The last Quiet fell. It panted for several moments, then went still.
CHAPTER TWO
KEEPING PROMISES
“And a Sheason known as Portis came into the court of King Yusefi, king of Kuren, and demanded he keep his pledge to the Second Promise and send men to help the Sedagin in the far North. But Yusefi denied him. Whereupon Portis rendered the king’s blood boiling hot and burned him alive inside. To my knowledge, this is the first recorded instance of Sheason violence against man.”
—An account of the Castigation, from the pages of the Kuren Court diarist
WARM BAR’DYN BLOOD steamed in the moonlight. Tahn scrambled away from the dead Quiet and sat heavily on the cold ground. His heart hammered in his chest. There was no getting used to this.
And now a Velle! What had it done to him? He still felt it. Like vibrations of thought or emotion. Deep down.
“All the way to the Saeculorum,” Tahn said, repeating the joke Vendanj had made before this latest Quiet attack. Now it just sounded exhausting. Impossible.
Vendanj eased himself down to sit near Tahn. “It’s good you’re handy with a bow.”
Mira crouched in front of them, keeping her feet under her—always ready. “Velle. That’s new.” She was looking at Vendanj.
He nodded. “But not surprising. And not the last we’ll see of them.”
“There’s a happy thought,” Tahn said without humor. “Seems like every damn day another storybook rhyme steps from the page. What was it doing to me?”
Vendanj eyed him. Tapped his own chest. “You felt it in here.”
Tahn nodded.
“A renderer of the Will can move things,” he explained. “Push them. Sometimes you’ll see what he does. Sometimes you won’t.” He took a long breath. “Sometimes it’s outside the body. And other times,” Vendanj tapped his chest again, “it’s in here.”
“I don’t feel the same,” Tahn said.
“It’s Resonance.” Vendanj said it with obvious concern. “It’ll linger like a played note. Won’t ever go away completely. But it’ll stop feeling like it does today.”
Tahn rubbed his chest. “I felt like I was remembering. . . .” But it hadn’t completely come back. Mostly the feeling of the memory remained. He turned to Vendanj. “What did it mean, ‘There’ll be no heroes this time’?”
Vendanj took a storyteller’s breath. “This plateau used to be part of the flatlands below.” He gestured out over the bluff. “The Sedagin people here are known as the Right Arm of the Promise. Masters of the longblade. They’ve always kept the First Promise; always marched against the Quiet when they come.”
“What about this time?” Tahn asked, looking at the dead Velle.
Vendanj didn’t seem to hear him. “First time the Quiet came, the regent of Recityv called a Convocation of Seats. Every nation and throne was asked to join an alliance to meet the threat. And most did. The Sedagin were the strongest part of that army. And the Quiet were pushed back.
“Ages later, the Quiet came again.” Vendanj shook his head and sighed. “But by then Convocation had become a political game. Kings committed only token regiments. So, the regent Corihehn adjourned Convocation and sent word to Holivagh, leader of the Sedagin, to march toward the Pall mountains. He told him there was a Second Promise from this Second Convocation. He told him an alliance army would meet them there.”
Tahn guessed the next part, disgust rising in his throat. “It was a lie.”
“It was a lie,” Vendanj echoed, nodding. “Twenty thousand Sedagin soldiers cut a path through the Quiet. They reached the Pall mountains where Bourne armies were crossing into the Eastlands, but by then only two thousand Sedagin were left. Still, they held the breach for eight days. They waited for Corihehn’s reinforcements. But the army of the Second Promise never came. And every Sedagin bladesman perished.”
“But we won the war,” Tahn added, tentative.
“When Del’Agio, Randeur of the Sheason, learned what Corihehn had done, he sent Sheason messengers into the courts of every city. They threatened death to any who wouldn’t honor Corihehn’s lie. The Castigation, it was called.”
Vendanj looked up and down the edge of the bluff. “When the war was won, the Sheason came into the high plains. For several cycles of the first moon they linked hands and willed the earth to rise, built an earthen monument to the Sedagin. Gave them a home. These plains are known as Teheale. It means ‘earned in blood’ in the Covenant Tongue.”
Tahn sat silent in reverence to the sacrifice made so long ago.
“Seems our Velle friend doesn’t think Sheason and Sedagin can turn the Quiet back again.” Vendanj’s smile caught in the light of the moon. “No heroes.”
In many ways, Vendanj reminded Tahn of his father, Balatin. Serious, but able to let worry go when he sensed Tahn needed to laugh or just let things lie. Tahn suddenly missed his father, a deep missing. His da had gone to his earth a few years ago, leaving Tahn and Wendra to make their way alone—their mother, Vocencia, had died a few years before Balatin. He missed her, too.
“It’ll look something like this.” Vendanj gestured away from the high plateau again, shifting topics. “The Heights of Restoration, Tahn. On the far side of the Saeculorum.”
“Because you think this time I’m the hero?” He stared at the steam rising from the dead Bar’dyn’s wounds.
Vendanj sighed. “I’m inclined to agree with the Velle. And I don’t think like that anymore.” He paused, his eyes distant. “If I ever did.”
“He said there were others,” Tahn pressed. “Called me a mule.”
Vendanj gave a dismissive laugh over that. “We’re all mules. Each hauling some damn load, don’t you think?”
Tahn waited, making clear he wanted an answer. He’d agreed to come. He was bone weary, and scared to think Vendanj had pinned too much hope on him.
Tahn could hit almost anything with his bow. There’d been countless hours of practice supervised by his father. Even before that, he’d had a sure hand.
Somewhere in those lost years of his young life he’d obviously learned its use; fighting techniques, too—his reactions were like Mira’s Latae battle forms, just less polished. But against an army? Against Velle? That thing had taken hold of him somehow. Not just his body, but who he was. It had stroked painful memories, giving them new life in his mind. It was a pain unlike anything he’d yet felt. This was madness.
What the hell am I doing?
The Sheason seemed to know his thoughts, and put a hand on Tahn’s shoulder. “There’s a sense about you, Tahn. Like the words you use when you draw your bow.” He paused. “But no, you’re not the only one we’ve taken to Restoration. Remember what I said at the start: We believe you can stand there. You’ve not passed your Change, so the burdens of your mistakes aren’t fully on you yet. That’ll make it easier.”
“Why would you need me if you’ve taken others?”
Vendanj let out a long breath. He settled a gaze on Tahn that spoke of disappointment and regret. “None have survived Tillinghast.” He paused as if weighing Tahn’s resolve. “That’s its old name. Tillinghast is where the Heights of Restoration fall away.” He gestured again toward the cliff’s edge close by. “Like this bluff.”
Before Tahn could comment, Vendanj pushed on. “And that’s those who went at all. Most chose not to go. Your willingness. It sets you apart from most.”
“He’s right,” Mira added, approval in her voice.
Tahn looked up at her, finding encouragement in her silver-grey eyes. She showed him the barest of smiles. And warmth flooded his chest and belly, chasing out some of the deep shiver still lingering inside him.
“Tahn,” Vendanj said, gathering his attention again. “The thing you need to remember is this. Standing at Tillinghast isn’t just about what ever mettle’s in you to survive its touch. It’s more about whether or not you can suffer the change it’ll cause in you once it’s done.”
Tahn shook his head, panic flu
ttering anew in his chest. “What change?”
“Different for everyone who stands there,” Vendanj replied.
“If they live,” Tahn observed with sharp sarcasm. “And then do what?”
“If the Quiet fully break free of the Bourne”—Mira nodded as though it was only a matter of time—“they’ll come with elder beings. Creatures against which steel is useless.”
Vendanj got to his feet. “And my order is at odds with itself. Diminished because of it.” He looked down at Tahn. “This time . . . we’ve asked you to go to Tillinghast. The Veil that holds the Quiet at bay is weakening. Could be that the Song of Suffering that keeps it strong is failing. I know there are few with the ability to sing Suffering. But whatever the reason for the Veil’s weakness, we think—if you can stand at Tillinghast—you can help should a full Quiet army come.”
Tahn shook his head in disbelief. And fear. “All because of the damned words I can’t help but say every time I draw.” He shook his bow. “And because I have a sense. Maybe it’s time you restore my memory. Give me back those twelve years you say you took from me when you sent me to the Hollows.”
He wanted that more than he let on. His earliest memories began just six years ago. Twelve years. Gone. And until Vendanj had come into the Hollows, Than had thought maybe he’d had some sort of accident. Hit his head. Lost his memory. But the Sheason had taken it. To protect him, the man had said.
“You may believe you’re ready for that. But think about it.” He pointed at the Velle, which had surfaced searing memories in him. “You don’t remember your young life . . . but it was a hard one. Not all hard. But most of it was spent in an unhappy place. And now, you’re far from home, chased by Quiet, asked to climb to Tillinghast, and you’re coming soon to the age of accountability.”
Tahn had been eager for his Standing and the Change that came after his eighteenth year. Eager for what, he didn’t exactly know. To be taken more seriously was part of it, though. And because he’d thought he might somehow get his memory back.
Tahn stood, shouldered his bow. “Wouldn’t that suggest I’m old enough—”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Vendanj cut in sharply. “I took your memory all those years ago as a protection to you. It still is. Before we reach Tillinghast I’ll return it to you. You’ll need it there.” He put his hand again on Tahn’s shoulder, his hard expression softening. “But not now. Trust me on this. I’ve seen what it does to a mind when so much change comes at once.”
Tahn thought about the pressure in his body and mind when the Velle had taken hold of him. The things it had surfaced all in a rush. Jagged, ugly things to remember.
Images of young friends, though he couldn’t see their faces. A fight, though he couldn’t remember why. Except they were settling something. The feeling of betrayal lingered. A sad pain in the pit of his stomach.
Tahn walked to where the Velle lay. Something glinted on the ground near its body. He hunkered down and ran his fingers across a smooth surface glistening with moonlight. Felt like glass. At its center were two fist-sized holes.
“What’s this?”
Vendanj came up beside him. “Velle won’t bear the cost of rendering the Will. They transfer it. Take the vitality of anything at hand so they can remain strong.”
The Velle had thrust its hands into the soil. Darkness had flared. It had caused the formation of this thin crust of dark glass. Tahn stepped on it. A soft pop. A fragile sound. If Vendanj hadn’t been here, what else inside Tahn would the Velle have taken hold of?
He finally gave a low, resigned laugh. “You win. Why complicate all this fun we’re having, right?”
He stole a look at Mira, who showed him her slim smile again. That, at least, was helpful. Hopeful, too. Like the lighter shades of blue strengthening in the east behind her.
Just before he turned away, he caught sight of low fogs gathering on the lowland floor. He pointed. “You see that?”
Vendanj looked, and his expression hardened. Soon Mira stood with them, as they watched a cloud bank form around the base of the plateau.
“Je’holta,” Vendanj said.
“What is it?” Tahn asked.
“Another form of Quiet.” He paused a long moment. “And something we’ll now have to pass through when we leave here.”
Mira’s smile was gone. “Good test for Tillinghast.”
Tahn gave them each a long look, and said without humor, “I just came out to watch the sunrise. . . .”
Read on for a preview of the
TRIAL OF INTENTIONS
Book Two of
THE VAULT OF HEAVEN
by
PETER ORULLIAN
TRIAL OF INTENTIONS
PROLOGUE
A THIRD PURPOSE
“Encouragements are drawn from living things—trees, grasses, animals. First and best from family. All are vital. All nourish. Perishment results from the absence of these.”
—From The Effect of Absences, a correlative
war doctrine originating in the Bourne
AFTER LONG YEARS in the Scarred Lands, Than Junell realized their patrols held a third purpose.
First, and most obviously, they were meant to provide early warning when visitors or strangers came into the Scar. Patrol routes held long sight lines of the wide, barren lands. From a distance, newcomers could be easily spotted and reported.
On a second, more practical level, patrols were used to build and maintain stamina for fight sessions. Every ward of the Scar—age three to nineteen—spent no less than six hours a day in ritualized combat training.
It wasn’t until later that Tahn finally came to realize a subtle third reason for patrols. They were a way for wards of the Scar to monitor themselves and guard against one of their own wandering from home, alone.
With the purpose of self-slaughter.
Tahn and Alemdra ran fast, arriving at Gutter Ridge well ahead of sunrise. They slowed to a walk, catching their breath and sharing smiles.
“You’re starting to slow me down,” Alemdra teased. “I think it’s because I’m becoming a woman, and you’re still a boy.”
He laughed. “Well, maybe if we’re going to keep running patrols together, I’ll just put a saddle on you, then.”
She hit him in the arm, and they sat together with their legs dangling from one of the few significant ridges in the Scar. Alemdra was twelve today, barely older than Tahn. And he intended to kiss her. Seeing the glint in her eye, he wondered if she’d guessed his intention. But if so, the unspoken secret only added to the anticipation.
Casually wagging their toes, they looked east.
“See that?” He pointed at the brightest star in the eastern hemisphere. She nodded. “That’s Katia Shonay, the morning star. It’s really a planet.”
“That so.” She squinted as if doing so might bring the distant object into sharper focus.
“Katia Shonay means ‘lovelorn’ in Dimnian.” He liked few things better than talking about the sky. “There’s this whole story about how a furrow tender fell in love with a woman of the court.”
She made no effort to conceal her suspicion of his timing for sharing the story of this particular planet. “You might make a good furrow tender someday. If you work hard at it, that is.”
“Actually,” he countered, smiling, “the story’s only complete in the conjunction of Rushe Symone—the planet named after the god of plenty and favor. You know, bountiful harvests and autumn bacchanalia.” He nearly blushed over the last part, having learned the richness of bacchanal rituals. “Rych is the largest planet—”
She was giving him a look. The look. “You seem to think you’re smarter than us now.”
“What do you mean now?” And he started laughing.
She broke down laughing, too. “You really liked it there, didn’t you? In Aubade Grove.”
“I’d go back tomorrow if it didn’t mean leaving you behind.” It came out sounding more honest than he’d intended, but he wasn’t embarra
ssed. He stared off at Katia. “It’s amazing, Alemdra. No patrols. No fight sessions. Just books. Study. Skyglassing to discover what’s up there.” He gestured grandly at the eastern sky.
She smiled, sharing his enthusiasm for the few years he’d been away before being called back here. “Do you think you’ll ever leave the Scar for good?” There was a small, fatal note in her voice.
He turned to see her expression—the same one she always wore when they talked about Grant. While all the wards were like Grant’s adoptive children, Tahn was the man’s actual son. He supposed someday he might leave this place, especially if he ever learned who his mother was. If she was still alive.
“Eventually. After my father goes to his earth. I don’t think I could leave him here alone.” Tahn threw a rock and listened for it to hit far below. In his head he began doing some math to determine the height of the ridge. Initial velocity, count of six to the rock’s impact, acceleration due to gravity—
“He’ll never be alone, Tahn,” she said, interrupting his calculations. “Not as long as the cradle is here.”
Tahn nodded grimly. The Forgotten Cradle. It served as a big damn reminder of abandonment to all the wards of the Scar. And it was how most of them came to this place. Every cycle of the first moon a babe was placed in the hollow of a dead bristlecone pine. Orphans. Foundlings. And sometimes children whose parents just didn’t want them anymore. Grant retrieved each child, tried to find it a proper home outside the Scar. Those for whom no arrangements could be made came to live with them inside the Scar. Not knowing their actual day of birth, wards celebrated their “cradleday”—the day they were rescued from the tree. Like he and Alemdra were doing for her today.
“I don’t know why you feel any loyalty to stay, either.” She looked away to where the sun would crest the mountains to the east. “Not after what he’s done to you.”
The Sound of Broken Absolutes Page 10