Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (113 page)

Tahn clenched his fist around his bow. The leather creaking beneath his grip was the only sound. To his right on the precipice stood an immense tree that rose into the shroud of fog and darkness. The bark of the tree was as black as the night around it. It was a forgotten sentinel at the edge of nowhere.

A shrill hissing rose up like wind over jagged rocks. Swirls of fog eddied and faded. And in the darkness, several strides from the land’s end, the mists of Rudierd Tillinghast began to coalesce. A shadow formed in the shape of eyes and a mouth, streamers blowing through it and momentarily shaping the image before passing away. The lines of the face never varied, the mists only giving more detail as they passed.

Then, as Tahn watched, the eyes narrowed, glaring.

There is no morning here, Tahn. No greater light risen from the ashes of yesterday.

The words came into his head with the force of a thousand bells. Tahn pressed his hands to his ears, but could not stop the tumult in his mind.

Restoration, Quillescent, is the handmaiden that will undo the injustice of every age that has passed since the council parted. You will suffer the torment of countless lifetimes as the pawn of those too weak to answer for the crime committed against me.

The voice’s final word tolled like a death knell and shook the very earth of Tillinghast. The mighty branches of the tree beside him swayed through the thick banks of mist.

I will not remain forever silent for doing that which I was asked to do, that which has been done as many times as stars shine from the sky. It is their failure, Quillescent, their crime that condemns you. Do you think you can balance a land, a people … a world? You are not even sure yourself what light means.
Tahn caught a glimpse of a malevolent smile in the twist of the fogs across the visage.
And how beautiful that the instrument that will lay all low to the dust is the very thing so revered by those nobles who first abandoned this place to the devices of men. Do you know it, dead man? Has the insult of your birth spoken it to you?

Tahn recoiled from the words, raising his arm to shield his face, the very sounds reverberating in his head, stinging his eyes. Rumbling in the earth caused large rocks to shift and pitch. The cracking of limbs at the top of the tree boomed like a peal of thunder. Tahn frantically looked around for help, but no one stood upon the path that led to the ledge. In that moment, the world grew darker, leaving the contorted face etched into the mists a shade paler.

An awful certainty stole through Tahn, causing the face to lighten yet another shade. The face grew whiter against the stark blackness of the Abyss, and laughter began to ring through Tahn’s head, deep, resonant vibrations like the tearing of the land and the sound of falling sky.

Tahn fell to his knees, still holding his ears. He shook his head. Then the face brightened a last time, threads of mist whipping across its features. Wretchedness drew itself deep into the lines of its jaw and malefic eyes. In a hoarse whisper it spoke again.

It is nothing less than your choice, husk. It will also condemn your past and foreclose your future. And all will become eternal night. Just as it has been on every world without end. That is your birthright, Quillescent. That is your Tillinghast.

Deafening laughter erupted around Tahn. He pitched forward onto the hard stone of the cliff and tried to block it out. Mists lapped and caressed his face like dirt falling down through a crack in a coffin.

*   *   *

Tahn sat up in his bed, slick with sweat and breathing heavily. For a moment he did not know where he was. He frantically looked about. Mira was watching him.

She said nothing, but came to his bedside and took his hand in her own. He’d hoped for that touch ever since he met the Far. But tonight, it barely pushed back the dread growing in his heart.

The world beyond the window was still dark. But not for long. Slowly, he lay back down and turned his head east, his hand still held in Mira’s. He managed to imagine a sunrise over the top of Balatin’s stock barn before even that image mattered too little to remain in his mind’s eye. He focused on his breathing and soon regulated the rhythm enough to calm his heart and leave the waking world again, if only for a short while.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Leave-takings

Mira knelt at her sister’s tomb in the Hall of Valediction. The shale shone brilliantly dark here in the glow of large braziers, which lit the names and dates inscribed deep in the dark stone.

It pained her to say good-bye.

Saying good-bye to a Far was not supposed to be a sad thing. Their passage beyond came vouchsafed by a covenant as old as the world itself. And Lyra had lived a joyful life, ruling so well and so thoughtfully that she’d earned a rare esteem.

But she had not produced an heir.

The Far shared their stewardship of the covenant language, but to only a few bloodlines were the gifts of that tongue given. And such was needed to maintain their commission, otherwise …

With Mira’s sister gone to her earth, her line was at an end.

And childbearing years for a Far were understandably short.

That was not the source of her grief. She held no ill will for her sister having thrust this responsiblity upon her. It was not a law that she take her sister’s place. But if she was honest, it
was
a fair expectation. More than that, it might prove to be an absolute need. The line should not be allowed to end; only a few Far possessed the special ability to both protect
and
understand the covenant tongue.

This was the angst in her heart.

And for the first time she could remember, that angst had called her away from a watch—just this hour, over Tahn. He would be safe in Naltus, and in the king’s manse no less, but it was not customary for her.

She had needed this moment to think, to pray. Her path seemed so unclear to her.

However, there was another need in the world of men, one to which she’d joined herself with the Sheason many months ago. Meeting the melura from the Hollows had been a pleasant surprise. He was courageous, if willful in his ignorance. And she felt comfortable around him.

And yet it was a dream. She had but a few years to live. She should not be thinking beyond the promise of her call: to safeguard the Language of the Convenant.

But over the tomb of her loving sister, she argued with herself that her course had been to do precisely that—forsake her own covenant. Only her path took her beyond the black shale gates of Naltus. She hated to think how like the exile Grant that might make her. The man’s leathery face would show a bright smile at that were she to share it.

Lyra, what shall I do?

As if in response, footsteps sounded on the hard floor. She needn’t turn to know their owner.

“Can I not have but an hour to pray for my sister?”

“Prayers are not needed, Mira. You know this. And I would not interrupt the respects you pay her. She was my wife, and I loved her. But your companions are readying for their ascent into the Saeculorum, and I would have your answer.”

“Mankind would not find your proposal to be tender.” Mira ran her hands over the inscribed name of her sister.

The Far king’s voice softened. “We are not mankind. Ours is a different destiny.”

“Better?” Her voice rang with accusation.

True to his nature, Elan replied, “No, Mira. But it is a high calling to which we are bound. And I myself am not long for this world. I seek only the best interest of our commission here at the far end of the world. You must know that.”

Silence settled in the Hall of Valediction. Elan neither pressed nor departed. Mira continued to kneel, searching.

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered over her dead sister’s body.

She stood and turned to Elan. He was a good king, strong and a better strategist than any single person she’d met in all her travels. He approached gently. He touched her face, and his eyes showed genuine compassion for her equivocation over this choice.

“It is not so easy,” she said.

“Even with a people like the Far, the mantle of leadership is not easy to wear.” He smiled, a wan look touching his face—something she had never before seen. Perhaps to sit at his side, to produce an heir, would be a happy last chapter to her short life.

“I am honest and kind,” he said. “That is as true as the need to perpetuate the traditions and leadership we have put in place, for which there must be a child.”

Mira looked back at the Far king and gave her own wan smile. “Subtle,” she said.

A confused expression rose on his face, but fell quickly as he began walking her to the stable yard. There in the bright sun of Naltus, as her companions began to file out of the king’s manor, she kissed his cheek. “I must see this through to the end first.” She looked away toward the Saeculorum. “But I have a request of my king.”

King Elan raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“You say the destiny of men is not ours. But if the veil comes down, our fates are inextricably tied with theirs.” Mira came to her request softly but resolutely. “We must take our place at the Convocation of Seats. The world of men needs our strength and wisdom. Most no longer believe in who we are. And the regent faces sedition in her own courts. The Sheason are hunted. Elan”—Mira touched his arm gently—“you must go and sit at convocation, and remind them of what they have forgotten and the hope they may yet have in the stewardship we bear.”

Moments passed before the king answered. “Mira, you’re asking me this extraordinary thing even as you delay answering my own request. Our people need a queen, they need a continuing line. What you ask is more impractical if you do not take your place at my side, because I would then rule alone. What should happen if I died without a successor? It is an impossible thing you ask.”

“Can you not see that this convocation will fail if you do not go? In times past they succeeded without our help, but narrowly, and the cost was dire for that. And because of it the Quiet better learned the weaknesses of man. It is different in this season, Elan. I have seen it.” Mira thought of her sister’s tomb. “Our covenant must be to more than those First Ones who gave us this trust. We are part of this world; our fates are joined.” Then Mira touched her stomach and thought about mothers and daughters. “And there are promises to keep,” she whispered.

King Elan’s brow drew down. He was fair, but he would not be manipulated. “You are not thinking clearly, Mira. This simply cannot be. I will hear no more about it.”

She then looked back at him with a calm defiance. “Elan, if you will not go, then I will take my place as queen and go myself.”

Mira could see that her audacity struck him like a fist.

Mira did not wish to undermine him. But neither would she let this pass. “Think on it, Elan. But don’t think long. They already assemble at Recityv. Two, maybe three, weeks, and all who will have heard the call and chosen to answer will have arrived at Solath Mahnus. From Naltus, it should be you who goes. The threat that comes needs the finest minds and stoutest hearts. I don’t say that idly.”

Her king smiled softly. “I know, Mira. It seems we each have something to consider.”

“I am proud that you are my king, and were my sister’s husband,” Mira said. “And I will keep only good thoughts of you.”

“Thank you, Mira. I loved Lyra. I still do. And I shall keep only good thoughts of you, as well.” He then held up Mira’s hand and passed her a note, her sister’s last message for her, on a small roll of parchment. “Read it when your journeys are at an end.”

*   *   *

They followed Vendanj into a grand stable yard. Soft loam gave generously beneath their feet. They emerged into the light of day, a thin steam rising from the soil warming in the sun. Around them, the rich smell of tilled ground hung sweet in the air. A series of outbuildings arranged in a perfect row bordered the far side of the yard. In front of the centermost structure, their horses stood tethered to a hitch post. Beside Solus, Mira spoke with Elan, both of them framed against the dark stone of the stable behind them.

As they approached, Tahn saw Elan take Mira’s arm by the wrist and hold her hand flat. With his other hand, Elan placed something into Mira’s opened palm. He squeezed her fingers over the item and she hid it within her cloak.

When she turned, Tahn thought he saw genuine gladness to see him. Mira came to his side, out of earshot of the others.

As she helped him check his saddle and tack, she said, “You speak in your sleep. It is a dangerous flaw.”

He could not read the look on her face. It seemed an odd thing to find fault with, especially since he was sure she hadn’t meant to sleep anyway.

“And just why is that?” he asked.

“Because you tend also to answer when someone speaks to you.”

They stared a long moment at each other before Mira smiled. Tahn forgot to breathe, and grinned as he fought an expression of shock.