Exile (31 page)

‘You should go lie down. Vella and I can watch the little ones.’

‘You’re a good boy. I don’t know what I’d do without you two.’

Vittor’s sing-song voice carried to them. Ronnyn had let the goats out and now Vittor began to drive them up the slope on the far side of their little valley. Since the drought had broken, the grass had grown deep and green. Vittor saw them watching and waved.

Ronnyn glanced back to his mother. She smiled, but the frown still pulled her brows together. If he admitted he thought his gift was manifesting, he would add to her worries. He decided to ask only general questions about gift-working.

Aravelle came out from between the lines of washing and began to fill the last line. Time was running out.

‘How does it feel when the gifts come on?’

His mother laughed. ‘I’m Malaunje. How would I know?’

‘You served the T’En scholar, Hueryx.’

‘As his scribe.’ Sasoria glanced to him. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t be thirteen until next spring cusp and they don’t empower T’En children until after that, and then only when their gifts are beginning to manifest. You have a while yet.’

She sounded so certain. Had the sand flicked up into the sea-boar’s eyes by pure chance?

His mother lifted her hand. ‘Over further, Vittor.’

He moved the goats on.

Ronnyn tried again. ‘What kind of gifts are there?’

‘That’s T’En lore, not for Malaunje to know,’ she said, but her eyes, so like Aravelle’s, crinkled at the corners as she gave him a mischievous look. ‘But we know things. There are some rare gifts that only surface once in a generation or even less–’

‘Like seers?’

She nodded. ‘Men are seers. The female equivalent is a scryer.’

‘What’s the difference?’ he asked, leading up to his real question. ‘Other than the name?’

‘There is...’ She broke off as she shaded her eyes, watching the goats, then waved to signal Vittor that was far enough. ‘The gifts manifest differently for males and females. I’m not sure how exactly. The T’En do love their secrets.’

‘So the men–’

‘Are nearly always noets of some kind, able to manipulate the mind and create illusions. This is not always much use with Mieren, some of whom have natural defences. The women are generally more powerful than the men, particularly if they have birthed a sacrare child.’

‘Sacrare?’

‘Born of two T’En parents. They have great gifts, and somehow this enhances the mother’s gift as well.’

Aravelle had almost finished. No time for subtlety. ‘What about a gift that moves things?’

‘Real things?’ She laughed and shrugged. ‘Most gift-working is done on the higher plane. It exists alongside this plane and it’s dangerous. When your gift comes, you must promise not to go to the higher plane.’

‘Of course. But I meant moving things here, in the real world.’

‘Not possible, except maybe for a sacrare.’ She was looking distracted again, her gaze on Itania and Tamaron, who had almost reached the lagoon. If they got into the damp sand it would mean more washing. Sasoria raised her voice, beckoning. ‘Tam, Tani, come back now.’ She did not relax until they began to make their way up the path that curved around the vegetable patch.

She returned to his question. ‘A noet could make you think he’d moved something, but it would still be there. Illusion, Ronnyn, that’s what mind-manipulators are good at.’

So it had been pure good luck that drove the sand into the sea-boar’s eyes. He should be grateful, but he was disappointed. Ronnyn didn’t expect to be the first seer in two hundred years. From what his mother said, he would be a mind-manipulator.

So be it. He would focus on harnessing his gift and try to create illusions. And he’d train himself, since there was no one to train him. But who should he practise on?

Not his parents. That left Aravelle.

Which made him wonder. ‘Do Malaunje have defences from gift power?’

‘Of course, otherwise we’d be slaves to the T’En. That’s another thing, sometimes...’ Sasoria broke off. She frowned. ‘What are they up to now?’

The two little ones had come halfway back to the cottage and opened the gate to the vegetable patch.

‘Probably looking for sweet young carrots,’ Ronnyn said. ‘You know how Tam likes to...’

He broke off as Tamaron used a stick to prod something that lay hidden under the broad leaves of the butternut pumpkin vine.

‘Probably found a frog,’ Ronnyn decided, more interested in their discussion. He glanced over to the clothesline. Aravelle was headed back and so was Vittor, although he had further to come. Better get his questions in quickly. ‘What were you going to say? Father was saying not to touch–’

‘Most gifts require touch, but...’ His mother broke off, all her attention on Tamaron and Itania. They’d both crouched down to get a better look at whatever was hiding under the pumpkin leaves. His little brother poked it again.

‘Could be a snake,’ Sasoria said. ‘Quickly, Ronnyn, go see what they’re up to.’

Worried now, he headed towards them. But before he got far, something darted out from under the leaves, going for Tamaron. Itania squealed. He caught the flash of a long body, short muscular legs, powerful shoulders, and dark fur, with white markings behind the neck.

A stink-badger!

Ronnyn ran. Grabbing the axe as he passed the chopping block, he vaulted over the vegetable patch fence and ran through the bean trellises.

Luckily for Tamaron, the stink-badger’s attack was only a warning. It let him go and the three-year-old stumbled back. Too shocked to react, he just stood there, blood pouring from his face.

Itania stared at him, equally shocked. Just as Ronnyn came up behind them, she let out a shrill scream. She didn’t run. Neither did Tamaron. The three-year-old didn’t even try to stop the bleeding, just stood there and wailed.

They were both so terribly vulnerable.

Where was the stink-badger?

As soon as Ronnyn reached them, he shoved both the little ones behind him. ‘Go back to Ma.’

He scanned the pumpkin patch. The stink-badger had retreated. If it was the one that made the tracks, it was a big male. They were lucky it hadn’t gone for Tamaron’s throat.

He’d have to kill it.

His mother darted through the gate, calling Tamaron and Itania, who ran down the path and into her arms.

Ronnyn caught movement in the corner of his eye. He spun around. It was Aravelle. She didn’t bother to go to the gate, just put her foot on the bottom rung of the fence and swung her weight over, jumping to the ground.

‘Stay out of the pumpkin vines,’ he warned, before she could disturb the creature. ‘Come ’round this way, to me.’

‘What is it?’ she called.

‘Stink-badger. A big one.’ He glanced back in time to see his mother struggling to stand, with Itania in her arms and Tamaron clinging to her, weeping and bleeding.

Movement. This time it was Vittor running back to join them. He passed out of sight behind the smokehouse and chicken coop on his way around to them.

‘Everyone stand back,’ Ronnyn ordered. ‘Vella, pick up Tam. I’m going to try to drive it towards the corner and trap it.’ Where the chicken coop and smokehouse formed a right angle.

‘I can help,’ Aravelle insisted.

‘Help by picking up Tam.’ He didn’t take his eyes off the vines. He’d spotted movement under the leaves.

‘I’ll take Tam,’ Sasoria said. ‘Get the rake, Vella. Help Ronnyn.’

Vittor ran through the gate and up the path, taking a position on Ronnyn’s right. Along the way, he’d grabbed the hoe and Aravelle had the rake. But all of them had bare feet and legs, and the stink-badger could easily knock Vittor over.

‘Make noise. Scare it,’ Ronnyn told them. ‘Walk on each side of me, slightly behind me.’

They did, advancing with him across the pumpkin vines. He saw the way the leaves moved; the stink-badger was weaving from side to side as it backed away into the corner.

The the beast made a break for it, trying to get past Aravelle on the left.

Ronnyn went that way, cut it off and drove it before him. They could see it clearly, with its big body, sharp teeth, and scars from fights with the wild dogs.

They’d trapped it now.

‘Stay back.’ Ronnyn stepped in.

The creature reared up on its hind legs and bared its teeth. A pungent stench hit the back of Ronnyn’s throat. It made him gag. He went to swing, but another stink-badger came at him from the left, past Aravelle. It sank its teeth into his forearm, and he felt the muscle tear. The creature hung off his arm, nearly unbalancing him.

Seizing its chance, the first stink-badger came at Ronnyn. Vittor swung the hoe, clipping its rear leg as it leaped.

On his left, Aravelle brought the rake down hard, slamming it onto the other stink-badger’s eyes, forcing it to let Ronnyn go. She’d freed his left arm, but he’d dropped the axe, and when he bent down to grab it, his fingers wouldn’t work.

Vittor whimpered. Ronnyn looked up to see that the first stink-badger had aimed its foul spray at his little brother and Vittor was bent double retching. Defenceless.

Nothing could be allowed to hurt his family.

He grabbed the axe with his right hand. Time slowed. Everything became totally clear and sharp. Bringing the blade around in an arc, he struck the creature’s flank before it could attack Vittor. Hot blood sprayed him, seemed to empower him.

Holding the edge of her smock over her nose and mouth, Aravelle dragged Vittor out of danger.

The second stink-badger gave a horrible yowl as it came at Ronnyn again.

He slammed the axe down into the beast. Blood arced up.

Even mortally injured, the first stink-badger went for him again.

Ronnyn struck over and over, until both beasts had stopped moving. He was bathed in hot blood. Bright beads of blood gleamed like jewels on the broad green leaves.

He’d never felt more alive as he stood, gulping for breath.

From far away, he heard Itania whimper.

When he turned to the others, he found Vittor and Aravelle had backed off to join their mother and the little ones. They all stared at him as if they didn’t know him. As if they were afraid of him.

Then Vittor gave a whoop and a cheer.

Ronnyn glanced down to the two stink-badgers. They were mangled beyond recognition.

‘Vittor, come here.’ His mother’s voice sounded odd, or it might just be his ears. Everything, even the chickens’ familiar squawking, sounded far away. ‘Vittor, strip off those clothes. I’ll have to burn them. Then help me get Tam inside. His face needs stitching. Vella, go help Ronnyn.’

As his mother returned to the cottage with Itania in her arms, Vittor struggling to carry Tamaron beside her, Aravelle came closer.

She stopped a little way from him. ‘You can put the axe down now.’

He did, but it was hard to make his right hand unclench.

She pointed to his left arm. ‘You need stitches.’

His forearm was a mess. Strips of meat hung in tatters and he could see bone. The sharpness he’d felt during the attack left him as suddenly as it had come.

Aravelle pulled off her smock, revealing her knitted under-vest. Taking his injured arm, she wound the smock tightly around it and tied it off. ‘Hold your arm up high against your body.’

He did as he was told. His mind felt slow and thick, like honey on a winter’s day.

‘Don’t you faint,’ Aravelle warned. ‘I can’t carry you.’

He knew he should be indignant, but he couldn’t seem to get annoyed. ‘I’ll be all right.’ He slurred his words.

Aravelle picked up the rake and prodded what was left of the two stink-badgers. ‘You really made sure they were dead.’

‘Couldn’t let them hurt you or Vittor.’

She looked him over. Her knitted vest and breeches revealed the curves of her body. Funny, they were both bigger than their mother, but she still dressed them like children.

‘You stink something awful, and you’re covered in blood,’ Aravelle said. ‘It’s all through your hair. You need to wash up.’

He nodded. And just stood there.

She frowned and put the rake aside to guide him towards the cottage. She walked on his right side, her arm around his waist.

Ronnyn turned towards the cottage and the water barrel, but the world kept turning and he went down, vaguely aware of Aravelle trying to support him.

The next thing he knew he was inside, on the floor in front of the fire, stretched out on a blanket while Aravelle knelt next to him. She frowned in concentration as she bandaged his arm.

‘You’re awake, good.’ Aravelle was all business. ‘I rolled you onto a blanket and dragged you inside. Ma’s already sewn you up. Tam and Itania wouldn’t stop crying, so she climbed into bed with them and Da.’

He listened. It was quiet behind the partition. ‘Sounds like they’re all asleep.’

‘They are.’ Aravelle finished bandaging his arm. ‘There. Vittor, take this bowl and tip it out.’

As the six-year-old took the bowl of dirty water away, Aravelle poured hot water from the kettle into another bowl, then checked the temperature.

Ronnyn shifted. Was he naked? He felt the much-washed material of the feather-down quilt on his bare thighs. Had Aravelle stripped him? He flushed at the thought. He wasn’t a boy any more.

‘Let’s get that blood off your face,’ Aravelle said as she wrung out the cloth and turned back to him.

He caught her arm with his good hand. ‘How’s Tam? I wasn’t quick enough to get to him. Is he–’

‘Ma sewed up his bottom lip. He’ll have a scar, just like a real brotherhood warrior.’

‘You were like a warrior,’ Vittor said from the doorway. He came over to kneel next to Ronnyn. ‘You were ferocious. The way you swung that axe!’

Ronnyn grinned and glanced to Aravelle. Her mouth had pulled into a tight line of disapproval.

‘I had to kill them, Vella. Had to protect you and Vittor. They would have hung around and stolen our chickens. I–’

‘I know. You did the right thing.’ She sponged his face clean of dried blood. Her touch was gentle, but her eyes would not meet his.

Ronnyn tried to catch Aravelle’s eyes. ‘Vella?’

She glanced around as if looking for something to do. ‘Vittor, go fill the kettle. We could all do with some honey-tea.’