Exile

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  The all-mothers and their seconds were down at one end of the chamber, with the all-fathers down the other. Imoshen could feel the pull of male power from the doorway and her gift surged as she read them. The brotherhood leaders were angry and confused, but also unnerved to find themselves inside the sisterhood quarter. Many of them had been raised here. They would be reminded of their childhoods and their choice-mothers, of when they deferred to females.

  Imoshen waited in the entrance until the last whispered conversation ceased. ‘Close all the doors.’

  When no one moved, she crossed to the other side of the chamber to close the central pair of courtyard doors. Others moved to shut the rest of the doors.

  Imoshen turned around to face the chamber. She ignored the formal raised dais where the all-mother was supposed to sit and sank to kneel on the marble floor. Early spring sunshine bathed her, but offered little warmth. The cold of the marble came through her silken pleated trousers.

  After a heartbeat, Egrayne and Kiane settled beside and slightly behind her. Because this was her palace, custom decreed the others follow her lead. One by one, the brotherhoods knelt on her right and the sisterhoods on her left.

  Imoshen could feel the men getting ready to accuse her of acting without all-council approval.

  ‘I have a spy in King Charald’s inner circle,’ Imoshen said. ‘He came to me with news I could not share until today. I took action without telling the all-fathers or the all-mothers, or even most of my inner circle, because the nature of his information was so dire.’

  ‘What is this dire news?’ Kyredeon asked, voice hard and brittle.

  Imoshen met his eyes and waited a beat. ‘King Charald wasn’t offering us exile–’

  ‘That’s good, because we weren’t going to accept his offer,’ Saskeyne said, and there were a couple of chuckles.

  ‘On our way to port, the Mieren king planned to surround our camp and massacre us all. I couldn’t tell you this because I didn’t want a panic–’

  Several of the hands-of-force sprang from their knees to their feet in one fluid movement, startling her, and all the all-fathers and their seconds followed suit. Her gift rose and she had to bank it, while reminding herself never to underestimate the physicality of the men.

  Outraged, the brotherhood leaders spoke of fighting and dying with honour. Powerful male gifts filled the chamber. When Kiane would have risen, Imoshen stopped her with a touch. The all-mothers took their cue from Imoshen.

  Kyredeon confronted her. ‘You knew this, and you didn’t tell us. You didn’t give us a choice!’

  Even though every instinct told her to defend herself, Imoshen remained on her knees, with her hands resting lightly on her thighs. By her silence she made it clear the discussion could not resume until they were all seated.

  The men had ceded power to the women, when they entered the sisterhood gate. And they had ceded power to her when they entered her sisterhood’s palace.

  Kyredeon’s hands curled into fists. She knew he wanted to strike her, but the moment his skin touched hers, she would tear his essence from his body and send it to the empyrean plane, wounding him so badly he would not be able to escape its predators.

  She thought of Reoden’s murdered daughter, young Sardeon and the scryer both crippled by what they’d seen that day. If any of the brotherhood leaders deserved death, it was Kyredeon. And she let this knowledge seep into her eyes. If power was all the men respected, she could play that game.

  He took a step back.

  In that moment, she grasped the real reason the all-mothers had voted her causare. Certainly she was able to read people, but she was also willing to kill. They had used her to kill once before, when she had executed her father. They believed she could and would do so again, if she had to.

  ‘You should have called an all-council,’ Kyredeon said. He was still blustering, but he was talking and not using force.

  Imoshen glanced to the other brotherhood leaders. About half of them were seated, and more knelt while she watched.

  Soon Kyredeon realised only he and his two seconds remained standing. He turned to the all-fathers. ‘She acted without the all-council’s authority.’

  Having said his piece, he returned to his place and knelt.

  ‘I concede that I did not do what I asked all of you to do,’ Imoshen said. ‘But I had good reason to doubt the discretion of the brotherhoods. When I saw Kyredeon’s T’En warrior make a stand on the causeway, I knew–’

  Several all-fathers protested that this was Kyredeon’s fault, while he insisted the gift-warrior had been acting alone.

  ‘Someone opened the gate for him,’ Imoshen countered.

  Kyredeon did not argue this.

  ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘look how quickly the rumour about Prince Cedon spread last night. Imagine the panic, if our people learned King Charald planned to massacre us and there was no hope. Now that we have Prince Cedon–’

  ‘Is it true you used transposition to snatch him from the palace?’ Hueryx asked.

  ‘Arodyti...’ Imoshen could not go on.

  ‘I claim stature for our sisterhood,’ Egrayne said and named the gift-warriors they’d lost. While the others acknowledged this, Imoshen composed herself.

  ‘I’m meeting King Charald soon. I’ll negotiate for safe passage to the port, onto our ships and out of the bay.’

  ‘Exile...’ It was a communal exhalation of sorrow.

  ‘For three hundred years we’ve lived segregated lives from the Mieren. In truth, we’ve been exiles in our own land, besieged in our city and estates. When we sail away, we’ll find a new home, a sanctuary for the T’Enatuath.’

  ‘You know this for certain?’ the oldest of the all-fathers asked. ‘You’ve consulted the scryer?’

  Imoshen sent Reoden a silent apology. ‘I can’t consult the scryer, because the day Kyredeon’s warriors killed Reoden’s daughter, the scryer’s gift was crippled. We have no scryer. We have no peace of mind, because we cannot trust each other. We cannot afford this rivalry – brotherhood against brotherhood, men against women. If we don’t work together, we might as well open the gates right now and let King Charald’s war barons ride in here and slaughter every last one of us.’

  Imoshen found she was on her feet and didn’t remember rising. Her gift was riding her. Everyone stared at her. ‘I will do whatever it takes to ensure the survival of our people. You are either with me, or you’re against me.’

  No one spoke. She looked from face to face, reading the all-fathers and their seconds. They ranged from resentment to outright angry belligerance. She shouldn’t have threatened the brotherhood leaders, but she meant it. There was not one amongst them who she trusted to lead their people to safety.

  She clamped down on her power and turned to Reoden. ‘Now I must see King Charald. We’ll need the boy. I’d like to talk to him on the way down to the gate.’

  SORNE HOPED HE’D done the right thing when he hadn’t arranged for the old man and girl to escape overnight, because now the king insisted they accompany him to meet with the Wyrds.

  ‘We’ll let them see the copperheads up close,’ Charald told the barons. ‘More effective that way.’

  Sorne beckoned two of his holy warriors. ‘Go fetch the Wyrds.’

  If he was to retain power, if he was to survive, the barons must not associate him with the victims. He must appear to be above all other Wyrds.

  He went around, handing out the malachite pendants, and saying the Warrior’s blessing, for all the good it would do.

  ‘Are they working again?’ Dekaitz asked.

  ‘I’ve done the best I can with them. They’ve been exposed to a lot of Wyrd contagion,’ he said. There, that should cover him if anything went wrong.

  The king and his barons walked off. They were full of plans. By the new small moon, the Wyrds would be gone and the city would be theirs. Only another twenty-one days in the tents and they would be living in palaces.

  As soon as the
holy warriors approached with the old man and little girl, Sorne strode off.

  He caught up with the king and his barons, who were inspecting the scaffolds at the causeway entrance. As Sorne approached the king, he avoided looking at the gallows. They made him sick. Everything about King Charald made him sick. If he stayed too much longer, he would become as corrupt as poor Zabier.

  ‘They’re already here,’ the king crowed, gesturing to the Wyrds waiting halfway down the causeway. ‘I knew the scaffolds would make them sit up and take notice.’

  As a group, they stepped onto the causeway. It was midday, very early spring. The sky was clear and the sun held the promise of warmth. A slight breeze stirred the lake’s surface, so that it danced with diamonds of sunlight. The glare made Sorne narrow his eyes.

  Imoshen’s pale hair seemed to attract the sun. Her gaze flicked to the old man and child, who Charald had positioned just behind him. Sorne wanted to whisk them both away. He feared the king would strike out in rage. He feared the king’s rage would be the one thing that prevented this plan from succeeding.

  When they were still a body-length from the Wyrds, Charald gestured to the old man and child. ‘As you see, I have two of your copperheads, and...’ He jerked his head, indicating the scaffolds behind him. ‘I’ve prepared a little welcoming party. They’re going to dance for me.’

  The two men behind Imoshen stiffened, but did not speak.

  Imoshen closed her eyes. When she opened them, they seemed to glow with the reflected light from the causeway and the lake. Sorne could feel her gift from where he stood. Now he feared her rage would impact on the negotiations.

  But when she spoke her voice was calm. ‘You have a son, who is nearly three. He has a club foot.’

  ‘Yes.’ Charald’s response was wary.

  Imoshen gestured behind her. ‘Look atop the wall, above the gate.’

  As she spoke, a boy was lifted up so that he sat on the stonework, legs dangling over the drop. His white-blond hair shone in the sun. One of the T’En held him around the waist. They said something to him and he waved.

  ‘That could be any child.’ Charald’s voice held scorn. ‘Why, from this distance it could be one of your own brats.’

  ‘He has a club foot.’

  ‘Not an uncommon ailment.’

  ‘He calls himself Printh Thedon.’

  Sorne saw the king flinch.

  ‘Your king’s guard are on their way here to report that the prince was taken yesterday afternoon, from his nursery.’ Imoshen paused to let this sink in. ‘He disappeared in the arms of a T’En warrior.’

  ‘Why should I care? I have another heir.’

  ‘King Matxin’s grandchild? You would give your kingdom to the grandson of the man who stole your throne?’

  Sorne could see the fury building in the king. His neck grew taut and his shoulders tight. Sorne glanced to the old man and child, trying to catch the old man’s eye. They needed to edge away so the king’s anger didn’t find an outlet in them.

  But to Sorne’s amazement, Charald maintained his composure.

  ‘The brat’s a cripple. He’ll never sit on the throne.’ The king dismissed his son. ‘The Warrior sent a vision. I’ll have a healthy son who will rule after me.’

  ‘We know. We’ve had the same vision. But you will have no more children. This is the son the Warrior intends to rule Chalcedonia. Prince Cedon will be whole. Once our healer straightens his club foot, he will be fit to take the throne.’

  Sorne saw the king go very still.

  The silence stretched. Bird cries carried on the breeze.

  ‘The Warrior sent you a vision?’ Charald was cautious, but hopeful. ‘You can heal him?’

  Relief made Sorne light-headed.

  ‘We can. However, we are not gods, only the servants of the gods,’ Imoshen said. ‘The bones will have to be taught to grow the right way. We’ll need until next spring to be sure.’

  ‘Next spring?’ Eskarnor muttered. ‘I’m not spending another bloody winter in the snow.’

  Sorne felt Imoshen’s gift surge.

  ‘Winter cusp,’ Charald said.

  ‘We cannot put to sea in winter,’ she protested. ‘The storms–’

  ‘Winter cusp. That’s my final offer.’

  Sorne willed her to accept. The king could not afford to appear weak. Eskarnor was only looking for an excuse.

  ‘Winter’s cusp then. We want safe passage to the port, for all our people, including those on the estates. And’ – she gestured to the captives – ‘we want the old man and child, as a sign of your good faith. You have not kept your word before.’

  ‘Have them. They’re worthless.’ King Charald caught the old man by the shoulder and shoved him forward. He stumbled. The child tried to help him. He recovered and drew her behind Imoshen, past the two men and behind the warriors.

  ‘We’ll make the exchange at the headlands on the first day of winter,’ Imoshen said.

  ‘Very well. But any Wyrds who remain in Chalcedonia after winter’s cusp will be hunted down and executed.’

  ‘So be it.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  TOBAZIM CLEANED HIS nib and studied his plans. He’d been awake since he’d heard the news about the prince last night. Even though he wasn’t sure they were staying, he’d been driven by a rush of gift-inspired excitement. Since dawn, he’d been working on his plans to incorporate the ruined palace with Kyredeon’s original palace and make the living spaces more efficient.

  Buoyed by his gift, he felt nothing, not the cushion under his legs, not the hours spent at his kneeling-desk. Visions of a three-storey atrium swam in his feverish mind. He’d designed it to impress, and it needed a sculpture as the focal point: something innovative, something remarkable that would echo the daring of his design. He was only vaguely aware of Haromyr and Athlyn entering the chamber.

  ‘How can you sit there scribbling when the causare is meeting with King Charald right at this moment?’ Haromyr asked.

  Tobazim shrugged, as Athlyn picked up a jade sculpture depicting two lovers in coitus on a galloping horse. After tilting it this way and that, he held it up. ‘Is this even possible?’

  Tobazim glanced to Haromyr and they both laughed.

  Athlyn blushed.

  One of the Malaunje who had escaped the winery with them opened the door. ‘The causare returned with the two Malaunje King Charald was going to hang. The all-father wants everyone to the main courtyard. He has an announcement to make–’

  ‘Exile?’ a voice demanded in the hall outside. ‘We face exile? You jest?’

  ‘Exile or death,’ someone replied.

  ‘Exile?’ Tobazim repeated, disappointed but not surprised.

  ‘We won’t know what’s going on if we don’t go to the main courtyard,’ Haromyr said, practical as always. They headed out.

  Tobazim pushed the kneeling-desk aside and followed them.

  They joined the crowd, jostling for places on the many balconies and verandahs overlooking the main courtyard. The buildings were three and four storeys high, and every vantage point was packed. The courtyard contained a fountain down one end and several famous works by the High Golden Age sculptor Iraayel. These were the envy of the other brotherhoods.

  The Fallen All-father took pride of place, its delicately veined marble gleaming in the sun. It depicted an injured all-father. His voice-of-reason and hand-of-force stood over him, ready to defend him to the death, and it never failed to move Tobazim. This was the essence of what the brotherhoods meant to him: to shelter and protect. Since Learon’s death, he could not look on it without feeling angry.

  Kyredeon stood with his two seconds and several of his inner circle.

  ‘What’s this talk of exile?’ someone yelled from the verandah opposite Tobazim.

  ‘Yes, what’s happening?’

  ‘What of the boy prince? Can’t the causare renegotiate the accord?’

  ‘I heard the Mieren king planned to kill us all.’


  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘No, I heard it, too.’

  ‘We’ll be lucky to reach the ships.’

  ‘We can fight. Why give up what’s ours?’

  There was a chorus of warriors ready and willing to fight.

  Kyredeon held up his hands and the courtyard fell silent. ‘It’s true. The Mieren king meant to break his word and massacre us on the road to port. The causare has struck a bargain. In exchange for safe passage to the sea, we heal the king’s heir and hand him over once we’re on our ships. We leave the city, leave Chalcedonia by winter cusp. Anyone left behind will be hunted down and executed.’

  This was greeted with disbelief and objections. Voices bombarded Tobazim from all directions. Even though he’d suspected the worst, now that it was real and they had a time limit, he could not imagine abandoning the city to the Mieren.

  ‘Where will we go?’ someone called out. ‘There are Mieren everywhere.’

  ‘King Charald conquered all the mainland kingdoms of the Secluded Sea and those that revolted are at war with him. We’ll never be safe from him.’

  ‘We’d be better off staying and fighting,’ another person yelled.

  ‘I can’t imagine the all-fathers walking out of the city and handing it over to the Mieren,’ Haromyr muttered.

  ‘No. It’s the all-mothers,’ Ceyne admitted, joining them. ‘They don’t care about dishonour if it means saving the children.’

  ‘It’s not dishonourable to save the children,’ Tobazim said, thinking of his choice-mother. ‘Without them, we have no future.’

  TO SORNE, THE king seemed to be back to his old self: alert and energetic. It made him realise how much Charald had faded in the years he’d been away.

  Right now, the king stood in front of his tent, ordering the barons about. Nitzane and Eskarnor were to return to port with him. It was an old ploy – Charald would keep those he trusted the least close by him. The rest of the barons were to maintain the siege. This separated the two barons from their supporters.