by R. K. Hart
‘Are we done?’ Ava’s voice was expressionless.
There was no answer from Kieran, so Ava pushed his arm further with unnerving gentleness.
‘We’re done! We’re done!’ Kieran yelped.
Ava released him and stood, dusting herself off. She picked up her staff from the sand and strode out of the yard without a backwards glance.
Lorcan looked at the Myrae girl. She took a long, shuddering breath.
Marlyn nodded. ‘Told you,’ she said, satisfied. ‘And that was Ava not using illae.’
Chapter Six: The Illarum
Mikal was livid when Lorcan returned Lida to the infirmary. She was trembling and entirely drained of colour, her teeth embedded in her bottom lip. Lorcan had offered his arm more than once but she had resolutely refused it, setting her jaw and catching at the redwood wall panelling to steady herself when she almost fell. When she stumbled between the bedroom door and the bed, Mikal snarled Lorcan from the room.
‘What were you thinking?’ he hissed in Brinnican. ‘No, don’t bother. You weren’t. Gods, between you and Jak it’s a wonder she’s still alive. She might look Myrae but she didn’t grow up on a ship, Lorcan. She’s never even seen the sea, not properly.’
‘She -’
‘Walk away, archer, and you will not so much as look in her direction until I give you permission.’
‘But -’
‘Now.’
When Lorcan and his glower had stalked furiously out of the infirmary, Mikal went back into the sickroom, muttering under his breath about senseless young men taking after their brothers and cycling through his considerable list of Brinnican expletives. He didn’t think Lida had much Brinnican - no more than Eilins usually learned at school, anyway - but she looked appropriately startled after one choice phrase, so Mikal assumed she got the gist of it.
After he watched her eat the lunch he’d prepared, he sat on the end of her bed and handed her a cup of tea laced with willowbark.
‘Well?’ he half-snapped at her. ‘Are you staying?’
She nodded warily and sipped her tea.
‘Who will teach you?’
‘Tiernan Fisher.’
Mikal frowned in surprise. ‘I thought your father and sister were healers?’
‘Not illae-healers. Why? Does that matter?’
‘Katrin teaches the healers.’
Lida shrugged with her good shoulder. ‘They don’t know what my gift is, so Tiernan volunteered.’
Mikal blinked. Tiernan taught the weatherworkers, along with those lucky enough to manifest two distinct gifts; his students could be counted on one hand.
‘Hmm,’ he said.
Lida didn’t know what to make of that; she raised an eyebrow, ‘Did Katrin teach you?’
He smiled. ‘We learned together, ever since we were small, even before our power came. She is a much better healer than I am.’
He saw that she was interested, so he went on to tell her a little about growing up in l’Cour du Kali, about training with Katrin, and looking after her younger brother, Aaron.
‘The Kali was often with the tribes, so Aaron was often with us. He was marginally less irritating when he was a child.’
Lida’s eyes went very wide. ‘The Kali? Katrin’s mother is the Kali?’
‘Mmm,’ Mikal said. He knew what Eilins thought of Brinnica, with its tribes and their matriarch instead of lordlings and a King, but Lida’s expression was curious.
‘Does that mean Katrin will be Kali one day?’
‘That depends,’ Mikal answered, ‘on whether she chooses to go back to Brinnica, or stay in Eilan. She has a cousin, Bronwyn, who is most likely to lead should Katrin choose not to contest.’
‘Aaron wouldn’t lead?’
Mikal laughed, half at the thought of Aaron trying to manage the tribes - and his temper - and half because he still would have been a better choice than Bronwyn, who was ambitious and clever, an able strategist and savage fighter, but also entirely devoid of empathy and anything approaching tact. ‘Non. A man can lead a tribe, but a man cannot be Kali. We know it is more sensible to follow. Besides, the title of Kali is not necessarily hereditary.’
‘My father lived there when he was younger, but he never told us much about it. I know very little,’ Lida confessed.
‘You will have to see it for yourself one day,’ he said with a smile, ‘if only to take your mare home. We northerners aren’t ourselves down here; it is too hot. We need the snow to flourish.’
‘You look like you did just fine,’ she said dryly.
Mikal chuckled. ‘Well, you will need more rest, if you are to be as tall as me.’ He stood and stretched, then narrowed his eyes at her. ‘No more excursions. And if any Erbidan steps foot in this room, tell them the Battle of Wex City will be nothing compared to what I’ll do to them.’
‘What’s the Battle of Wex City?’
He smiled. ‘Sleep, and I’ll tell you.’
***
It was another three days before Lida was allowed out again. She was secretly grateful; the testing and the training session had drained her reserves, and she needed to rest often. On the fourth day, when she was finally allowed to go outside, Mikal took her to see Sacred.
Ava had been right, Lida realised with relief; Jed had been taking care of her. The mare’s chestnut coat was shiny and clean, and she looked sleek and content. She whickered and snuffled at Lida’s neck, but had clearly not been distressed by her absence.
The stable block was warm and dry, and Lida took the opportunity to ply Jed with questions about how the stables were run, asking everything she thought Cathan would want to know. When she had exhausted her list, Jed laughed.
‘You won’t mind stable duties, then,’ he said.
He told her that he’d grown up on the western plains of Eilan, the son of farmers, and that he’d been riding since he could walk. He had a calm practicality, and Lida thought that Cathan would like him very much. She liked his eyes: they were brown and very warm, and like most Eilins, slightly overlarge in his thin face. He constantly brushed his thick blonde hair from them with hands that were steady and strong, much like her father’s.
‘Where to now?’ Mikal asked, when Lida finally let Jed return to his duties.
‘What?’
He smiled. ‘This is your last day of freedom. I cleared you to begin training tomorrow. Half days only,’ he specified warningly. ‘What do you want to see?’
‘Everything,’ Lida blurted, then thought for a moment. ‘Everything outside.’
Mikal tucked his arm companionably through hers, laughing, and walked her back out into the sunny autumn day, the white stone wall of the Illarum to their left. Up close, Lida realised that it wasn’t entirely white: some bricks were of grey stone, creating an effect that was not unlike a cloud.
Past the wooden stable block were a series of small stone workshops. Lida recognised carpentry, metalworking, stonecutting, and gold and silver smithing shops. There was even a tiny forge, and next to it, an open furnace, where two apprentices were working over a metal blow pipe, carefully fashioning something out of red-tinted glass.
‘It’s like a tiny city,’ Lida said, impressed.
Mikal nodded. ‘The Illarum is entirely self-sustaining,’ he said. ‘It’s more than just the food: we build and fix things ourselves, and sell things that we’ve made.’
‘Self-sustaining? Surely farmers would be happy to trade with a place this size.’
He gave her an odd look. ‘Now, perhaps. But in the past we would have starved - or worse - had we relied on supplies from outside.’ He gestured. ‘The herb gardens are up ahead.’
They wandered slowly around the ordered beds; they were all carefully tended, and some were shaded to allow delicate plants to grow under the hot Eilin sun. A handful of apprentices were planting seeds in turned soil. Marlyn smiled at Lida as they walked by, up to her elbows in dirt. A small distillery jutted from the northern side of the Illarum’s back wall, used,
Mikal said, to make medicines and occasionally spirits.
The back of the Illarum was not enclosed by the huge stone boundary wall: it did not need to be. Instead, there was a sturdy wooden fence, a few metres of grass, and a sheer cliff drop into the Southern Sea.
Lida pulled away from Mikal, all but running to the fence to stare towards the horizon at the water. It was the first time she had seen the ocean properly, not just a glimpse, not just a picture in a book, not just in a dream. It transfixed her with its restless surface and immense expanse, the glittering blue broken every now and then by a gull diving or a fish jumping. The beauty of it made her heart ache, and she thought she must have been more tired than she felt, for she had to hold herself back from weeping.
Mikal let her stare at it for some time. Lida thought she could stand there for hours.
‘Come,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll show you the gardens.’
Lida followed him around to their left, to the southern side of the Illarum, casting more than one backwards glance at the sea. The gardens looked much like the herb beds, just on a larger scale. Lida could see some late staked tomatoes, climbing beans, zucchini leaves, sweet potato patches, and ordered rows of spinach and lettuce; there were also a number of beds growing plants she didn’t recognise. Beyond them were small tilled crop fields, ready for winter planting.
‘How many people are here?’ Lida asked, reaching down to touch a bunch of chives.
‘Almost everyone watched Ava’s bout the other day. She prefers to train before the sun is up, so seeing her fight is a treat. There’s forty or so of us here.’
‘Forty?’ Lida repeated. ‘But the building is huge! I thought there must be hundreds!’
‘There were, in the past. But gifts are waning. Power is hereditary, and you Eilins hunted so many of us in the last burnings. It’s mostly blood from Brinnica and Erbide that keeps the Illarum going.’ He sighed. ‘It was a blessing from Andastra that Rikard was born gifted. It protects us. King Triste will be unwilling to make any more changes to the Law of Tolerance if it means his own family could be targeted.’
Lida thought of the young woman who had chosen to die rather than let an illae-healer save her. ‘Why not leave? Go to Brinnica or to Erbide, where you know you would be safe?’
Mikal gave her a long look. ‘James and I have been here since we were twelve,’ he said at last. ‘Jakob, ten. Katrin was fifteen when she was sent south. Lorcan was eight. Ava was seven when Katrin found her. Brigid was the youngest ever to come - she was five when she arrived, with her father in tow to care for her, taking her to and fro while she trained at the temple to be a priestess even as she mastered her gift. I miss Brinnica - often - but this is our home.’ He raised a fair eyebrow. ‘Would you be willing to leave Eilan?’
Lida stepped back involuntarily as she digested what he meant. If everyone at the Illarum left, she would have to go, too. She would have to leave her country, and everything she knew and loved, for where she had been part of something else - part of a city she adored and a way of life she recognised - this was her life now, at least for a handful of years; this odd white building full of strange people, and when she left it she would need to pin a golden cross to her breast, just as Delia had, and perhaps the next time she heard the word sluah it would not have been spat at someone else.
She shivered, cold even with the sun on her skin.
‘Don’t think about it,’ Mikal said.
She glanced at him, twisting her lips.
‘Sorry. I promise I wasn’t eavesdropping. Your face is easy to read.’
‘Eavesdropping?’
‘Catching surface thoughts or emotions. Even the strongest mindshield can’t contain everything, and immediate thoughts and reactions tend to leak through. They come too swiftly to hide, though your shield still protects your memories and the things you dwell upon more deeply. We all eavesdrop; it’s instinctive, a way of anticipating threats. You’ll be able to reciprocate soon enough.’
A thrill ran through Lida’s fingertips at the prospect of learning to use her gift.
‘Are we finished out here for the moment?’ Mikal said.
She shook her head. ‘I never want to go inside again.’
‘Well, there are two things I need to show you, and then you can come back out and live in the orchard, if you like.’
Lida sighed and rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Fine.’
He led her back inside the Illarum through a side door, the one Lorcan had taken her through after the testing. She hadn’t paid attention at the time, too focused on simply staying upright, but she looked around now, taking in the atrium ceiling, open to the sky, and the small pool sunk into the floor to catch the rain. Happy-looking plants growing in tall pots lined the walls.
‘It’s lovely.’
‘Yes, but it’s not what we’re going to see.’ Mikal gestured to an archway flanked by two potted lemon trees, and she followed him through.
The archway opened into a hall, half-filled with long wooden tables. To her left, Lida could see an open kitchen, with at least three ovens and a sizeable preparation bench. There were four apprentices bustling about inside it, preparing a meal; just outside, along the wall, stood a banquet table laden with food. The far end of the room was all windows, reaching up to the ceiling and stretching from wall to wall; through the glass, Lida could see herbs beds and the wooden boundary fence, and then the ocean.
‘The dining hall,’ Mikal announced, somewhat unnecessarily. ‘You can come here any time - there is always something to eat, though earlier is better at meal times, unless you enjoy fighting for scraps.’
He let her look around a minute longer, and then led her back through the atrium and down the hallway directly opposite the archway. The hall stretched into dimness, lined with closed doors, but Mikal stopped at the first one to their right, which stood open, and ushered her inside.
It was a bedroom, with a large bay window looking out onto the gardens and, beyond them, the sandy training yard. The room was furnished, complete with oversized bed, a private bathroom, a redwood wardrobe, and a tiny fireplace. Setiian tapestries of white and silver hung from the walls, patterned with branches of blossoms, finches hiding amongst their leaves. A thick, forest-green rug covered most of the redwood floor.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Lida said, frowning as she noticed her pack sitting neatly beside the bed.
‘That’s lucky,’ Mikal said. ‘It’s yours. For however long you’re here.’
She stared at him.
‘You didn’t think we’d make you sleep in the infirmary forever?’
Lida laughed. ‘I’d hoped not,’ she said warmly. ‘The company there is lacking.’
Mikal mock-scowled at her. ‘Remember I can put you back on bedrest.’ He gestured around the room. ‘I’ll let you explore. Lorcan, Marlyn, and Tomas’ rooms are down the corridor, but they’ll be in lessons until midday. Tiernan’s room is directly upstairs, but it’s better to ask Marlyn first if you need anything. I’ll send lunch and some willowbark here shortly, but it’s the last time - you’re expected in the dining hall tonight.’
‘What do I do tomorrow?’ she said, somewhat anxiously.
‘Tiernan’s teaching room is on the third floor. It’s easy to find - it’s the room with the windows. You will know it as soon as you see it. Head up there after breakfast; someone will be there.’
He moved to leave.
‘Mikal -’ Lida said. He turned, and she gave him her best Eilin bow, her good hand over her heart. ‘Thank you. For looking after me.’
He smiled. ‘You’re welcome, soer. I never want to see you back in the infirmary. And don’t let Tiernan or Lorcan boss you around.’ He shook his head. ‘Erbidans. They’re all as bad as each other.’
‘What do you mean?’
His smile widened. ‘You’ll find out.’
When he left, Lida walked around the room, tentatively at first, and then with more confidence. She opened the wardrobe to find a hand
ful of shifts and tunics in the steel grey that Lorcan and Marlyn had worn, along with a small shelf of books, an eclectic mix of serious history and children’s tales, with nothing to bridge the gap between them. Books were expensive, so she was grateful to have any at her disposal, especially ones she had not read before, though she was a little perplexed by the faery stories.
The bathroom was the biggest delight, boasting a proper bath sunk deep into the floor and tiled in green, along with a privy and basin and large round beaten copper mirror that took up most of one wall. She held her breath as she turned the taps, then squealed aloud happily as hot water ran. To have her own private bath was a luxury of which she’d never dreamed. They had a tub at home, but it took so long to heat the water that it was barely worth the hassle of using; they went to the public bath complex instead, where underground springs fed the hot pools and attendants would sluice and massage skin clean with scented oils. It also saved Lida the bother of having to wash and comb her own hair; she would have to do it herself from now on.
She decided that she would unpack her bag and put away her clothes, though her mind skittered away from how decided such a thing felt, how permanent. Her shoulder and arm were still securely strapped across her chest, but the pain had died to an almost-constant ache that she determinedly ignored. With one hand, she opened her pack.
It was a long process. The shirts were the worst; it turned out that managing buttons with one hand was almost impossible, and she swore loudly and often as she tried to get them to stay on hangers. When they were finally done, there was the painful process of working out how to hang her one good dress; she hadn’t bothered to lace it before she’d stuffed it into her bag, and it wouldn’t stay on the hanger with the bodice hanging open. It was some time before she could thread the green ribbon through enough of the tiny eyelets so that the dress would stay hung up. She folded her pants and jodhpurs and underthings, then stepped back to survey her work. It was very neat, and she knew it would not stay that way.