Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (104 page)

When they finished, another woman came and dismissed them. She walked around the bed, eyeing Tahn’s naked body with observant detachment. Tahn wished to cover his nakedness; he’d never been exposed in such a way in front of a woman except in the baths of Myrr. She made a small grunt and came forward, leaning over his bed and looking at each of his eyes by turns. She took her hands from the folds of her heavy robe and placed her thumbs beside Tahn’s nose, her fingers cradling the sides of his head. A look of confusion rose in her.

Just then Vendanj came in. “Thank you for your help. I will see to what is left.”

The woman did not acknowledge the Sheason.

“Do as I say,” Vendanj said. The command in his voice caused the woman to remove her hands from Tahn’s face. Her head bobbed up and a faltering expression passed over her.

“This one, he is not whole. He—”

“He is weak, Anais,” the Sheason said, more gently. “Thank you. I will tend to him.” Vendanj motioned toward the door.

The woman tucked her hands into her robe and scuttled from the room. The pallor in her face left Tahn disquieted. Or perhaps it was the way her lip quivered. But then, Vendanj had that affect on a lot of people.

As the woman exited, a set of guards brought in Sutter, his arms holding onto their shoulders for support. One eye was swollen shut, and dried blood was caked upon his collar. His friend did not use his left foot.

“What happened to you?” Tahn asked.

“I complained about my food,” Sutter said as the guards hefted him into a second bed. “I see you’ve had it pretty light.” With his one good eye, Sutter looked around at the spacious room.

“Yeah, they just don’t care much for root-diggers here.” Tahn chuckled, the laughter descending into his chest in a fit of wracking coughs.

“Save your talk for later,” Vendanj admonished.

The Sheason came to Tahn’s side as the first three women reentered and began dressing Sutter’s wounds. “You’ve undergone your Change,” Vendanj said. It was not a question.

“This morning,” Tahn answered. “I knew the turn of the cycle.”

“Rolen stood for you.” Again the Sheason spoke with certainty.

“Yes. Though I’m not sure why we get so excited over this day. I think I might prefer to live my life as melura…”

Tahn thought Vendanj’s lip curled ever so slightly into an honest grin. The Sheason drew his thin wooden case from inside his cloak and produced a sprig. Rather than hand it to Tahn, Vendanj placed it on Tahn’s tongue. The bit of greenery dissolved quickly, leaving a hint of something nearly peppermint, though not quite. Almost immediately, Tahn began to feel a relaxation of the stiffness in his flesh.

The Sheason moved to Sutter’s side and placed a hand on his eye. Vendanj gave to Sutter a sprig as he had to Tahn, and shared a long stare with Nails as the three women finished their dressings and made a silent exit. Tahn had the impression the Sheason was looking past Sutter’s eyes. Unbidden, the image of his friend cowering naked beneath a leagueman’s bed flashed in his mind.
Could Vendanj see such things?

“You’ve had your Change as well,” Vendanj said, still looking at Sutter.

Nails nodded.

“Let’s have your story,” Tahn insisted. “I’ve just got to know what low one stood steward for you.”

Sutter laughed without humor. Then he focused on the Sheason. “The League has arrested a seat holder under false pretense, Vendanj. They mean to assume the seat of Risill Ond in his place.”

“The Reapers,” Vendanj said softly.

“I fear worse than mere imprisonment for him. Is there anything you can do?” Sutter’s words grew more anxious.

“Be still, Sutter. I will speak to the regent about it.” Vendanj put a reassuring hand on Sutter’s chest. “Now rest, both of you.”

Just as the levate women left, Wendra burst into the room and rushed to Tahn’s side. “Thank the Will and Sky.” She gave him as firm a hug as she dared, and kissed him on the cheek. “What a mess you got yourself into.” Her mouth tugged into a smile to belie her scolding. “What happened?”

Tahn gave Vendanj a look. “Later,” he said, lifting his hand to gently take hers. “I’m kind of tired right now.”

“Of course, I’m sorry.” She kissed him again, and turned as Penit came in and stood beside her. “We’re all safe,” she added, putting her arm around Penit’s shoulders.

Tahn noted the look Wendra gave the boy. In a glance, it reminded him of the motherhood she’d lost, but also something else. Something had changed. It seemed more like a mask than like the desperately powerful protectiveness she’d shown him before. He shook the feeling away; he’d been through his own share of troubles. Everything he saw was bound to seem somehow different. Perhaps the Change brought this perspective.

Mira stepped into the room. The Far came to Tahn’s side, freezing him with a look. “A lot of grit to cut a man loose from the gallows, even if he was a leagueman.” And she gave him her small smile. “A day in irons is worth a hundred in battle. A man once held captive fights with more purpose. Do not forget those days.”

The sight of her helped his spirits as much as the healing levate hands.

“I’m glad you are well.” And she returned finally the impetuous kiss he’d given her some days before, pressing soft lips briefly to his cheek.

He barely had time to think how slow the kiss seemed in counterpoint to the precise speed of most of her life when Braethen came in carrying Tahn’s weapons and pack and cloak. At the sight of it all, Tahn sat up. “Bring them here,” he ordered.

“Easy, Tahn,” Braethen said. “You should be resting. Your things are safe.”

“Now. Bring them here now!” Tahn insisted.

“All right,” Braethen said. “Nice to see you, too.”

Tahn shook his head. “It’s important.”

As Tahn tore his cloak from Braethen’s hands, behind them, four guards strode into the room. Two took position against the wall left of the door, two to the right. Then came the woman they had called regent. She walked carefully, placing her cane in a steady rhythm. Behind her strode the man who’d first knelt at Tahn’s side in the cell. Everyone in the room bowed, except the man behind the regent, whose weathered face held little emotion.

The last to enter was an old man who wore at his throat the same symbol as Vendanj. A snowy white beard fell upon his chest, and wavy white hair hung to his shoulders. Spectacles adorned his bulbous nose, and the man moved with the deliberateness of the regent, his steps careful. Once he’d entered, he closed the door, and nodded at Vendanj before turing his attention on the regent.

“No doubt,” the old woman began, “this has much to do with the rumors that skulk the council walls of Solath Mahnus.” She spoke with a voice not to be crossed. “You know my heart in this, Sheason. I have called for the Convocation of Seats. Detractors accuse me of politics, but I’m too old to be concerned with my own legacy. I sent the birds and criers because there are reports of Bar’dyn in the south, because every day the gate is flooded with those who’ve abandoned their homes for the protection of Recityv’s walls. I suspect it is much the same in cities across the nations of the south.

“Though I can’t abide the opportunists”—she scowled—“men and women putting on colors, others adopting a sigil, all in order to compete for commissions or sit in seats on councils dead since the Second Promise. A hundred generations or more and now they swagger in all pomp and posture. It is a disgrace, and it’s become the single reason I am glad so many of the Promise Seats remain empty.

“No matter,” she finished. “What is it that coaxes Grant from his Scar?”

Grant made no response; he simply looked at the regent’s back.

When Vendanj answered, he looked at Tahn. “The same urgency that compels you to fully recall your High Council and Convocation of Seats, my Lady: the threat of the Quiet. He bears us company to the Heights of Restoration to test the fate of one against the design of the Will.”

“You don’t mean that Grant intends to stand at Restoration.” The old woman’s voice held a hint of amusement.

Vendanj then turned and came to Tahn’s bedside.

“You will rest today,” Vendanj said, looking down at him. “We cannot wait any longer than that. Before a week’s time, we must come to Restoration. If we do not, then whatever else we do may be without meaning.”

Tahn started to ask a hundred questions burning in his mind. The Sheason held up a hand before he could utter a word. “Save your strength, Tahn. There are things to discuss, I know. And I’ll want to know what has happened to you since Sedagin, who you’ve met, every detail. But it must wait. There are preparations that I must make.”

Tahn struggled up to his elbows. “No!” he shouted. The effort weakened him, and his head dropped back to the pillow. “I will not follow you another step without knowing about these Heights of Restoration.”

Vendanj stared down at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then softly, though loud enough all could hear, he began to speak. “The Heights of Restoration lay in the far north and east, beyond the Soliel Stretches and deep within the Saeculorum Mountains. The Heights are a series of great cliffs known to some as Creation’s End, to others as Endland, and in some histories as the Well of Worlds.”

The Sheason looked over at Braethen, whose rapt attention yet conveyed a sense that he knew these things. “Beyond those cliffs lay the mists of the abyss. A primordial power lives within those mists, a power that exists nowhere else … a power to test the spirit.”

Vendanj looked back at Tahn, fixing him with a firm but reassuring stare. “That has been our final destination from the beginning, Tahn, since fleeing the Hollows.”

The words chilled him. Tahn wrestled with what suddenly felt like a certainty: This Restoration had everything to do with him.

“The Quiet have entered the Hollows?” the regent asked, clearly disconcerted.

The Sheason nodded. “We were chased from there by Velle and other creatures from the Bourne. On the north face of the Sedagin we were separated. It is good Will and a favored Sky that all of us came here alive.”

“Tahn is one of these from the Hollows?” The regent stared at Tahn, but seemed to be seeing something more distant.

“He is, Helaina.” Vendanj turned to face the regent. “It was hidden from you because of the eavesdropping ears of Solath Mahnus. The Scar is safe, but it is the safety of men. The Hollows offered the consecration of the First Ones, and good men besides.”

“But the Quiet have entered there?” She shut her eyes.

“They have,” Vendanj said. His words came like an epitaph. “Changes corrupt the old ways, all the things we thought we knew.” Vendanj looked at Grant. “Denolan looks much like the man you exiled so long ago because time has little meaning in the Scar. The cycles do not turn in its earth or sky as rapidly as they do beyond its borders. The curse of the Velle still seeps into its soil and spreads like contagion. The protections we have enjoyed tear apart. I have seen the monstrous rank and file of the wastes beyond the Pall tread upon the fertility of our choicest groves while governments bicker over station and influence, while secret alliances are sealed in the antechambers of base taverns and grand palaces alike. Men and women, who know nothing of the dark covenants they make, enter rash and bloody contracts as the veil breaks and the Shadow of the Hand comes to fulfill its bargain.”

Tahn felt instantly cold. Penit curled into Wendra’s hip, Tahn’s sister clutching her chest defensively. Everyone looked on agape. Only Mira’s stoic face and the unmoving expression of this new man, Grant, seemed indifferent to the chilling words.

“What of the Mal and Northwatch?” the regent asked.

“There is no word from the Mal Nations.” Vendanj lifted a hand, palm up, and then turned it over. “Many would no sooner journey there than to the Bourne itself.” Vendanj lowered his hand. “Northwatch has likely fallen. I doubt we can expect any warning or defense from them.”

The regent blinked and leaned heavily on her cane. “We’ll need to know if the Hand is fully open,” she said. She lowered her voice, seeming to speak to herself, “And we a divided front.”

“The Whited One stirs against the old bonds,” Vendanj said, “hoping to call an end to creation and lead us to the day when the air itself is as final as grave soil … Delighast.” At this, Mira gave Vendanj a wary glance. “His darkness spreads one soul at a time, as some are robbed of life and others offer themselves up to the One in exchange for empty promises. From both is extracted what is needed of Forda I’Forza to meet his purposes.

“And those that have always followed him, those races sealed behind the veil, will come. A long time in the Bourne are they. Their hatred and envy are powerful.”

Tahn suddenly remembered the strange words he’d heard from the Bar’dyn as he and Sutter had fled the black winds from the north face:
You run only from lies … your lies and the lies of your fathers will we show you.
He wanted to ask the Sheason what it meant, but he felt weak, and still struggled with the feeling that Restoration had to do with him, and that even now it hid more secrets from him.

“And against this you take a child to Restoration,” the regent said, a hint of confusion in her words.

“Precisely because of his youth, my lady. But no longer a child,” Vendanj replied. “He has passed his Change. We race time now to reach the Heights.”