Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (119 page)

“Of course. You spent half the night under your bed with fever dreams.”

Sutter corrected him. “Not fever dreams. I don’t know what it was, Tahn. I was falling asleep but still awake when I began to feel cold. I got up to close the window a little. When I got to the sill, a face rose up out of the dark beyond the glass.”

“You were pretty sick,” Tahn offered. “Could you have seen your reflection?”

“That’s what I thought at first. I even remember laughing at myself for spooking at my own mirrored image … until I moved, and the image didn’t.”

“But this all sounds like a fever dream, Nails,” Tahn reasoned. “You could well have imagined it, and ended up falling out of bed and rolling beneath the mattress.”

Sutter stared at him; even now he dreaded saying it out loud. “The face I saw that night beyond the window belonged to the woman they burned the next day.”

His friend’s face went slack, and Tahn’s own heart pounded. His mind swam.

“Will and Sky, Nails, are you sure?”

“As if she was my own mother,” Sutter replied.

“Do you suppose she got away from Lethur? Got away long enough to find our window and throw a scare into us?” Tahn wasn’t convinced of his own explanation.

“I might have convinced myself of that, until I saw the spirits of two scops in my cell at Solath Mahnus. Two faces, Tahn … that were hanged after I’d spent a night under their unearthly stares.” He looked Tahn in the eye. “I’m seeing the dead before they go to their final earth. And it scares me, Tahn. It scares me.”

Silence settled over them. Sutter turned and stared thoughtfully into the cold of dawn.

Tahn took Sutter’s hand again in the Hollows clasp, stirring in him a look of gratitude so overwhelming that he nearly wept. Sutter surely knew that whatever caused him to see the things he did, Tahn would believe him.

Death walked with them to Tillinghast.

“That’s not all of it, Tahn.” Sutter pulled his legs in against his chest, and wrapped his arms around his knees. The greater light offered no warmth of body or mind. A soft sussuration of leaves stirred by a cold breeze whispered a warning, as Sutter prepared to tell Tahn the rest.

It must be such a burden. The anguish and loss and confusion and regret in the faces of those panaebra, unhoused from their bodies in anticipation of their death. And drawn to Sutter. Was this thing in him permanent? How would he live with this? How would he ever find love and have a family, knowing that he would one day see their souls before they died, and then have to spend that last day with them knowing what would come?

And what of his parents, Filmoere and Kaylla, who had given him a life and home? Already Sutter must dread the day he would see harbingers of their deaths and grieve for them while they yet lived.

It was too much.

I’d like to return to my roots. Just till the earth and leave Restoration and everything else behind. No waking nightmares anymore. No shadows of death coming to me. Not my friends. Not my parents.…

But he gripped Tahn’s hand hard and looked him in the eye, as though somewhere inside him he wanted to believe that the things he saw could be changed. “The face I see now, every night since Solath Mahnus … is Mira.”

Tahn sat in silence. Forgotten were the mark that scarred his hand—a brand he knew now belonged to the children of the Scar—and his misgivings about secrets and Vendanj and Tillinghast. His eyes ached from sleepless nights and the endless stream of days that had preceded them. In his mind he saw the image of a terrible water funnel beating a helpless elk into the mud, and remembered the animal wasn’t meant to die. What did he feel about Mira’s death? Was
she
meant to die?

Tahn shook away the thought when Sutter spoke once more. “Do you think it will be like this forever? Will I now see those soon to die all my life, until I join them?”

“I don’t know, Sutter. But I will tell you what I do know. For as long as you need me, I will help you however I can against these visions.”

Tahn could see his words helped his friend. Sutter’s jaw set with determination. “I don’t know what’s at the end of these mountains, Tahn. I don’t know what waits for us at Restoration. But whatever it is, I will give everything I have to help you. And if we falter, the faces we’ll remember, the faces we go to the end for, are our fathers, the ones who stood by us when others would not.”

Tahn’s throat tightened and his eyes started to water. He gave his friend a strong embrace and stood, his head still filled with the ache of revelations, but now also of warning and doubt and a nameless desire. He left Sutter sitting low against the rock, and returned to Jole to check his saddle, his provisions, to busy himself with any task normal and mundane.

As he fidgeted with the saddle belts, Wendra drew up beside him.

“How are you?” she asked, her voice husky.

Tahn realized it was the first time he and his sister had spoken since she had been attacked by the Bar’dyn, and a prick of guilt brought a weak, blushing smile to his lips. “I’ve had better days. How are you?” He pointed to her throat.

Wendra gingerly touched her neck. “Still hurts,” she managed. “Feels like the bruise goes down my throat. Just talking is a strain.” She coughed lightly.

“Then don’t,” Tahn said. “We can talk later. But I’m glad you’re on your feet. I guess I’ve one reason to thank Vendanj.” Tahn looked up the hill, where several strides away the Sheason cast his hawkish gaze back over the same vista he’d left Sutter appreciating. “You ever feel like it might have been better if we’d just stayed in the Hollows?”

Wendra followed Tahn’s gaze, then pointed toward Penit, who methodically rubbed his mount’s legs and sang soft snippets of a song Tahn had often heard Wendra singing. She whispered, “Sometimes. But mostly I’m grateful to have come along. I’d never have met Penit otherwise, and in spite of the danger, it’s been a kind of blessing for me to watch after him.” She turned back to Tahn. “And Balatin would have wanted me with you. He spoke to me often of our duty to each other.” She took his hand. “I love you. You’re my only family now.”

Strong emotions rose in Tahn. Looking at Wendra, he still loved her as a sister. But new knowledge darkened his tenderness. She was not his true sister, though she didn’t know it. Tahn shot a look at the Sheason, wondering if he should tell her. What consequence might that have? He decided to leave it be for now. She’d been through too much already.

“Besides, when this loveliness is over, we’ll go back, and Hambley will keep our plates hot and full for the stories we’ll have to tell his patrons.” Wendra playfully rolled her eyes. “It might even fetch me some attention from eligible men besides Sutter.” She coughed again, quickly stifling the noise with her palm.

Tahn marveled at his sister’s resilience, and was grateful for this moment, so like the days before her pregnancy, before the night he’d watched the foulness out of the Bourne hover over her birth bed when he’d been unable to defend her. But then, how much could he have helped? The words he spoke when he drew his bow, the need for him to feel in harmony with the Will … were they really him? Perhaps the secrets of the Sheason and Grant—his father—were responsible for his inaction. Suddenly, he wanted badly to tell Wendra everything, so that she could understand what had happened when her child had been stolen away into the night.

So he did. He unburdened himself to her one of his oldest secrets, the need to seek the correctness of his every draw, the words he recited. And he explained how he’d uttered those words when he’d aimed at the Bar’dyn who’d come into their home to take her child.

“I had the feeling that I should not shoot,” he said. “I can’t explain it, Wendra. It doesn’t make any sense. But I’m so sorry. If there was ever a time in my life when I wish I had not heeded those feelings…”

She smiled wanly.

“I want that shot back,” he said. “Even if I couldn’t have saved the baby, I want the chance again to make that shot.”

In his heart of hearts, though, he didn’t know if he could do it differently if he was given the chance.

Wendra shook her head. “Don’t say such things. If these feelings in you are true, you must listen to them.”

Tahn looked over at the Sheason, who stood preparing to continue upward into the Saeculorum. “They tell me that this ability is the reason they came for me in the Hollows.” He looked at her, hoping to find the sisterly compassion he’d always found there. “They want me to use it at Restoration. They think it may be enough to preserve me…”

“Preserve you? From what?” Wendra quickly asked. She then looked toward Vendanj herself.

“I don’t know,” Tahn replied. “But it feels like a long time since we left the Hollows. So much has happened. I don’t feel like myself anymore.” He stopped, and refocused. “I’m sorry, Wendra. I’m so sorry.”

When he finished, he wondered what she would think of it, after all.

Wendra placed her hands on his cheeks and turned his face fully to her own. She looked at him tenderly, and Tahn saw there the might of his father, Balatin, a strength surpassing all he’d seen: a willingness to forgive.

With an intent gaze, Wendra whispered, “Let it go. I do not blame you.”

Of a sudden, he thought he might just go to Tillinghast and succeed. This woman had forgiven him when he had been unable to forgive himself. He wished for a bit of her strength. He pulled Wendra close and folded her tightly into his arms. “Thank you,” he said, and looked up to see Vendanj watching them.

Tahn spared a look at Penit, whose attention had likewise been drawn by his and Wendra’s embrace. A look of gladness played across his smooth features.

Then Wendra drew his attention. “Revelations have been part of this whole journey.” She gave him a steady look, her words carrying a double meaning.

“How do you mean?” Tahn asked.

“I’ve learned a little about myself, too, Tahn. Apparently, gifts run in the family.” She smiled at him, and explained about the power of her song. She told him about Jastail, and the slave blocks, and the terrible song she’d sung down on the Bar’dyn. She told of Seanbea and the Descant Cathedral and the Maesteri.

“I learned why Vendanj brought me out of the Hollows,” she said. “He meant for me to study music at the Descant, and join the Leiholan in singing the Song of Suffering.” A look of regret crossed her face. “Belamae needed my help, but I couldn’t stay, Tahn. I have to be sure Penit remains safe. Still, the look of disappointment on his face … I hope I haven’t made my own worst choice. The Sheason drove us all to Recityv because of me. And I didn’t stay.…”

The realization sank in: Wendra was the other half of whatever Tahn was being marched to Restoration to do. Vendanj had meant for her to help keep the Veil strong through her gift of song; and the Sheason meant to have Tahn’s spirit tested at the place where the world touched the abyss, to relive every moment he would hope never to recall. Why? It had to have something to do with Wendra and the Veil. He believed the answer must be treacherously simple, and yet it eluded him, and filled his heart with dread.

Until Wendra took him by the shoulders and drew back to arm’s length.

“Now, to more important matters.” She looked around, taking inventory, it seemed, of all the company she kept, then whispered, “How true are these rumors of your feelings for the Far?” A playful smile spread on her lips.

Tahn shook his head. “You’ve been talking to Sutter.”

“No, I’ve overheard Sutter. You’d think a root-digger so used to his own company might have learned a softer voice. But he seems to have only one volume, and I couldn’t help but hear more than one reference to your fondness for her.”

Tahn put his hands on Wendra’s shoulders. “Sister, if I ever choose to do anything with regard to Mira, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Good enough, brother,” Wendra answered. “It’s clear you’re drawn to her, but I wonder if you’ve thought what could come of it.”

The question caught Tahn off guard. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’ve just ended my days as a hopeless melura.” He smiled wanly. “I suppose it’s natural for me to make some mistakes in matters of love. You just take care of that voice. I miss your songs.”

She kissed his cheek and went to Penit, the two of them returning to her horse with arms intertwined.

“She’s a strong woman.”

The voice startled him. He turned to find Grant at his side.

“Wendra, your sister.” Grant nodded toward Wendra. “She will be your greatest ally, if you keep faith with her.”

Bile rose at the back of Tahn’s throat. His anger thrummed in him so that he could not even get out the words to revile the man.

“Tahn, I want—”

His words found him. “I don’t care what you want, exile. You forfeited your right to give me advice a long time ago. You are an insult to any who know you.”

The stoic look in Grant’s eyes flickered. Another man might have risen to the bait. This man stared back with the patience of long isolation. “Whatever you decide to think is your choice. But you’d better search your newfound memory. You have a task at the end of these mountains and you need to be straight in your heart and mind to do it.

“I did not want to send you away. It was the best, safest thing for you. And I prevailed on my best friend and his wife to go into the Hollows to raise you and their young daughter because I wanted you to have the best possible life.” Grant’s voice came without apology.