Besieged (The Outcast Chronicles)

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Already the brotherhoods were pouring into the buildings overlooking the park, to claim their places on the verandahs.

  Several dozen Malaunje stood at the entrance to the park, holding formal invitations to join a sisterhood for the afternoon. One approached All-father Paragian.

  He consulted his devotee, then sent her off with an escort.

  ‘There,’ Kyredeon said, startling Graelen. ‘That is the kind of moment you were supposed to watch for.’

  ‘We could not know Paragian would be invited–’

  ‘His son’s choice-mother is the healer, Reoden. She has a daughter about a year older who is being empowered today. The healer sees the best in everyone, so she invited Paragian to join her. You should know all this, and should have anticipated her actions. You’re no use to me if you can’t think for yourself.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Graelen acknowledged. ‘But I’m not a master strategist like you.’

  Kyredeon gave him a sharp look.

  ‘All-father, the dome’s doors have just opened. You won’t believe what I –’ Hand-of-force Athamyr broke off when he saw Graelen.

  ‘Go on,’ Kyredeon said.

  ‘Reoden’s daughter is a sacrare. The empowerer–’

  ‘A sacrare?’ Graelen repeated. ‘Why didn’t the healer announce it when the child was born?’

  ‘She must have told the all-mothers. They weren’t surprised,’ Athamyr said. ‘The empowerer said the girl would be a gift-wright.’

  ‘Not surprising, considering her mother’s a healer.’ Kyredeon’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘A sacrare has the potential for great power. If the girl will be able to heal gifts, then she’ll also be able to destroy them. She’ll be even more deadly than Imoshen the All-father-killer. Who was the father?’

  ‘He wasn’t invited.’

  Kyredeon nodded and gestured to the stairs. ‘You go ahead. I’ll be up in a moment.’

  Athamyr hesitated as if he would like to argue, then nodded and left.

  ‘Do you want me to follow the devotee?’ Graelen asked.

  ‘Forget Paragian,’ Kyredeon said. ‘Think. Why did the healer hide the identity of the sacrare’s father?’

  ‘Reoden must feel something for him. He’s not just a casual trysting partner.’

  ‘Exactly. I want to know who he is. I want you and Paryx to abduct the sacrare. Reoden will contact the father.’

  Graelen swallowed. ‘What will knowing the father’s identity achieve?’

  ‘When you know what someone wants, you can control them.’

  Graelen nodded. But the more he thought about it, the more he didn’t like it. ‘Abducting the sacrare girl... that’s poking a nest of snakes. The all-mothers will strike back.’

  ‘They would if they knew who to strike. Besides...’ Kyredeon shrugged. ‘We won’t hurt her. We’ll let her go in the free quarter. Make it look like someone took her in a misguided attempt to claim stature. But in the meantime, we will have flushed out the sacrare’s father.’

  IMOSHEN HID HER excitement, keeping her gift tightly reined. She’d never been backstage in the brotherhood’s theatre before. After five days of festivities, the celebrations were winding down, and Rutz’s latest play had been performed for the last time tonight. She’d watched it herself two nights ago, and now she wanted to confront the playwright and ask him if he knew he’d written a tragedy. If he was aware of it, then it meant that one other person could see their society’s flaws. And she would have someone to talk to.

  Imoshen had snuck backstage after the curtain had fallen for the final time. Dressed as a Malaunje woman, she waited to take the costumes to be laundered.

  Imoshen the All-father-killer could not go many places in the free quarter without being recognised and remarked upon. Imariska, the Malaunje washer woman, could go just about anywhere. To most T’En, the half-bloods were invisible.

  Frayvia had made the disguise for her, and though it was convincing, Imoshen was afraid that it would be her gift that would give her away. She would have to use it to identify Rutz, but she was hoping, in all the excitement, one brief flash of her power would go unnoticed.

  As she gathered discarded costumes, she listened in on the actors’ conversations but she didn’t spot anyone likely to be Rutz.

  Disappointed, Imoshen took the last washing basket out to the cart, where the real washerwoman waited to do her job.

  ‘Was it as thrilling as you thought it would be?’ the woman asked, amused.

  ‘They’re smelly and they shout a lot.’

  The woman laughed and flicked the reins, carting the laundry away.

  But Imoshen had not given up. She waited outside the theatre as the actors and stagehands left. Several of them talked of meeting at a late-night eatery to celebrate the play’s success. Surely Rutz would go to that?

  She waited a little longer, just in case Rutz had stayed behind, and was about to step out of the shadows when two T’En men arrived. They opened the stage door and slipped inside.

  Thinking one of them had to be Rutz, Imoshen followed. Inside the theatre, a few high windows let in the moonlight, but for the most part Imoshen had to find her way in darkness. The men she was following were so quiet that she lost track of them. They were not in the auditorium, so she made her way through the wings and into the backstage area, hoping to search the dressing rooms. At the far end of the corridor she thought she saw a glow. Was that smoke? Had someone left a candle burning, or knocked over a lamp?

  She ran down the passage, to find the largest dressing room alight. Her gift rose, responding to the threat. Grabbing a discarded cloak, she covered her face with one arm, and tried to beat out the flames, but soon realised it was futile.

  The facade of the building was stone, but the rest was dry, old wood. The theatre would go up like a bonfire. She had to find Rutz and his shield-brother to warn them.

  Even with her sleeve over her face, she struggled to get enough air as she ran up the stairs. The auditorium was also ablaze and she realised that this was no accident. The men she’d been following must have set the fire.

  Imoshen fled for the stage door, burning curtains falling around her and flaming cinders raining down. Her gift tried to rise. Her wig caught fire; she tore it off and kept running.

  The stage door refused to open. In desperation she retraced her steps through the stage wings towards the auditorium and the front door, but a piece of burning scenery toppled, driving her back. She was trapped.

  Her gift surged, turning her inside-out, and she fell to her knees, stomach heaving.

  Dashing tears from her eyes, she lifted her head.

  ‘Imoshen?’

  ‘Frayvia?’ She blinked, finding herself naked in her devotee’s bedchamber.

  Frayvia sat up, revealing a Malaunje male on the other side of her bed. Imoshen recognised her devotee’s casual trysting partner. Frayvia sent him off with a kiss and the admonishment to say nothing, as Imoshen tried to make sense of what had just happened to her.

  ‘You’re covered in soot and you smell of smoke,’ Frayvia said as soon as they were alone. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘The theatre burned down.’

  ‘That’s terrible. How many were killed?’

  ‘None. I was the last one out. I’m sorry, I lost your hair. The wig caught fire.’

  ‘Forget the wig. I’m just glad you’re safe. You’re in such a state, how did you get into the sisterhood palace without being noticed?’

  ‘Just lucky, I guess.’ Imoshen came to her feet. She was all right now, but tired, as if she had pushed her gift to its limits.

  ‘Where are your clothes? Did they get burned?’

  ‘They’re gone.’

  ‘You threw them out? Good. Come to the bathing chamber.’

  As Imoshen followed Frayvia, she felt tiny burns all along her forearms and neck. No point denying it; her gift had taken over and saved her. It had brought her back here, to Frayvia, because she was linked to her devote
e.

  How much time had passed? While Frayvia ran her bath, Imoshen padded to the window and opened it. Below her, in the free quarter, the theatre was well alight. Someone had finally raised the alarm, and she heard shouts.

  ‘Imoshen, what are you doing?’ Frayvia beckoned. ‘Come here and clean up. If someone comes in and finds you like this, there will be questions.’

  Imoshen sank into the tub, wincing at the burns. Frayvia dropped her gown and climbed in with her. As her devotee began soaping her body, Imoshen said, ‘I can do this, you know.’

  Frayvia ignored her. ‘Your hair smells of smoke. Lean back.’

  She relaxed as Frayvia’s competent fingers went to work. So tired...

  ‘I dreamed I was shut in a burning building,’ Frayvia told her. ‘I woke and there you were. I knew no good would come of gallivanting around in disguise. Rinse.’

  Imoshen did as she was told, and Frayvia began to comb her hair.

  ‘This was an attack on Kyredeon,’ Imoshen said. ‘His brotherhood owns the theatre. Someone hated him enough to destroy a piece of the T’Enatuath’s heritage.’

  ‘Better a building than a person.’

  ‘It’s a warning.’

  Frayvia struggled to hold back a yawn and failed. ‘Don’t know why I’m so tired.’

  ‘You’re very good to me.’ Imoshen kissed her cheek. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

  Her devotee sniffed.

  GRAELEN HAD NEVER seen Kyredeon so angry.

  He paced, spitting out his words. ‘One of the oldest building in the city, burned to the ground. Three adjoining buildings damaged. Chariode’s eatery will have to be demolished. It was deliberate, I know it was, but I can’t prove it. The all-fathers are claiming it was negligence on our part that started the fire. Three brotherhoods claiming compensation. We’ll be beggared.’

  Paryx gave Graelen a worried look.

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ Graelen asked.

  ‘Mingle in the free quarter, get drunk with other brotherhoods. Keep your ears open. Someone won’t be able to resist boasting. One of my enemies did this to cripple my stature. I want to know who and, when I do, I will geld him. I’ll assassinate his lovers and I’ll see his brotherhood ruined. He’ll rue the day he attacked me.’

  Graelen nodded.

  ‘Get drunk in the free quarter,’ Paryx grinned. ‘Wish all my duties were–’

  He gave a grunt of surprise as Kyredeon grabbed him and slammed him up against the wall.

  Paryx gulped.

  Kyredeon let his gift rise on a wave of anger. ‘I could break your walls, drain you and hand you over to my followers for their entertainment.’

  Paryx shuddered and dropped his eyes.

  Kyredeon released him. ‘Get out.’

  As Graelen stepped towards the door Kyredeon added, ‘And don’t forget the sacrare. I want to know when she’s unguarded.’

  ‘She’s never unguarded. Reoden hardly ever lets her venture into the free quarter.’

  ‘Nevertheless, keep watching. Everyone makes mistakes.’

  When they were alone, Paryx turned to Graelen. ‘What’s this about the sacrare? Why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me?’

  Graelen rubbed his face in frustration. ‘Kyredeon wants us to abduct the sacrare and release her, to gain stature.’

  Paryx shrugged. ‘So, what’s the problem?’

  Graelen said nothing. Once, Paryx had been cautious, but now his thinking was sloppy, and so was his gift control. In fact...

  ‘Open your gift to me.’

  Paryx frowned, anger hardening his mouth. ‘Isn’t it a little late for that? Once, we could have been shield-brothers. Once, we could have lived with honour. Now...’ He pulled away from Graelen.

  But not before Graelen caught a glimpse of his gift. He was no gift-wright, but... ‘There’s something wrong with–’

  Paryx thrust Graelen away with trembling hands. His gift was corrupted, fouled by the turmoil in his mind. ‘I’m not like you. I can’t go on like this. Always afraid, always on edge.’

  ‘We can’t leave. We know too many of Kyredeon’s secrets.’

  ‘Oh, yes. And whose fault is that?’ Paryx turned on his heel and strode off.

  Graelen exhaled slowly. He didn’t know what to do, so he did the one thing he was good at; he did his duty.

  ‘YOU’RE LATE.’

  ‘Sorry. I was finishing this.’ Imoshen handed Vittoryxe the latest breeding chart.

  The gift-tutor took it, looked it over and put it aside. ‘I don’t know why you bother to make up such detailed charts.’

  ‘What are we doing today?’

  They worked side by side in silence for a while, before Imoshen said, ‘I read about an unusual gift-working, and now I can’t remember where I read it.’

  ‘Hmmm?’ Vittoryxe was distracted, making notes on her new acquisition’s measurements and distinguishing markings. ‘What was it?’

  ‘It spoke of the T’En using the gift to move from one place to another instantaneously.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  Impossible, like it was impossible for T’En to have more than one gift? But Imoshen held her tongue.

  Vittoryxe finished her notes. ‘Put the bird back and get out the next one.’

  Imoshen obeyed her. She was good with the birds. They responded to her confidence. She could feel the racing heart of the tiny creature through her fingertips. ‘What exquisite colouring. That blue is so vivid it hurts my eyes.’

  ‘There is transposition... Your description of the passage was so poor, I didn’t recognise it at first,’ the gift-tutor said. ‘According to the legend, some T’En were able to slip into the higher plane and come back to this one in another place. Of course, it drained their gift and risked their lives. Taking your physical body onto the empyrean place is like inviting the beasts to a feast. It had to be instantaneous, to avoid detection, and they needed to be linked to someone on this plane to reach their destination.’

  ‘Like a devotee or a shield-sister?’

  Vittoryxe nodded. ‘Something like that. Open his wings.’

  ‘So where did I read about transposition? I can’t remember.’

  ‘Look in the first records of the oral stories. But don’t put any stock in it. They’re myths. Now hold that bird still.’

  GRAELEN SLIPPED BETWEEN the tall shelves and hid behind a chart depicting the flow of blood around the body. From here, he could see the shop’s front door. Sure enough, the two T’En women entered and went over to the counter. Since the first day of spring, he’d been following Reoden whenever she entered the free quarter and, when he saw her with Imoshen the All-father-killer, he’d anticipated their destination.

  As he’d hoped, the two T’En women did not guard their tongues in front of the foreign shopkeeper, who could not understand them.

  ‘...for years, making charts of the gift-tutor’s birds and their breeding traits,’ Imoshen was telling the healer. ‘I send them to a Sagora scholar, to see if...’ She broke off as the Sagora shopkeeper came out to serve them.

  Imoshen said a greeting in the Sagora’s tongue, before switching to Chalcedonian. ‘Do you have a reply from Venerable Felesoi?’

  ‘Not this time. I’m expecting another shipment by midsummer. You could come back then.’

  She thanked him, then took Reoden’s arm and headed for the door.

  Without warning, Imoshen stopped, gave a little cry of delight and ran towards where Graelen was hiding. He only just managed to fight the instinct to reach for his gift. Imoshen hadn’t spotted him. It was an odd brass instrument, constructed of circles within circles and decorated with intricate markings, that had captured her interest.

  ‘Look Ree, an astrolabe.’ Her face lit up. He could not reconcile Imoshen the cold killer with this Imoshen. ‘I’ve always wanted one.’

  ‘Really? What does it do?’

  ‘You use it to work out the paths of the planets and stars.’

  ‘Ye
s.’ The healer’s voice was dry. ‘I can see how that would come in useful.’

  Imoshen laughed, and the look she sent Reoden was pure affection. They were more than friends, more than casual trysting partners; secret lovers? What would Kyredeon give to know this? Maybe he could trade the knowledge to get Kyredeon to send him and Paryx to live in peace on a distant estate. So far, he’d had no luck discovering which all-father was responsible for torching the theatre.

  Imoshen switched to Chalcedonian. ‘How much is the astrolabe?’

  ‘It’s on order for a brotherhood sea captain.’

  ‘Oh...’

  ‘Imoshen, if you want it so badly you could order one,’ Reoden told her.

  ‘It probably costs a small fortune.’

  ‘Imoshen,’ the healer chided. ‘Your sisterhood can afford a dozen astrolabes.’

  ‘Yes, but they’d think I was being frivolous. No one would understand why I want it. They think Mieren knowledge is worthless.’ She switched languages again. ‘When is the captain due to pick it up?’

  ‘Any day now,’ the Sagora said.

  ‘I know!’ Imoshen’s expression cleared. ‘I’ll bring Iraayel down to have a look at it. He’ll be fascinated.’

  ‘Really?’ Reoden sounded dubious. ‘You sure he wouldn’t rather be fitted for his first long-knives?’

  Imoshen rolled her eyes, slid her arm through Reoden’s and thanked the shopkeeper.

  Before they could leave, however, the shop door opened and a brotherhood warrior came in. Graelen didn’t know him by sight, but going by the symbol on his arm-torc, he was one of All-father Chariode’s.

  The man gave Imoshen and Reoden a brief nod and they stepped aside, revealing the astrolabe.

  ‘Good, it’s arrived.’

  Imoshen’s face fell. Neither she nor Reoden spoke while the sea captain paid for his purchase and left.

  ‘There’s one T’En who doesn’t think Mieren knowledge is worthless,’ Reoden said.

  Imoshen didn’t respond.