Besieged (17 page)

‘We must watch for her hair beginning to darken to silver-grey. It’s a sign the gift is maturing.’ Like the shield-brothers, Bedettor was new to the inner circle. He had replaced the old gift-tutor, who’d known Imoshen since she was a baby. This was his first visit to the island, and he thought they were underestimating the danger Imoshen presented. ‘You haven’t tried to test her, have you? The threat of your gifts could trigger hers.’

‘No, nothing like that,’ Rohaayel insisted. He sought Irian’s gaze.

‘I’ll go see what I can find out.’

‘Torekar.’ Ardeyne signalled his devotee.

The young Malaunje warrior followed Irian out of the dining room and down the hall into the kitchen. Irian thrust the door open. The Malaunje fell silent immediately. He wasn’t wanted here. This was their territory.

He stood in the doorway. ‘When did you last see Imoshen?’

‘Lunch time,’ the cook said, coming towards him. ‘She took her meal out in the garden.’

Irian gestured Torekar past. ‘He’ll help you.’

‘Very good.’ The cook sent Torekar to join the others, and ushered Irian into the hall. ‘Everyone I can spare is out looking for her. Go back to the dining room. She’ll be here any moment, full of apology for keeping you waiting.’

Instead of going back to the dining room, Irian went out the front door, out into the night. Clouds scudded across the sky, their edges painted silver by the twin moons’ light. Nearly season’s cusp and double full moon.

From the island’s high point, he could see lanterns bobbing on the path down to the bay, where the fishing boats were kept. More lamps wandered like lost stars across the night-dark fields. When he’d come from the eastern side of the island, he hadn’t seen Imoshen. Mind you, he hadn’t been looking for her, but if she’d seen him, she would have called out.

He went around the main building, past the row of cottages, threading through the barn and storehouses to look west. All dark.

No... a lantern bobbed on the path to the rocks.

Surely she would not be down there? The cliffs, the rocks, the restless, pounding sea... he took off at a run.

He had to slow down as clouds passed across the moons and he risked losing the path. The lantern bobbed as though the person who carried it knew the path by heart. At length, he came up the rise towards him, a lean lad of sixteen or seventeen who recognised Irian, signalled and kept coming.

Irian tried to remember the lad’s name. ‘Aric, have you seen her?’

He shook his head. ‘Thought she might be on the rocks.’

‘On the rocks?’

‘She likes to stand there, daring the waves to sweep her away.’

‘What?’ Not only was she foolhardy but... ‘That doesn’t sound like Imoshen.’

But there was no reason for him to lie. What if Imoshen had been swept off the rocks? If anything happened to her – Irian’s heart lurched – it would tear him apart.

What was he thinking? She was a means to an end.

She was the six-year-old who had sat on his lap and advised him which cards to play with great seriousness.

She was a means to an end.

She was the ten-year-old who had discussed the growing of beans, quoting a Sagora treatise on inherited traits.

She was a means to an end.

His duty was to the brotherhood. He must armour himself against her. Irian swallowed. ‘She dares the waves to take her?’

He nodded. ‘That, or she wanders on the cliff edge.’

‘You know this because...’

‘I follow her, to see that she’s safe. She’s been lonely this summer, since Cook told us we’re not to talk to her.’ He looked troubled, then a smile tugged at his lips. ‘When she thinks no one is looking, she dances on the dunes.’

Irian needed to get this lad off the island.

‘Come with me.’ He took the lantern and led the way. When he passed the walled garden and entered the quiet lea of the barn, he found half a dozen Malaunje at the kitchen door reporting to the cook.

Torekar jogged over to him. ‘No sign of her.’

Irian nodded grimly. What had started out as a curiosity was fast becoming troubling. He returned the lantern to Aric. ‘Help them.’

The island was not large, but it was too large to search by night. Where was Imoshen? Had someone warned her against them? Who would do such a thing? Only a small group of Malaunje lived on the island, and only the brotherhood members he approved were allowed to visit.

If she hadn’t been warned and she had begun to act strangely, then her gift could be moving. That would complicate things.

When he returned to the dining room, everyone looked up.

‘No sign of Imoshen.’ She could have been swept off the rocks.

The cook bustled in with her entourage, bringing food to the table. When everything had been laid out, she stood waiting to be dismissed.

‘Does Imoshen do this often?’ Rohaayel asked.

‘Run away at night?’ Gift-tutor Bedettor qualified.

The cook lifted her hands. ‘How would I know? We sleep down here. She sleeps in the lighthouse. I thought she was in her room all this time. We’ve done as you ordered, All-father Rohaayel, and maintained the proper distance this summer. It was hard at first. She was so small when her mother went, we’d grown into the habit of treating her like one of us. When we tried to maintain the proper distance, she didn’t understand. I told her it was time she grew up, but–’

The door opened behind Irian. Wind swirled in, bringing the scent of the night, moonlight and blood. He turned to find Imoshen standing there.

Her hair was wild and wind-blown, her vest and breeches drenched in blood and her bare feet blue with cold. In her arms she carried a rolled up blanket, and her eyes were wide with shock.

Those haunted eyes went straight to him. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her teeth chattered so badly she could hardly talk. ‘I couldn’t save her. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. I tried–’ The bundle wriggled and wailed.

‘Karo?’

‘I would have fetched the cook, but there wasn’t time...’

Irian thrust past her, running for the door.

I
MOSHEN TURNED TO
her father and Uncle Ardeyne. The birth had been quick and violent; never had she felt more helpless in her life. ‘I did everything I could.’

One of the new T’En males stepped closer to Rohaayel. ‘All-father, such an experience could trigger...’

‘You’re covered in blood,’ her father said, his voice rough.

Were they offended? The cook always made sure she was bathed and well dressed when they visited.

Rohaayel gestured to the cook. ‘See that a bath is drawn. Take the–’

‘No.’ Imoshen pressed the baby boy close to her chest. Tonight, she’d fought death and lost. Now she held new life in her arms, and she wasn’t giving him up. ‘Iraayel stays with me. I promised Karokara.’

‘All-father?’ the cook asked.

Rohaayel’s face was hard, eyes sharp; he didn’t look like himself. Tonight, everything was strange. Imoshen felt on edge and she didn’t like it. She wanted it to be like it was before the cook told her she had to grow up.

She reached out to Ardeyne. ‘Uncle...’

He came over, but instead of taking her hand, he slid an arm around her shoulders, avoiding skin contact. Karokara had been right about that. Why had she never noticed before?

Because they had never distanced themselves from her before.

‘Sit here.’ He guided her to the chair by the fire and knelt next to her. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Don’t think I can.’ She looked up to see the others watching her with wary eyes. ‘Father?’

Rohaayel gestured to the cook. ‘Bring what’s needed for the baby. Bedettor, come here, see if she’s taken a chill.’

‘I’m fine. Nothing that a warm bath and rest won’t fix.’

But Bedettor knelt next to her. ‘Give me your hand.’

It seemed a strange way to see if she had a chill – usually the cook felt her forehead – but Imoshen complied.

His large hands enclosed her hand completely. As soon as he touched her, his eyes took on a faraway look. She didn’t like him, and she instinctively raised her defences. She concentrated on the warmth of the fire burning in the grate, how it reminded her of winter evenings, singing and stories.

She yawned. ‘Sorry, so tired.’

Bedettor stood. ‘There’s no sign of... a chill.’

The men visibly relaxed.

‘Well, that’s that, then. The food’s going cold. Can’t let it go to waste,’ one of the big men said, sitting at the table. The other two joined him, leaving her with Rohaayel and Ardeyne.

‘I’ve missed you,’ Imoshen told them softly. ‘I want to come home and live in the city, with our brotherhood.’

Her father went very still.

‘That’s... not a good idea,’ Ardeyne said. ‘You are the all-father’s daughter, and Rohaayel loves you. Rival brotherhoods would threaten you to undermine him.’

So there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she lived here on the island.

Just then, the cook returned with blankets and warm water. She spread a blanket on the floor in front of the fire, and held out her hands for the baby. Imoshen knelt and placed him in the blanket. He yelled as she unwrapped him.

They both laughed at his indignant cries. The cook showed her how to bathe him and dress him. When they were done, she produced a milk-sop for him to suck on. Imoshen remained on the floor, near the fire.

‘He’ll need a wet-nurse,’ the cook told the all-father. ‘One of the fishermen’s wives–’

‘I know someone suitable,’ Ardeyne said. ‘I’ll send for her tomorrow.’

Meanwhile, Rohaayel wrapped a blanket around Imoshen’s shoulders and sat in the chair beside her. She leaned against his knee.

‘Was it terrible?’ he asked softly.

She nodded. Tears stung her eyes and she had to swallow before she could speak. ‘I couldn’t do anything to help.’

‘She’s no healer, then,’ Bedettor said.

The others laughed, and Imoshen wondered how they could be so callous. How was she expected to heal? She had no training, unlike the cook.

‘Will Uncle Irian be all right?’

She saw Ardeyne and Rohaayel exchange a glance.

‘I’ll send Torekar after him,’ Ardeyne said. ‘At least he hadn’t...’ He ran down.

‘Hadn’t what?’ Imoshen asked, but no one answered. She felt sick. Karokara was right, they were keeping things from her. But it had to be because they wanted to protect her. They loved her; she knew that for a fact.

Imoshen manufactured a convincing yawn. ‘Sorry. So tired. Would you mind if I went straight to bed?’

‘Of course not.’ Rohaayel kissed her forehead, as he always did. Surely, if he didn’t love her, he would not treat her with such tenderness?

‘The cook will help you settle the baby,’ Rohaayel said. ‘Go to bed and don’t worry about Irian.’

Imoshen nodded and let her feet take her up to her bedroom, where she found warm water in the small copper tub.

It was hard to stay awake. She felt weary to the point of numbness and couldn’t think straight.

The cook took her clothes and she knelt in the tub. There was blood on her thighs. When she wiped it away, more came and her stomach hurt. She knew what that meant. No one had ever told her, but she’d overheard the women speaking. Fear stabbed her.

She looked up at the cook. ‘Don’t tell.
Please?
’

‘You have to grow up. Everyone does.’

‘Not tonight. Not this visit. Please.’

The cook gave a reluctant nod.

Later, as the woman tucked the blanket around her and the baby, Imoshen studied that familiar face with its strong no-nonsense jaw. The cook had watched over her after her mother died.

But if what Karokara said was true, the cook was her jailor and everything she believed was a lie. The thought terrified her. Her father and her favourite uncles loved her, of that she had no doubt. She’d known them all her life.

Karokara... she’d known her for one evening.

She was not a prisoner.

Chapter Fourteen

D
AWN FOUND
I
MOSHEN
standing at the window with baby Iraayel in her arms, crooning to him. From her bedroom, highest in the lighthouse, she could see right across the island, across the sea to the mainland. Right now the sun was only a pale glow in the east, and the mainland was a blue smudge. After the windy night, the air was still and the sky scrubbed clean of clouds – a new start for a new life.

She was thinking of Irian and Karokara, and how short life is, when the smoke started to rise. Irian must have sat with her all night, and was now burning the abandoned cottage along with her body. The smoke rose, a straight black column in the still dawn air.

He would be back soon. Surely his son would ease his heartbreak.

Imoshen dressed formally, as she always did when the brotherhood came to visit: pleated trousers, knitted undershirt, vest and knee-length robe. She slipped her feet into soft boots and tied the straps around her ankles. She should have done her hair in formal plaits, but she wanted to get downstairs, warm up more goat’s milk for the baby and be out front to meet Irian when he returned.

But when she saw him coming up the rise with Ardeyne’s friend, Torekar, his face looked so haggard that she doubted if anything would reach him. As he approached, his mouth compressed in a thin line.

She didn’t know what to say in the face of such grief. Wordlessly, she held out his infant son, flushed with warm milk.

Irian stared at the baby, his expression unreadable.

She wanted to comfort Irian, and was just about to try when he brushed past her.

Tears streamed down Imoshen’s cheeks as she watched him enter the lighthouse. Torekar paused beside her. He went to say something, then shook his head, and followed Irian up the stairs.

I
RIAN WALKED INTO
the all-father’s bedroom without knocking, Torekar close behind him. Rohaayel and Ardeyne were asleep in each other’s arms but they woke instantly, alert and wary. Irian had spent the night searching for Karokara’s shade on the empyrean plane, without success. Unless she somehow made it to the realm of the dead on her own, she was lost to him forever. From their expressions, he supposed his despair was written on his face.