Besieged (16 page)

From the top of the dune, she looked down on the cottage. The wind tore the smoke from the chimney and flattened the sharp-edged dune grass, whipping it so that it stung her bare calves.

She was glad when she entered the hollow and approached the cottage. A faint glow came from the only window. Bubbled, distorted glass made it impossible to see inside. She tapped on the door.

No one answered.

Were they deliberately ignoring her? She was so used to this now, she nearly left. But the cottage was her special place and this woman had invaded it – this woman Uncle Irian loved, but had to hide. Why?

She pushed the door open. ‘Hello?’

Empty. The stranger must have gone to the outhouse.

The lantern revealed blankets and provisions. A fire burned in the hearth and a pot sat over it. She could smell onions and chicken.

Her stomach rumbled.

She meant to go over to the pot and stir it, but the moment she stepped inside the cottage and shut the door her senses went on alert. Scents suddenly became stronger and sharper, and her heart raced. She had always felt more alive when the T’En men came to visit, but never to this extent.

She inhaled deeply, enjoying the rush of energy that coursed through her body. It felt like when she stood on the cliff tops, daring the wind to pluck her off and blow her away.

Where was it coming from?

Kneeling, she inspected each of the new objects on the floor, handling them, sniffing them; it was on everything and nothing.

Frustrated, she came to her feet and went over to stir the food. If the Malaunje woman wasn’t careful, it would burn. Wrapping the edge of the blanket around her hand, she lifted the pot, moving it away from the centre of the fire.

Behind her, the door swung open.

Imoshen turned. ‘Your food was–’

The woman’s eyes went wide with fear. With a shriek, she turned and made off.

‘Wait.’ Imoshen ran after her.

She caught up with the heavily pregnant woman before she reached the top of the dune. The poor thing had collapsed in the sand on her knees. She held her hand under her belly, panting.

Imoshen crouched next to her, watching warily, not sure if she should speak in case she distressed her further.

The woman caught her breath and lifted her head to meet Imoshen’s eyes. In the moonlight her hair looked black, her eyes enormous. Now that they were close, she looked vaguely familiar.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Imoshen apologised.

‘I wasn’t scared, just surprised.’

That was a lie. She’d been terrified. Imoshen didn’t know how to respond.

‘I should have realised you were Imoshen.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right.’ The woman lifted a hand to cup Imoshen’s cheek. In that moment, Imoshen realised no one had touched her since summer’s cusp, when her father and uncles had visited. She leant into the warm palm, soaking up the sensation.

‘Sorry.’ The woman removed her hand.

‘For what?’

The woman blinked. ‘Malaunje and T’En do not touch, skin on skin, unless...’

‘Unless?’

‘It’s just... You look so much like her,’ the woman marvelled.

‘Who?’

‘Your mother.’

‘You knew my mother?’

‘Knew...’ The woman bit her bottom lip and nodded. ‘My half-sister. Same mother, different fathers, both T’En.’

‘Why did Uncle Irian hide you here...’ She realised she didn’t know her name.

‘Karokara.’

‘Why did he hide you here, Aunt Karokara?’

The woman gave her a sharp look. ‘T’En don’t acknowledge their Malaunje kin.’

‘Why ever not?’ When Karokara didn’t answer, Imoshen wondered if it was a lie. It hadn’t felt like a lie, yet... ‘My father used to acknowledge my mother.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How?’

Karokara stared at her as if she’d said something extraordinary. Imoshen felt as if she was speaking the same language, but navigating unknown territory. Before she could ask Karokara to explain, the woman winced and bent over her belly.

‘Baby’s coming,’ Imoshen guessed. The summer just gone, she’d seen one of the fishermen’s women grow big with child, seen someone come to the kitchen door late one night to get the cook, heard the screams in the night, then watched the excited chatter as the others welcomed the baby to the island. ‘Come back to the fire.’

She slid her arms around Karokara and helped her stand. She was nowhere near as tall as her father and uncles, but she was bigger than the cook and the fishermen’s wives; as big as some of the Malaunje men.

Another contraction came before they could start walking, another at the base of the dune, and another before they got to the door. This one was worse than any of the others. Karokara doubled over, moaning.

When Karokara could stand again, Imoshen helped her inside. Another contraction came as she tried to lie down on the blanket in front of the fire.

‘Baby’s coming fast. I’ll go get help.’

‘Don’t leave.’ Karokara gripped her arm with surprising strength. ‘It’s quick because I had a fright.’ Her hand tightened and her breathing changed as she went with the pain. When it had passed, she looked up. ‘Stay with me.’

Chapter Thirteen

O
SKANE LOOKED UP.

Franto stood in the doorway with his evening meal on a tray. He often forgot to eat, so deep was he in his study. Tonight it was the Wyrd scrolls. He had never been able to work out why the T’En had powers, when True-men, the gods’ chosen people, had none. If there were no gods, as he feared, then this was just bad luck. But he kept searching for a logical reason, because if he found it, maybe he’d find his faith again.

One heretical priest had put forward the theory that the silverheads were fallen angels, who had defied the Seven and been sent to earth to suffer alongside True-people. He had been excommunicated for his trouble.

Sensible scholars held that the Wyrds were closer to animals, but the logic of this troubled Oskane. If he only knew more about the Wyrds, he might be able to work out where they fitted in, but the old scrolls were full of gaps.

A year ago, his agent from Enlightenment Abbey had captured an adult Malaunje for him to study, but the silly creature had killed itself. If Sorne and Izteben were to infiltrate Cesspit City, they would need to speak the Wyrd’s barbaric language, so he’d asked the agent to locate a suitable Malaunje to teach the boys.

Franto cleared his throat.

Oskane looked up to see him in front of the desk with the meal. ‘Just put it there.’

His servant slid the tray onto the desk. ‘There’s been trouble.’

‘Between the penitents and the Wyrds?’

Franto nodded.

‘It was inevitable. While the boys were little, they looked sweet and innocent. But now that they’re as big as full grown True-men... I’m surprised the penitents have put up with them this long. We may have to forbid them from using the main courtyard.’

‘Denat threw Sorne’s shirt in the mud.’

Oskane shrugged.

‘Then Joaken got involved.’

Oskane tensed. ‘That man is too quick to resort to violence.’

‘Today he got what’s coming to him. Kolst knocked him off his feet. Broke his nose.’

Oskane chuckled.

‘S
O MUCH BLOOD,
’ Imoshen whispered. She wasn’t a mid-wife, but even she knew Karokara had lost too much blood.

The baby mewled and tried to kick the blanket off. Imoshen tucked him in again, fetched the last blanket for Karokara and tried to staunch the bleeding.

During the birth, Imoshen had been totally focused on Karokara, and found herself somehow sharing her pain. Even now, her stomach ached.

At least Karokara was no longer in pain. She seemed to be drifting in and out of sleep. Her eyes would flutter open, then close. Her face was white, lips colourless.

Imoshen glanced to the baby boy. He’d screamed at first, but now he blinked sleepily and sucked his fist. Should she run across the island to fetch the cook? Could she leave Karokara that long? Should she take the baby?

‘Pass me Iraayel.’ It was the barest whisper as Karokara reached for the baby. ‘Is he...’

‘Perfect,’ Imoshen assured her. As her aunt didn’t have the strength to hold him, Imoshen placed him on her chest.

With great effort, Karokara lifted one hand to his head. Tears slid down her face. ‘Promise me...’

‘Yes?’

Karokara held Imoshen’s eyes. ‘Promise me you’ll look after him.’

‘I promise.’ Imoshen licked her lips. The baby wriggled and almost slid off his mother’s chest. Imoshen moved him to one side, placing him beyond the puddle of blood, then turned back. ‘But you’ll get better. I’ll fetch the cook. She–’

‘...shen?’ Unable to keep her eyes open, Karokara lifted a hand, blindly seeking her.

‘I’m here.’ Imoshen took the hand between both of hers. So cold and weak.

‘You eased my pain.’

‘It didn’t help. I’m sorry, I–’

‘Don’t tell anyone.’

‘Tell them what?’

Karokara’s eyes flickered open in surprise. ‘This was the first time your gift’s moved?’

Imoshen didn’t understand the question, didn’t know what to say.

‘Are you a woman yet?’

‘No...’

Karokara nodded wearily, lids closing. ‘Doesn’t always coincide.’

‘I don’t under–’

‘Listen. Hide your gift from the T’En men for as long as possible.’

‘Why?’

‘Once your gift surfaces, they’ll fear you.’

Imoshen tried to pull away.

But the dying woman held on with surprising strength. Karokara forced her eyes open. ‘Don’t trust them. This island is your prison.’

Shocked, Imoshen broke free and sprang back to her heels. Karokara was raving, like the kitchen lad when he got a fever.

‘You’re not thinking straight. I’ll go fetch the cook. She’ll know what to do. I’ll take Iraayel with me.’ Imoshen scooped up the baby. She’d been kneeling in an ever-growing puddle of blood and her wet breeches clung to her legs. She adjusted the baby, making sure he was well-wrapped, for she could hear the wind keening outside.

Going down on one knee, Imoshen touched her aunt’s cheek. ‘I’ll send help, Karo.’

No response, nothing. An empty husk.

Shock held Imoshen immobile. Fishermen had been lost at sea, and her mother had drowned, but you never saw the bodies. She shuddered.

Dipping into the part of her that had woken tonight, she tried to find a spark of life, but she was exhausted and had nothing left.

So she leant forward to listen to the woman’s chest. No heart beat under her ear.

How could life be there one moment and gone the next? Where did it go?

The baby stirred. Imoshen slipped out of the cottage, shut the door and set off for the lighthouse.

‘H
OLD ON,
I
RIAN.
’

He turned to see Ardeyne enter the chamber at the base of the lighthouse. Irian gestured up the steps. ‘I’m going to check Imoshen’s bedroom. The cook can’t find her. She wasn’t in the walled garden or...’

The voice-of-reason closed the door and came across to the bottom of the steps. ‘I think we need someone new to report on Imoshen.’

Irian came down the steps until they were side by side. ‘Why? We have the cook.’

‘I want someone who knows what life is like in the city, someone who is closer in age, someone she’ll confide in.’

‘Ah.’ Irian understood. ‘Someone she will confess her first gift stirrings to. That person’s loyalty must be beyond question. You want my Karo.’

‘She was going to stay here for the next five years anyway. It’s not like she’s your devotee. Even if the baby is stillborn, she should stay here. Imoshen will trust her and confess her gift stirrings. We can’t afford to let Imoshen grow into the full extent of her power. We need to get a sacrare from her before that happens.’

He had already agreed to let Karo have those years with their son. But if there was no son, then he would be five years without her for nothing.

Not for nothing, for the brotherhood. The brotherhood was everything, his duty and his life. ‘Of course.’

Ardeyne nodded. ‘Go, bring Imoshen down.’

Since it was almost dark now and cold, he guessed Imoshen was reading, so deep in a treatise she hadn’t heard the fuss. When he reached the top bedroom, it seemed she hadn’t even thought to light a lamp, as there was no light coming from under her door.

Smiling, he thrust the door open. ‘Reading in the dark?’

Her room was empty, childhood gifts laid out carefully, precious treatises stacked next to the bed.

Troubled, he headed down the stairs, going straight to the house at the base of the lighthouse where the dining room had been turned over to the T’En. As he approached the door, he heard the cook speaking.

‘...I’ll send for Imoshen. Dinner won’t be ready for a while. We didn’t look for you for another–’

Irian thrust open the door. ‘Imoshen’s not in her room.’

The cook spun around. She was a big woman, with a strong jaw. Sensible, he’d always thought.

‘Not in her room?’ Rohaayel came to his feet. ‘Where could she be?’

‘Roaming,’ the cook said. ‘She’s become rather wild since we... we’ll look for her.’ She bustled towards the door. ‘I’ll have spiced wine brought in, with bread and cheese. That should hold you ’til dinner’s ready.’

‘Roaming?’ Ardeyne repeated after the cook left.

‘Two days before twin full moon,’ Gift-tutor Bedettor said. ‘If her gift’s troubling her, she’ll be drawn to the moonlight. If her gift’s troubling her already, she’ll be powerful as an adult.’

They all went very still.

The two gift-warriors came to their feet. Shield-brothers, they were used to defending each other on the empyrean plane. They were well and truly able to take down an untrained T’En girl. For that matter, any of them were.

In theory.

‘Is she a threat?’ one of them asked.

Irian felt their power rise and his own gift stirred in response. In defence of Imoshen, which surprised him.

‘We saw her at summer’s cusp,’ Rohaayel said. ‘There was no sign of her gift then.’