Lifting her arms, Imoshen confronted the scraeling as if it were a vicious dog. On this plane, her body was her own creation and she willed a sword and shield into being. The beast dropped back, but did not slink away.
Where were Saffazi and Iraayel?
Imoshen opened her senses and cast about. Felt the lure of power being expended and ran in that direction. The scraeling loped after her. Others joined it.
Rounding a bend in the balcony, she found Iraayel and Saffazi making a stand at the top of the stairs, just as they had done in real life. Iraayel had formed the sword he had used the night he held the steps against the Mieren. At his back, Saffazi fought with the two long-knives. She was an adept of both armed and unarmed combat. They made a beautiful pair.
Iraayel forged towards Imoshen, drawing Saffazi with him. Fingers outstretched, Imoshen reached for Iraayel, who held onto Saffazi. The instant Imoshen touched her choice-son she sought Egrayne through their sisterhood link, felt her voice-of-reason’s presence and followed it back to the earthly plane.
She came to herself lying on the floor amidst the cushions. From where she lay, she watched Egrayne roll Saffazi over.
Despite her ordeal, the initiate was conscious and unharmed.
‘Ma?’ Saffazi sounded seven, not seventeen.
Egrayne hugged her choice-daughter.
Imoshen struggled upright, fighting nausea as she looked for a sign that Iraayel was unharmed. He blinked, staring blankly. Blood seeped from several wounds taken on the higher plane. The moment she touched him, intelligence returned to his gaze.
She hugged him fiercely, shaking with relief. Behind her, she could hear Egrayne assuring herself Saffazi was unharmed, in mind, body and gift.
Egrayne’s tone changed, growing sharper as anger overcame her relief. ‘What were you thinking? You could have been killed. What were you trying to do?’
Saffazi glanced to Iraayel, and Imoshen read her. Saffazi thought he would lie for her. This shocked Imoshen. Until this moment, she’d believed she had Iraayel’s complete loyalty.
‘I had to bring them, Saf,’ Iraayel said, coming to his knees. His hands trembled as he wiped blood from his eyes. ‘I told you this was dangerous. You shouldn’t have tried it.’
‘And I told you that I could handle it.’
‘You were not handling it when I found you.’ Imoshen’s voice shook with anger. Her gift spiked, almost slipping her control. ‘The empyrean plane was devouring you!’
Saffazi flinched.
Imoshen looked down, clenched her hands in her lap, closed her eyes and reeled in her gift until she had regained complete control. When she looked up, her gaze settled on Iraayel and she took in the gash on his forehead. Pressing her sleeve to his head, she muttered, ‘I should’ve sealed those wounds on the higher plane, now they’ll have to heal like ordinary injuries.’
He brushed her hand away. ‘I’m all right. I heard your warning. I chose to go after Saf. I knew what I risked.’
But he didn’t. That he’d managed to hold his own against the lesser beasts of the higher plane was due to the strength of his will alone. That he’d managed to forge a weapon from his gift showed innate ability. Egrayne had identified him as a gift-warrior when she empowered him.
‘Only luck preserved your lives long enough for me to bring you back.’ Imoshen turned to Saffazi. ‘As for you. You dragged Iraayel through to the higher plane and he has not even begun his training there. You could have killed him.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’ Instantly contrite, Saffazi’s lower lip trembled. ‘We were supposed to be dream-sharing.’
Iraayel reached for her, his hands cradling hers with exquisite tenderness.
Imoshen’s heart sank. He loved her, but he was destined to spend his life in a brotherhood. As a mother she would do anything for Iraayel, but she could not protect him from his own emotions.
Imoshen looked away from them, into Redraven’s face. Adoration suffused his features. Him too? What was it about Saffazi that elicited such devotion?
‘This Malaunje youth trusts you,’ Egrayne said. ‘You could have killed him. That you didn’t was due to his good sense and excellent gift affinity. Unless you have great control, dream-sharing and memory-sharing must only be done with someone of equal strength, otherwise your gift will swamp them. We don’t want any more devotees.’
‘You both have devotees,’ Saffazi protested.
‘Roskara became my devotee by accident.’
‘Frayvia also became my devotee by accident,’ Imoshen said quickly. She believed Gift-tutor Vittoryxe was partly to blame for hoarding knowledge and doling it out with irritating condescension. No wonder Saffazi wanted to explore her gift on her own.
When her gift first started to manifest, Imoshen had been in a similar position. Deliberately kept ignorant by her captors, left to discover what she could do by trial and error, she’d been lucky not to get herself killed.
Imoshen was aware of Redraven, still as a mouse, witness to T’En mysteries forbidden to all Malaunje but devotees; and even they were kept ignorant of the deeper mysteries. His ignorance had nearly cost him his freedom, or even his life.
The secrecy surrounding the gifts was dangerous. There were so many things Imoshen wanted to change. If the leaders of the T’Enatuath knew their causare’s true agenda, they would have been horrified.
‘I stole Frayvia’s freedom the night my infant son died,’ Imoshen revealed. ‘Like you, Safi, I didn’t mean to involve her in my gift-working. It happened when we tried to escape Lighthouse Isle. It was almost midwinter, very cold. We ran down to the beach and climbed into a rowboat. They tried to stop us. My bond-partner fought off the attackers, but they tipped our boat over. My newborn was strapped to my chest. It was deep water. I tried to keep his head above water, but one of the attackers sought to drown me. I got away, swam to a rowboat and climbed aboard. The current had taken Iraayel and Frayvia. By the time I dragged them aboard, between the cold and the water, there was no spark of life left in my newborn. I tried to pluck his life essence from the higher plane to restore him. But–’
‘That’s traduciation, Imoshen!’ Egrayne gasped. ‘Absolutely forbidden.’
‘I didn’t know. I was crazy with grief. Frayvia was nearby when I segued onto the higher plane. By accident, I dragged her essence with me. She had no protection from the predators. I had to link with her to save her life. She’s been bound to my gift ever since.’ Imoshen’s voice hardened. She wanted to impress the desperation that had driven her to make this mistake. ‘It is not something attempted lightly, as a dare or for stature, Saffazi.’
The three young people looked down, guilt written large on their faces.
‘This is why I speak of private T’En matters before Redraven. He must know what he risks. To become a devotee is to be linked for life. You–’ Imoshen broke off as she realised the silly boy was so lovesick it probably sounded like a good idea to him.
Egrayne cleared her throat, sending Imoshen a wry look, but the voice-of-reason was all business when she spoke. ‘The creation of a devotee has gone out of favour. If you die, your devotee dies. It is a selfish act.’
There was silence for a moment, as the youngsters digested this.
‘You are dismissed, Redraven,’ Imoshen said. He did not need to be told twice. Springing to his feet, he gave a deep obeisance, hands going to his heart to signify love and then to his head to signify duty, before leaving.
‘I know, I disappoint you,’ Saffazi said to Egrayne. ‘But the gift-tutor is holding me back. I can’t stand–’
‘She’s holding you back for your own good.’
‘But...’
Imoshen caught Iraayel’s eye and they both slipped away.
As they walked in silence, Imoshen wondered if she dared broach the subject of Iraayel’s feelings for Saffazi.
‘Have you heard anything from the all-fathers?’ Iraayel asked.
‘I hear nothing but complaints and accusations fr
om the all-fathers. At least now they are resigned to exile. But to answer your question, no one has offered you a place in their brotherhood.’ It infuriated her; they were taking out their hatred of her on him.
They paused where the passages diverged.
Iraayel said, ‘I’m sorry to be a burden to you–’
‘Don’t say that. You were never a burden.’
‘I was four years old the night your baby died, but I remember your heartbreak. I lived while he died. I wish–’
‘No.’ Imoshen hugged Iraayel as hard as she could, tears stinging her eyes. She pulled back. ‘Never say that. Never!’
Tears of love glistened in his wine-dark eyes, and Imoshen recalled a long-lost memory of her mother. She hadn’t seen her since she was five. Iraayel was the son of her mother’s sister, and there was a family resemblance. Grateful, Imoshen hugged Iraayel again, her gift close to the surface.
Iraayel sensed it. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She pulled back.
A Malaunje hurried past. Word of the causare and her choice-son embracing in the corridor would spread, reaching Vittoryxe’s ears, and Imoshen would be in for a scolding.
As long as the gift-tutor did not hear of Saffazi’s daring.
‘I should go,’ Iraayel said softly.
‘You saved Safi’s life tonight. If you’d touched her without me there to bring you back, you’d both be dead.’
‘I know.’ But his tone told her he would still have risked his life for Saffazi. No wonder he wanted to stay with the sisterhood.
‘Off you go.’
Feeling fragile, Imoshen waited for Egrayne. They walked back through the deserted corridors, silent until they entered Imoshen’s chambers.
Egrayne sighed. ‘She is the last of my choice-daughters, the only one who still lives. I have such hopes for her.’
‘Don’t blame Safi. It’s Vittoryxe. She hoards knowledge. I’ll speak with her.’ As soon as Imoshen said it, she knew it would be the wrong move.
‘I’ll speak with her,’ Egrayne said quickly. ‘I should tell the gift-tutor about Safi’s indiscretion.’
‘No need to invite trouble.’
Egrayne took Imoshen’s shoulders in her hands and kissed each cheek. ‘Your choice-son is wise beyond his years.’
‘He’s in love with your impetuous choice-daughter.’
Egrayne chuckled. ‘So is the Malaunje youth. Ah, what will I do with her?’
Chapter Twenty
RONNYN COULD NOT take his eyes off the great sea-boar. Safe behind a rock, he marvelled at the creature’s size. The biggest he’d seen so far, its body was covered in glossy blue-black skin. Whiskers grew from its snout and each flipper ended in a needle-sharp prong. Then there were the tusks, each was as long as a full grown man’s fore-arm and as thick; they reared up from each side of the sea-boar’s jaw.
Hearing his father’s tales had not prepared Ronnyn for the reality of these magnificent beasts. He glanced to Aravelle to see if she was equally impressed. She frowned, pushing tendrils of wind-blown copper hair out of her eyes. Between them lay the sack of tusks they’d already gathered. Wind whipped in from the sea, driving sand before it, stinging their bare legs and arms.
Ronnyn ignored the discomfort, concentrating on their father. The boars were surprisingly fast over short distances. The tusks their father hoped to collect lay on the beach not far from where the sea-boar sunned itself on the sand. During mating season, the males often gored each other to death. Only the strongest set up a harem of females. The scavengers picked the carcasses clean, leaving the bones and tusks.
It was difficult to decide when to come to Sea-boar Isle. In the autumn, while the mating battles raged, the shores rang with the bulls’ roars, and now that the pups had been born, the females jealously guarded their rush-lined nests, staking out patches of sun-warmed dune.
But all Ronnyn and Aravelle wanted were the discarded tusks, left amidst the bleached bones on the sand.
‘Don’t worry,’ Aravelle squeezed his shoulder. ‘Da knows what he’s doing.’
At that moment, Asher crept out from behind a rock, making his way down the dune towards the ivory. Ronnyn held his breath. The sea-boar male did not stir. The six females continued to groom their pups.
A seagull cawed overhead, hanging effortlessly on the wind. Ronnyn glanced up at the bird, and missed the moment the largest female spotted his father. Her warning bellow echoed across the beach.
‘Quick, Da,’ Aravelle breathed.
The female gave another call. The male reared up and charged down the sand, as the female charged in from the other direction.
‘He’s trapped.’ Aravelle jumped to her feet.
Their father weighed his chances, then dashed behind the female. She was too quick. Changing direction, he tried to run between the two but tripped on a bone, sprawling in the soft sand. He was up instantly, but the female had cut him off.
Now he turned to face the sea-boar. The big male lunged in, goring his thigh, tossing him high in the air. His body spun end-over-end like a toy, falling to the sand in a heap. Ronnyn stared, unable to believe his eyes.
‘Save Da,’ Aravelle ordered, even as she leapt over the rock and raced across the beach.
Stunned, Ronnyn was three strides behind her by the time he jumped over the rock. His heart raced. In disbelief he saw Aravelle run behind the female, which was about to inspect their father as he lay in an ever widening circle of bloodstained sand.
‘Over here,’ Aravelle cried, dancing perilously near the other females.
Fierce admiration burned in Ronnyn’s chest.
Both the male and female charged Aravelle. She ran along the beach, away from the nest, away from their injured father.
Right into the path of another bull.
Ronnyn froze. Time seemed to slow. Fear stole his breath. He was too far to help.
His sister’s legs faltered. A surge of determination took him. She must get past. Everything became incredibly clear and sharp.
A gust of wind whipped up the sand right in front of the male, flinging it in the creature’s face, into its eyes. It reared back.
Aravelle leapt past the sea-boar, and kept right on running.
Ronnyn darted over to his father, hooked his arms under Asher’s shoulders and dragged him along the beach.
Only when he had his father safely behind the rock did he look back. To his relief, there was no sign of Aravelle’s body on the beach. The rest of the females had begun the weaving motion they took up when threatened. The biggest female and the male were out of sight, presumably chasing his sister.
As long as she didn’t trip, she could outrun them.
Turning his attention to his father, he rolled Asher onto his back. So much blood, and that open wound, right down to the bone.
The sight of it made him sick with fear.
Drawing his fish-gutting knife, Ronnyn cut the torn breeches away, making strips to bind the long, deep wound. Ronnyn tore off his vest and pressed it to the gash. He strapped the bandage as hard as he could. He’d glimpsed things inside his father’s leg that weren’t meant to see the light of day.
Blood still seeped through his jerkin. What should he do? Behind him, something crunched on the sand. He spun, knife lifted.
Aravelle glanced to the knife and grinned.
He put it away.
‘How is he?’ she asked, dropping to her knees. Her cheeks were flushed, hair wild.
He had never been so glad to see her. ‘We must get him back to the boat. I’ve slowed the bleeding, but not stopped it.’
Between them, they carried their father down the beach and around the headland. Neither mentioned the other unconscious man they had carried like this.
The boat was anchored in the shallows, and it was hard getting their father aboard. Ronnyn had to rig the net as a sling. Their rough handling worsened the bleeding.
‘That wound needs to be sewn,’ Aravelle said. ‘Best do it now,
before he wakes up.’
Their mother had sewn Ronnyn’s hand after he cut it with Da’s fishing knife. It had hurt so much he’d cried, even though he tried not to.
They used their mother’s brindle-berry wine to clean the needle and then the wound. That woke their father. He cursed and struggled to sit up. Ronnyn tried to hold him down.
‘Your leg’s bleeding real bad, Da,’ Aravelle said. ‘We’re going to sew it up.’
Asher’s expression cleared and he nodded. ‘Do you want me to do it?’
Ronnyn caught Aravelle’s eye.
‘No, I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘I can see what I’m doing.’
Ronnyn was glad he didn’t have to.
She used the finest of the sail-mending thread. Ronnyn helped hold his father’s leg still. It jumped around as the muscle spasmed. It was easier when their father passed out again.
Finally, Aravelle stood up, looking pale. Her hands shook and the front of her shirt was covered in blood. Ronnyn was so glad she was with him.
They studied their father. There was a worrying sheen to his skin.
‘We should sail for home right now,’ Aravelle said. ‘I’ll go back for the ivory bag. You get the boat ready.’
But first they carried Asher down to the single bunk in the cabin and strapped him in. Then Ronnyn packed everything securely away and drew up the anchor. The tide was coming in. Aravelle ran back through the shallows with the ivory bag. When he hauled it over the side it was heavier than he expected.
‘You went back for the tusks?’ he guessed.
She nodded, scrambling up to join him. ‘Let’s go.’
He couldn’t believe her daring; he wished he was as brave.
Before setting off, they checked on their father. His skin felt hot.
‘Fever,’ Ronnyn whispered. ‘That’s bad.’
‘Ma will know what to do,’ Aravelle said.
As they came out onto deck, Ronnyn caught his sister’s arm. They’d never sailed the boat on their own, and never been to the trading isle. There were so many things they didn’t know, Ronnyn realised they’d never manage without Asher. ‘If Da dies, our family will have to go back to the brotherhood. Won’t we?’
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