Outcast Chronicles - Sanctuary Part 25

Her sisterhood's historian pa.s.sed by, debating hotly with the Mieren scholar Sorne had brought aboard. Igotzon was just as fascinated by the ruin's frescoes as the two sisterhood historians.

Someone hailed the s.h.i.+p and Imoshen went to the side to see several rowboats drawing near, filled with bedraggled Malaunje.

*Is this the causare's s.h.i.+p?' an old Malaunje woman asked.

*Yes,' Imoshen called down. *Who are you?'

*Survivors from All-mother Parazime's party.'

*Survivors?' Imoshen's heart sank.

*We were attacked on the road...' The old woman broke off as a rope ladder was unrolled and they began the climb aboard.

*So Parazime's dead,' Egrayne said, surprising Imoshen, who hadn't heard her approach. *I remember when she won the sisterhood... This is not good. That means one less sisterhood vote.'

*And half a sisterhood lost.' Imoshen had given the rest of the sisterhood shelter on her s.h.i.+p.

Egrayne watched the survivors climb aboard searching for someone. *Parazime's daughter's not amongst them. Such a waste.'

As news of their arrival spread, the other half of Parazime's sisterhood came running. There was weeping for those lost, but also joy over those who had survived.

Egrayne frowned. *Looks like there won't be enough high-ranking T'En to reform the sisterhood. Hers was always the smallest.'

*Athazi or Melisarone will have to take in her people,' Imoshen said.

*Make it Mel, she needs some new blood. Most of her T'En are over eighty.'

*I'll call an all-mother council.'

Imoshen headed down the steps to the mid-deck, where she sent messages to the other s.h.i.+ps. Then she found the old Malaunje woman and drew her aside. *What happened?'

*The all-mother waited until we'd brought the harvest in, and we loaded up the wagons. The roads were bad, little more than churned mud for the most part. I don't know what it's been like here, but up north we've had nothing but rain. We'd been travelling for eight days in the rain and everyone and everything was wet. The first fine day the all-mother said we should try to get our clothing and blankets dry before the little ones took a chill. I had my people strip the carts and lay everything out to dry.

*That night, a dozen armed men attacked. Parazime and her inner circle fought them off, but they paid a heavy price. Her hand-of-force died in the attack. Parazime was injured. When she learned her daughter was missing, she segued to the higher plane. I think she went looking for her. Our voice-of-reason only lived for another day. After that we abandoned everything heavy, and travelled as fast as we could. We would have been here sooner, but we had to detour around the army besieging Port Mirror-on-Sea.'

*The port is besieged?'

The old woman nodded. *There's a sea of tents surrounding it. What will happen to us?'

The same question was echoed by the eldest of the T'En survivors. That night All-mother Melisarone welcomed them onto her s.h.i.+p and, the very next day, Imoshen sent a message to Riverbend Stronghold, telling Sorne that King Charald was under siege.

ARAVELLE BRUSHED HER little sister's hair then separated it into lengths and wound the sections around her finger to form ringlets.

Asher, the man she'd thought was her father, had such a head of curls they'd been near impossible to tame. Thinking of him made her chest ache and her eyes blur with tears.

*Vella sad?' Itania's bottom lip trembled.

Aravelle summoned a smile and kissed her nose. *All done.'

*Where's the tortoise-sh.e.l.l hair comb?' Hariorta demanded. Itania flinched.

*It was right there in the chest.' Charsoria pointed. *Nariska, did you take it?'

*No, no I never.' The girl ducked her head, shoulders hunched as if she expected a blow.

*Well, don't just stand there, you stupid girl. Find it,' Hariorta snapped. *Charsoria makes her report to All-father Hueryx tonight. She needs to look her best.'

While Nariska darted about the cabin frantically searching, Aravelle unrolled Itania's bed-mat.

*Hurry, girl. I'm nearly ready for it!' Hariorta's hands flew, as she pulled and twisted long strands of Charsoria's hair to create an ornate style.

*I'm done,' Hariorta announced. *Now, where is that comb, Nariska?'

Charsoria studied herself in a polished silver mirror. She had painted her face to accentuate her eyes, reddened her lips and powdered her cheeks until they were pale as the moon. Aravelle didn't consider the all-father's-voice to be as pretty as her mother, who had never worn face paint. Taken individually, there was nothing wrong with Charsoria's features. It was her expression... the line of her mouth expressed displeasure and her eyebrows drew together in a habitual frown.

Why did she have to find fault with everything?

As Aravelle knelt next to Itania to sing her to sleep, she noticed the tortoise-sh.e.l.l comb in the corner. And she remembered how Charsoria had been in a temper that morning and had sent the chest flying, scattering clasps and necklaces across the floor.

Before anyone could notice, Aravelle picked up the comb. Keeping it hidden in her hand, she edged over to Nariska, and slipped it into the girl's hand.

The girl looked down, then up into Aravelle's eyes in amazement. Aravelle gave her a nod of encouragement.

*Here it is,' Nariska said, hurrying over to Hariorta.

*Finally.' The woman s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her and went to use it, only to discover that one of the teeth was broken.

*You stupid girl, I can't use this.' She flung it across the room. *Fetch me the mother-of-pearl clasp, instead.'

As Nariska hastened to obey, Aravelle had to bite her tongue. If Charsoria hadn't been in a temper and knocked the chest to the floor, the comb would not have been broken. And Hariorta was just as bad, always looking for an excuse to take offence.

According to Redravia, if Aravelle's mother hadn't run away, she would have been the next all-father's-voice, and Aravelle was sure her mother would never have ruled with spite and sly pinches. She would have organised things efficiently, with a laugh and a smile, and everyone would have run to do her bidding to please her, not because they feared her.

Hariorta stepped back to survey her sister, putting her heel on a dinner tray. In a flash of temper, she kicked the tray aside, shattering the bowls.

*Now look what you've done!' Hariorta pointed. *You should have taken this back to the kitchen, Nariska.'

She should have, but she hadn't been able to, because she'd been running around the cabin looking for the tortoise-sh.e.l.l comb.

Hariorta snapped her fingers at Aravelle and Nariska. *You two, clean up now.'

They gathered the broken crockery, stacked it on the tray and went down to the galley, where the cook's army of helpers were cleaning up after dinner.

On the way back, Nariska turned to Aravelle. *Why did you give me the comb?'

Aravelle didn't know what to say. *Why wouldn't I?'

*You could have pointed out my fault and won favour with them.'

Aravelle stiffened. *I don't want anything from them.'

Nariska nodded. *Charsoria says you're proud, too proud.' The girl glanced up and down the pa.s.sage. *She told Redravia to teach you how to block the brothers' gifts, but once you were out of the room, she told Redravia not to show you the best techniques. She wants you to suffer.'

Aravelle was not in the least surprised. *Charsoria is petty and mean-spirited. She's nothing like my mother.'

*Don't talk about your mother. Both the sisters hated her.' She glanced down the pa.s.sage to make sure they were alone. *Charsoria should protect us, but she only looks out for herself and her sister. You must be careful of them.'

*Don't worry.' Aravelle was not going to drop her guard. *But thank you.'

Nariska smiled, and for a heartbeat, she was beautiful. Then the pinched, frightened look returned. *We should hurry back.'

Chapter Nineteen.

JARAILE LISTENED AT the air vent. The same two guards were on duty again, and their talk made her smile.

*...searched the city and we're the only ones here,' the unlucky guard said. *Your roll.'

*I heard a woman weeping. And I'm not the only one.'

*If there was a silverhead hiding in this palace, we'd have found her.'

*We won't find her because she's the shade of someone killed in the battle for the city. I bet she's a beautiful young virgin.'

*A virgin? Amongst the Wyrds?'

Jaraile marvelled. Several nights ago, she'd claimed she'd heard a woman weeping. Now they'd embroidered the story further. Her father had once told her that fighting men were simple, superst.i.tious creatures. This was not surprising when an arrow could pa.s.s over one man and kill the man behind him. It was no wonder they clung to their talismans and lucky rituals.

*There had to be virgins amongst the silverheads,' the lucky one said. *The sisterhood leaders kept the young ones locked up, separate from the brotherhoods.'

*Yeah? Just think of all those women, locked up together. What did they get up to?'

*I tell you, her shade's going to haunt this palace until she finds the man who killed her. Then she's going to drag him into death's realm with her.'

*And if she can't find him?'

Footsteps echoed up the long pa.s.sage. One of the men swore. The other one laughed softly. *It's just the kitchen lad with the queen's evening meal.'

Jaraile sprang to her feet and put the next stage of her plan into action. She hid in a corner of the bedchamber. Heart racing, she unravelled her hair and ran her hands through it. Then she deliberately raked her cheeks with her nails, so that she appeared crazed and terrified. The pain made her eyes fill with tears. Sinking to crouch in a corner, she covered her head with her arms.

As the door to the reception chamber opened, she discovered she was shaking with excitement. Hopefully, they'd take it for fear.

*Queen Jaraile? Your dinner's here,' the lucky guard called.

She heard his footsteps as he came to the open door.

*Queen Jaraile?'

She lifted her head.

He gasped and behind him the unlucky guard swore.

*Is she gone?' Jaraile whispered.

They a.s.sured her there was no one else there, as they came over and helped her to her feet.

*The weeping woman was here again, I tell you. Why won't you believe me?' Jaraile drew them to the doorway, peered into the reception room and pointed to the balcony doors, which were hidden behind drapes. *She was out there, on the balcony. Trying to get in.'

The lad ran over to them, clearly terrified.

The two guards exchanged looks.

Jaraile shuddered. *I'm not coming out until I know she's gone.'

The guards looked grim as they edged towards the balcony doors. Jaraile clung to them and the lad clung to her. She laughed inside, exulting in her power over them.

The the unlucky one drew his sword.

*What good's a sword against a spirit?'

The unlucky guard gestured to the drapes. *Open them.'

His companion dragged the curtains back.

*There's no one there.' The unlucky guard sounded relieved.

*Take the lamp out there,' Jaraile urged. *I have to be sure.'

As soon as they took the lamp and stepped through the doors it was clear the balcony was empty, but they went up and down its length to be sure.

*There now, you're safe,' the lucky guard told Jaraile, while his companion closed the doors and pulled the drapes.

*Thank you,' she said. *You'll be just outside, won't you?'

*Just outside.'

*Good. Her shade won't hurt me, will it? After all, I'm just a woman. I've never raised a weapon against her kind.'

The unlucky guard swallowed audibly.

Satisfied she had them sufficiently unnerved, Jaraile let them leave the chamber. Tomorrow morning, she would send for Captain Pataxo, weep on his shoulder and insist she could not stay another night in the sisterhood palace. By then, news of what had happened would be right through his company. If she was lucky, they'd move down to the brotherhood palace near the wall and she'd be one step closer to escaping.

GRAELEN HAD THOUGHT he would never see the Celestial City again, but there it stood, a pale shape on the dark water. Last night, the white stone of city had glowed in the moons' light, reflecting in the lake, and his heart had ached to think of his home in the hands of the barbarian Mieren.