep a good lot of wine and ale here,’ she said casually, ‘all of which is for sale by the cask.’ She paused, but neither stranger moved. ‘I thought you might be interested in this?’ She proffered the flask. ‘It’s one of our best, distilled in the golden vineyards of Calmarac.’ Calmarac was a city she’d discovered in a book about Acre.

  The table’s silence grew to surround Kyndra and so too, it seemed, did its circle of darkness. The cloaked figure looked up and for the second time that day, white eyes pierced her.

  The man turned. ‘Calmarac?’ The beginnings of a smile pulled at his mouth.

  Kyndra felt like a rabbit caught in a predator’s stare. The blind woman held her and she could not seem to move. ‘Now,’ the man said. He held a shabby volume in one hand and shook it at Kyndra’s canvas-wrapped flask. ‘If that wine were truly Calmaracian, I’d eat this book.’

  3

  Kyndra watched, stunned, as the stranger leaned forward and took the flask from her hands. He popped out the stopper and splashed wine into his goblet.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, after a sip, ‘even if it is only Ilbaran.’ His voice was like music, or barely restrained laughter. Kyndra winced, thinking of the Ilbaran stamp on the crate downstairs. She felt her cheeks redden.

  ‘What is your name, girl?’

  The woman’s tone was quiet, but this didn’t disguise the iron that laced it. She placed a hand on the tabletop. Kyndra stared at it in an effort to avoid her gaze. ‘Kyndra,’ she said. The hand was slim without being delicate and the nails bore a peculiar silvery sheen.

  ‘Kyndra,’ the man repeated and she looked up at him. He had the greenest eyes she had ever seen, like a shady, summer forest. ‘I am called Nediah and the lady you see is Brégenne. We are … historians, you see.’ He quirked his lips in a smile.

  Historians. Kyndra groaned silently. Just my luck.

  ‘Will you sit for a few minutes?’ the woman asked politely. ‘We don’t meet many young people interested in Acre.’

  Kyndra sat down warily, wondering whether she detected condescension. There was a kind of stern beauty about Brégenne, though her smile barely crinkled her eyes. They glowed faintly too, like snow under night sky. With her white-blond hair, she looked like a ghost.

&n
bsp; ‘Jarand’s a historian – my stepfather,’ Kyndra said to break the fresh silence. Jarand was an innkeeper, but Kyndra was sure he’d be a historian if he had the means. Acre fascinated them both.

  ‘Ah,’ Brégenne said, ‘and is he well-schooled in the history of your land?’

  She was mocking her. ‘Jarand owns the oldest text anywhere in the Valleys,’ Kyndra said irritably. She didn’t care whether this was true; the strangers wouldn’t know.

  ‘And that would be …?’ the man prompted, peering into her face.

  ‘My book on Acre.’

  ‘Your book?’ Nediah raised an eyebrow and Kyndra’s cheeks grew hotter.

  ‘Well, Jarand doesn’t have much time to read these days, so I do his reading for him.’ When neither stranger replied, she admitted reluctantly, ‘It’s not exactly history. More … stories. But a few of the words are in the language of Acre.’

  ‘Acrean?’ Brégenne sat up straighter. ‘You can read it?’

  ‘Only a little,’ Kyndra replied. She probably shouldn’t have said anything. She didn’t know these people and she certainly didn’t trust them, yet there was something compelling about Brégenne and her white, haunted eyes.

  ‘Might I ask a favour?’ Brégenne said, leaning back in her chair. ‘I understand that you do not know us, nor can you place your trust in our discretion. But our principal interest is our work and if you have a remnant of a text, a detail on some part of Acre, we would very much like to see it.’

  Kyndra looked from her to Nediah. She’d never spoken to anyone about Acre except Jarand. Nobody was interested. For the first time, she wondered how much her book was worth. It had no value in Brenwym, but she knew next to nothing about the rest of the world. Perhaps it was rare.

  ‘All right,’ she decided. Her head felt a bit light from all the pipe smoke and it would be good to sit down a while. She rose from the bench.

  ‘Thank you.’ Nediah smiled at her. ‘I promise we won’t keep you long from your work.’

  Kyndra glanced back at their table as she headed for the window seat and saw Brégenne whispering into Nediah’s ear. The man’s eyes widened.