Besieged (The Outcast Chronicles)

by Rowena Cory Daniells

‘Hides herself away.’ Izteben nodded to himself. ‘What does Denat want with an old mine? He’s allergic to hard work.’

  Sorne grinned. ‘One way to find out.’

  ‘We’re not going down there. It’s dangerous.’

  ‘How do we know that?’ All his life, he had blindly accepted everything Scholar Oskane told him. No more. From now on, he would discover his own truths.

  ‘It was boarded up. Of course it’s dangerous.’ Izteben shook his head. ‘What’s gotten into you today? We should tell Oskane.’

  ‘Why tell Oskane, when we can catch Denat ourselves?’ Sorne could feel the Wyrd plait around his waist infusing his body with impatient energy. ‘Only the other day you were complaining that nothing ever happens.’

  ‘It would be good to surprise Denat,’ Izteben admitted. He grinned. ‘All right. But if we’re going down, we’ll need lanterns.’

  ‘And something to mark our path. String would do. Maybe some rope.’ Sorne brushed past him. ‘Come on. Everything we need is in the storerooms.’

  Together they walked down the path. Sorne threw open the storeroom door and they collected what they needed.

  Soon, they were back at the mine entrance with their supplies. The last thing Sorne had grabbed was a crowbar. He used it now to pry another plank of wood loose from the entrance.

  They bent double and stepped inside. Outside it had been mid-afternoon and sunny, if cool. Inside, aside from the single shaft of sunlight, it was dim.

  As soon as Sorne lit the lantern, the entrance of the mine was revealed.

  ‘I’d no idea it was so big,’ Izteben said.

  Sorne looked up. It was larger inside than the boarded-up entrance had led him to expect. Instead of gradually sloping downwards, the tunnel before them rose at a gentle incline. A small cart stood near them. ‘The penitents would have dragged the copper out in these.’

  Ahead, there was only darkness.

  Izteben looked to him. ‘How will we know which way he went?’

  Sorne took the lantern and held it low, searching the uneven floor. ‘Boot prints. Coming and going. Denat’s been here many times.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Maybe the mine is not played out.’

  ‘Then why board it up?’

  Sorne shrugged. He could feel the power in the plait tugging at him, urging him on. ‘Come on.’

  ‘SEND HIM IN,’ Oskane said.

  Oskane steepled his fingers as Franto ushered Denat in. The penitent had asked to speak to him, which was convenient, as Franto had complained again.

  ‘You’ve been with us since you were a lad of seven, and you’ve served us well.’ Behind Denat, Oskane saw Franto raise one eyebrow. ‘But Franto tells me you’ve been shirking your duties and disobeying–’

  ‘Disobeying? Don’t talk to me about disobeying. I just saw those half-bloods you’re so fond of break open the old mine and go down.’

  ‘What?’ Oskane sprang to his feet.

  Denat nodded. ‘Reckon they plan to steal from the church.’

  ‘When did they go down?’ Oskane asked. What if they went too deep? What if they disturbed the unclean site? All his work rearing them would be wasted.

  ‘Just now. I come straight here to tell you.’

  ‘Quick, there’s still time.’ Oskane brushed past Denat. Franto fell into step with him. ‘If we go after them right away, we can bring them back before...’

  ‘THERE’S MORE HERE.’ Sorne pointed to another section of wall, where there were fresh pick marks. He held his lantern higher. The stone gleamed.

  Izteben dug out a chunk with the little hammer. ‘Hmmm, pretty. Could be worth something. Do you think this is what Denat was after?’

  Sorne was sure of it, but he also wondered why the mine had been boarded up if it was not played out. Oskane was hiding something, and that infuriated him.

  ‘We should go back and show Oskane.’ Izteben glanced over his shoulder. ‘Why did we come so deep?’

  ‘Just a little further.’ Sorne was determined to discover what Oskane was trying to hide.

  They went on. There were carts sitting abandoned, some with rocks still in them, which was curious. Eventually the path narrowed and became more roughly hewn.

  ‘That’s it, we’re out of string,’ Izteben announced, sounding relieved.

  Sorne felt a pang of guilt. They should go back. But he’d been fooled all his life, and he wasn’t going to let anyone fool him again.

  ‘Through this gap.’ It was twice as tall as him and only a little wider. At the top, it leaned to one side like a drunken man.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Izteben muttered. ‘We can already prove what Denat’s been up to.’

  Sorne pushed through the gap and Izteben followed him, as he knew he would. A large empty cavern opened up before them. They stood on a broad ledge looking down at the floor, which sloped away from them in shallow undulations.

  ‘That’s it, nothing,’ Sorne said, going right to the edge of the ledge. His disappointed voice echoed across the chamber and back again. On the last echo, the air inside the cavern condensed, pressing in on his ears. A rushing filled his head.

  Izteben looked up in wonder. ‘What is it?’ His voice sounded flat and thin, and his breath misted. ‘Look at that. Why is it so cold all of a sudden?’

  Light didn’t seem to go as far. There was no sound but their rapid breathing. As Sorne listened, the plait around his waist seemed to throb in time to his heartbeat.

  ‘Sorne?’ Izteben jerked his arm. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Don’t tell me–’ He turned to brush off the restraining hand and lost his footing, falling from the ledge. His back stung with the impact as he felt his wounds open up. The lantern clattered across the floor, shockingly loud in the confined space. It came to rest not far from him, its wick still mercifully alight.

  Before his shirt could dry and stick to the open wounds, Sorne pulled it off.

  ‘What’s that around your waist?’ Izteben asked. ‘It looks like plaited hair, T’En hair.’ His voice grew tight with envy. ‘Was that what Oskane wanted to show you?’

  Sorne felt blood trickle down his back. He reached over his shoulder, flicking it off. The moment he did this, the air became too thick to breathe, and the far corner where the lantern lay grew dim.

  Izteben cursed and dropped to his knees, offering his hand. ‘Quick, Sorne.’

  The darkness spread towards them, rippling across the floor.

  Fear leant Sorne strength as he lunged for Izteben’s hand and pulled himself onto the ledge.

  As Sorne surged to his feet, the plait came undone, unwinding from around his waist, and he caught one end.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Oskane demanded, Franto at this side.

  Sorne spun around for one last look. As he did so, the braid swung out in his hand like a whip and something caught the other end. There was nothing that he could see, but the plait was pulled taut between them.

  ‘Drop it,’ Izteben urged.

  A jolt, like the slap of a winter gale, travelled down the braid. It stung his hand, flinging him onto his back.

  He felt his head collide with stone.

  The last thing he saw was the braid hanging in mid-air, glowing and writhing as if alive. A flash of light seared his eyes. And then he knew nothing.

  Chapter Nineteen

  SORNE WAS BEING rattled apart. A tall man with white hair led him up a slope. The man pointed to an army; leading them was a king with a battle-scarred face, his features obscured by a crested helmet. The king was wearing full armour and stood on a rise, highlighted against a sky filled with blue-black storm clouds. Pipers prepared to play a victory march. The bags produced strange, almost animalistic sounds as they filled with air. A shout of triumph rose from the battlefield, making Sorne’s heart swell with joy, and he glanced to his grim-faced guide, who turned towards him, revealing the other side of his face. There was no eye on that side, the skin was smooth. The white-haired man gestured,
pointing to the scene below.

  They weren’t storm clouds behind the king. It was the smoke of a burning city; the harbour beyond was littered with ships ablaze.

  Sorne woke with a jolt.

  He wanted the dream back. He wanted to be there with the warrior king, alive in that moment, sharing in the triumph. A moan of frustration escaped him.

  ‘Sorne, are you all right?’ Scholar Oskane leaned over him and he realised he lay in a mining cart.

  Izteben put the handles down then came back to him. ‘You’re awake. You were so cold and pale.’

  ‘I’m fine. I...’ He winced as he felt the lump on the back of his head and his hand came away sticky. He sat up. ‘Did I fall? Where’s my shirt?’ As soon as he said it, he remembered. A white flash filled his vision, and as it cleared he saw... the burning city, tattered standards, the warrior king.

  Sorne held out his hand and Izteben helped him climb out of the cart.

  ‘How could you?’ Oskane demanded. ‘How could you come down here when you knew it wasn’t safe?’

  ‘We wanted to find out what Denat was doing in the mine,’ Izteben said. He dipped into his pocket and produced the stone. ‘He’s been digging out–’

  ‘Green-eye stone,’ Franto said.

  ‘Malachite,’ Oskane corrected. The two of them shared a look that told Sorne he’d been right, they’d been withholding information about the mine. The realisation angered him.

  He shouldn’t be surprised. They’d been lying to him all his life. He blinked, and white light filled his vision again, clearing to reveal the... ‘Burning city. Pipers playing, the one-eyed man–’

  ‘The unclean site has stripped him of his wits,’ Franto muttered, dismayed.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my wits,’ Sorne insisted. ‘I saw...’

  ‘What did you see, Sorne?’ Oskane asked.

  ‘A dream...’ Embarrassed, he shrugged and went to walk off.

  Oskane stopped him. ‘I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw the T’En braid glow and revolve in the air. The records of unclean sites have never mentioned this before. Something extraordinary happened. What did you see?’

  ‘A warrior king on a battlefield. A grim, one-eyed man showed me a conquering king.’

  Oskane’s eyes widened. ‘Did the king have a scar here on his chin?’ He pointed to the side of his mouth.

  ‘How did you–’

  ‘It was King Charald!’ Oskane turned to Franto. ‘It was Charald, and the boy’s never seen him.’ He clasped Sorne’s free hand in both of his. ‘What else did you see?’

  ‘A burning city. Pipers prepared to play but, as they warmed up, their instruments sounded like wounded beasts. Everyone cheered. I felt it here.’ Sorne put his hand over his heart.

  ‘The pipers... he’s never heard them warm up, Franto. It must have been a vision sent by the gods,’ Oskane marvelled. ‘To think... all this time they were testing my faith while I looked for a sign. Here it is. And a battle won! But what battle? Where, Sorne?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Could you draw what you saw?’

  ‘I could try.’

  OSKANE’S HANDS SHOOK with excitement as he gave Sorne the paper, brushes and coloured inks to draw his vision. While Sorne worked, Oskane plucked a book of the Seven from the shelf and showed him an illustration of the Warrior god. ‘Did the one-eyed man look like this?’

  Sorne frowned. ‘He looked grim, and sort of familiar.’

  Aware of Izteben watching him, Oskane closed the book and paced. His mind raced. He’d scourged himself every day for forty years, yet the gods manifested for the half-bloods. A lesser man than he would feel resentful. He was grateful he’d lived long enough to see this. ‘When the T’En plait glowed and writhed on the air, it was a visible manifestation of the gods.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Izteben said. ‘Why did the Warrior god want the T’En plait?’

  It was a good question. Oskane paced, his mind racing. ‘The T’En deny the existence of the gods. They think they are as good as gods themselves, thanks to their gifts. But their very existence is an insult to the Seven. For hundreds of years, scholars have been trying to work out why the T’En have power that should belong to...’

  He stopped as a thought struck him. ‘What if their power was originally stolen from the gods? The gods would seek to recover it. They’d look for ways to...’ Everything fell into place. ‘The unclean sites! Our people had been shunning them for hundreds of years because they disappeared or went mad when they ventured into them. Of course True-men lose their wits when confronted with the Seven. Their minds cannot encompass the magnificence of the gods. But this time, purely by chance, the half-bloods offered the gods what they wanted. When Sorne gave them the T’En artefact, he returned a portion of their stolen power, so they rewarded him with a vision.’

  A wave of relief made Oskane feel light-headed. All his life he had been searching for answers and now, finally, it all made sense. He turned around to find Sorne studying his drawing. ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘It doesn’t do it justice. I felt like I was really there, filled with wonder, joy and triumph. The sky was black with smoke from the burning port. The banners snapped in the wind. I could almost see the symbol on the city flag.’

  ‘Let me see.’ Oskane accepted the drawing, which was crudely done, though the king in his armour was instantly recognisable. ‘We have no enemies in Chalcedonia other than... Could it be the Wyrd city?’

  Sorne frowned. ‘I could see a bay and the sea beyond. There were ships burning.’

  ‘Not their city, then.’ That was disappointing.

  ‘I’ll work on it some more. The more I draw, the more it comes back to me.’

  ‘Yes, you do that.’ Oskane returned the drawing, dismissed Izteben and stepped into the outer chamber. ‘Did you find Denat, Franto?’

  ‘His things are gone. He must have run away when he sent us into the mine.’

  ‘Sly little thief,’ Oskane muttered. Yesterday this would have been a tragedy. Today it was only an inconvenience. ‘He’s stolen from the church, and he knows too much. Find Denat and kill him. Bring the malachite back here.’

  Franto nodded. It was not the first time he had killed in the service of the Seven.

  ‘I’ll send a message to the king, to meet me at Enlightenment Abbey.’

  SORNE WAS HUNGRY. The smell of onions and mushrooms frying made his stomach rumble. It was full dark, and he’d been drawing by the light of the lamp for what felt like ages. He sat back to look at his work.

  ‘Finished?’ Scholar Oskane asked.

  ‘For now. More may come back to me.’ Sorne wondered how much he had filled in from his imagination. ‘May I go now? I’m hungry.’

  ‘Yes, go.’

  He came to his feet and offered obeisance before heading for the door.

  ‘And Sorne?’

  ‘Yes, scholar?’

  ‘Was the braid all that you stole from my bed chamber?’

  Sorne blushed. ‘Yes, scholar.’

  Oskane’s eyes narrowed. ‘Very well. But if I find you have been into my things again, I’ll... I’ll bring Valendia in here and scourge her.’

  ‘But she’s innocent.’

  ‘Then you had better make sure you’re innocent, too. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, scholar.’ Sorne kept his eyes lowered to hide the hatred that burned in him.

  Over in the stable, his mother... Hiruna would have something set aside for him, but he didn’t go across the courtyard. Instead, he headed down to the she-Wyrd’s cell. The light of the two moons pierced the small, high windows.

  In a dark corner, he could just make out the gleam of her eyes. He found he was angry with her and didn’t know why. Maybe it was because she’d been warning him for years not to trust Oskane, and now she’d been proven right.

  ‘Is it true the T’En have no gods?’ he asked

  ‘The T’Enatuath, that’s what we call ourselves,
the full-bloods and the half-bloods, and yes. We have no gods.’

  ‘The True-men believe in the Seven.’

  ‘If one man believes something crazy, he is crazy. If ten thousand men believe it, then it must be true?’

  ‘Of course not, but how can you be sure there are no gods?’

  ‘When a True-man sees something he doesn’t understand, he sees the gods at work, but everything follows laws, even if we don’t understand them yet.’

  ‘Who made the laws?’

  ‘You think like a True-man.’

  ‘What do you know of unclean sites?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘There’s one here, deep in the mine. It’s why the retreat was abandoned. Back when we first came here, Scholar Oskane ordered the entrance boarded up to hide it.’

  The Wyrd woman left her bedding and crept over to the bars. Her hair was loose on her shoulders, down to her thighs again. She wore a thin shift, and her arms were pale in the moonlight. She smelled different tonight. Sweet. ‘If I tell you what I know, can you get me another button?’

  ‘He showed you the button?’ Sorne was shocked and surprised she would admit to craving T’En power.

  ‘He gave it to me.’

  ‘What do the T’En say about unclean places?’

  ‘You’ll get me another button?’

  ‘If I can. If I touch his things again he threatened to use the lash on...’ Sorne still found it hard to believe.

  ‘On Valendia.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘When I first came here, he threatened to kill you and Izteben, if I didn’t teach you the T’En language.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘He never meant it. I know that now, although I would not be surprised if he has ordered the deaths of others.’ She gripped the bars. ‘You know you are as much a prisoner as I am.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m valued. I have visions.’

  She snorted. ‘Only the T’En have visions, and only a very select few. Sometimes a seer or a scryer isn’t born for a hundred years or more.’

  ‘About the unclean sites...’