Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (5 page)

The open area on the main floor of the Fieldstone extended several strides to the left, where a hallway serviced the kitchen, and twice that distance to the right where a hearth the height of a man blazed with fires fed by logs that were two strides long. Tables dominated the area, mostly filled today with Northsun travelers biding their time until the reader arrived.

People came from the farthest reaches of the Hollow Wood to hear the reader. Tahn thought the men from Liosh overly quiet and modest, while Evin’s Creek residents seemed only able to bark. Mull Haven men wore double-breasted tunics, their women adorned in high-collar dresses; the latter always seemed to look up from a bowed head.

Hambley had set out makeshift cots in the rear hallways to accommodate the swelled crowds. Travelers, many of whom came three days’ journey or more to be at the Fieldstone when the sun rose in its northernmost passage (signaling a complete cycle), hadn’t abandoned hope that the reader might yet show. Though the sun hadn’t been seen for days, Northsun was deep in the bosom of the people of the Hollows. Regardless of the rain, people knew when Northsun arrived. And despite the lateness of the reader, it appeared the tradition of his mule ride through town and ascent to the Fieldstone rooftop outweighed the inconvenience.

No one knew where the reader came from, but his bulging satchels thrilled the town. They were filled with stories passed down from ages past, hundreds of generations old, that became new again on the lips of Ogea the reader: Stories of the shaping of the Land, of the wars to save men from the Quiet and shadows from the Bourne. Tahn hoped he would be seeing Ogea soon, that the man didn’t lie dead from a funnel of water rendered by the hand of the Velle he’d seen. Before today, he had wanted to ask the reader if he could tell them all something about the incessant inclemency and the desertion of the herds. The current age had no name and was now a season of storms. Today, Tahn wanted to ask just one question of the reader: What did it mean that a Velle had come so far south, and seemed to know him … personally? But he felt little hope that the reader would come this year.

The thought grieved him, and not simply for his own sake. He still remembered the first time he’d heard Ogea speak. The reader had never referred to his book, but held it to his chest with one arm while he gestured grandly with the other and projected a loud, resonant voice from his small, elderly frame.

The stories he painted with words had captured Tahn’s heart. For hours Ogea spoke, sometimes singing passages of tales in a broken but energetic strain. When night came on full, torches were lit, lending the reader a formidable, eternal look as firelight caught his eyes and his flailing arm cast large shadows on the Fieldstone’s upper floors. When he was done, no voices rose in appreciation, no cheers. A peaceful silence simply settled over the listeners as Ogea descended the ladder and quietly walked into the inn to sit beside the fire and sip a cup of warmed cinnamon tea.

Tahn hoped the reader lived to take his cup at the fireside again.

The lingering smells of nut-bread, berry wines, and sharp cheese drew him from his reverie. The tables were nearly full, so Sutter led them to the half circle of leather chairs closest to the fire—where Ogea always sat. Tahn hung his cloak from a peg beside the fire to dry and took a seat next to Sutter. The hearth passed through to the chamber and private dining room the Hollows townsmen used to hold their meetings; the fire heated both rooms. A door beside the hearth led into that adjacent chamber. Through the hearth, Tahn could see a pair of legs and dark boots.

His attention was shortly drawn away from the unknown person as Hambley came bustling toward them. The innkeep managed to carry a carafe of bitter and a plate of warm bread and cheese with one hand, and a meat cleaver with the other. Drawing near, Hambley put down the food and drink, keeping hold of his cleaver, and extended his long, thin hand to clasp Tahn’s—it was always so with the man.

Tahn took Hambley’s hand. The proprietor returned an iron grip. Tahn had once seen the Fieldstone owner bathing in the Huber, and had been able to count the ribs in the man’s back. Still, his wiry frame had thrown men twice his weight out upon their tails when the ale had made them foolish. His place was clean, and Hambley never let a man or woman step inside without putting something hot down in front of them.

“We’re almost out of meat,” he said, pouring two glasses of Fieldstone bitter for Tahn and Sutter. “Did you have a successful hunt?”

Tahn shook his head. “We need to talk. Can you sit with us?”

Hambley seemed to sense the urgency. “I’ll be back with some meat to join you.” Important matters for Hambley required food.

Sutter piped in, “Yes, yes, that should do just fine, my good man. Have off with you now, and make a good job of it.”

The innkeeper shook his head in bemusement and retreated down the far hallway toward the kitchen. Another great hearth burned there, one so large that Hambley boasted he could roast an entire bull in it. Tahn’s mouth watered with the thought of food from Hambley’s oven—he hadn’t eaten all day.

But it wasn’t the oven that made Tahn’s mouth water. As he often supplied Hambley with his meat stores, he’d seen the secret of the Fieldstone’s savory food. The inn owner fed his oven with only the most fragrant wood. And the cooks—Hambley’s wife and sister—dropped wet sage, thrush cloves, pepper corn, and piñon bark into the fire, causing a sweet smoke to fill the oven and spice the foods they cooked there.

Hambley returned shortly, weaving through the crowd. As he sat, he put a plate of duck on the table beside the bread. “I have guests that are here twelve days since. The reader has not shown yet, and the older folks won’t leave until he does.”

“Have the townsmen sent anyone to search for him?” Tahn asked. He half expected Hambley to tell him someone else had spotted the Velle.

“No one will go out in the rain … except you, I guess. Northsun came and went and nary an eye has seen the reader. Ogea is old, but he is always here by Northsun. Even before I grew to my Change that old fellow was coming into the Hollows with plenty of time to dine on roast duck and gossip with the women folk. His absence puts me ill at ease,” Hambley finished.

Tahn and Sutter shared a knowing look.

Then Tahn steeled himself for what he was about to say. It still felt like a nightmare from which he’d just awakened. Whispering low, he leaned close to the innkeep. “Hambley, today I saw a Velle in the Hollow Wood.”

The proprietor’s eyes darted to Sutter, where he surely expected to see a telling grin to reveal the sport they made of him, but the root-digger held an uncustomary gravity in his countenance. Hambley looked back at Tahn, who simply nodded, finding what he’d seen somehow more real as it lay reflected in the fear on the innkeeper’s face. The three of them sat staring at one another.

After several moments, Hambley managed only, “You’re mistaken.”

“It doesn’t mean the reader has been the Velle’s victim.” Sutter went right past Hambley’s thin denial. “So, perhaps I’ll go and find him myself.”

Neither Tahn or Hambley responded, ignoring Sutter’s bluster.

No one wanted to be taken seriously more than Sutter. Tahn suspected that was why his friend wanted to leave the Hollows. Turning soil to harvest the ground fruits would never be enough for him; it hadn’t the respect or romance he sought. And while any other day his proclamation would be something to laugh at, today Tahn thought his friend might just be serious.

At the end of the first full moon cycle following Northsun both Tahn and Sutter would have their Standing—a rite of passage that, in the Hollows, was usually held in the townsmen’s chamber in the Fieldstone. After that, their actions would be judged more severely. Consequences would be theirs to bear, unlike striplings who—for the most part—got away with everything. He wished his father, Balatin, could have been there to act as First Steward, but he’d died three winters past. Hambley would accept the honor in Balatin’s place. But while Tahn looked forward to his own Standing, Sutter craved the Change more keenly if only for the way folks listened more thoughtfully to a man once he stood on the other side of his eighteenth year.

“Does Ogea come by way of the south road?” Tahn asked, breaking the silence and redirecting the conversation.

“Sometimes. I don’t think he has a place to call home. Always traveling, always another village to visit.” Hambley paused a moment. “Tahn, did your father ever speak of such things coming to the Hollows?”

“Balatin?”

Tahn had not spoken his father’s name in a long time. The taste of it on his tongue was like grape-root, sweet but earthen. Men from far outside the Hollows had come to his father’s burial. Some wore brightly colored cloaks bearing insignias Tahn had never seen. Others came quietly, saying nothing and sharing secretive looks with one another. Yet even before Balatin’s funeral, Tahn had sensed that his father was more than he’d shared with either him or Wendra. But whatever it might have been, no one in the Hollows would talk about it—if they knew at all.

Sutter sat forward, his brow taut. “We’d know if this had happened before. What we need to decide is what to do now. Because if this is true … we may all be a few breaths closer to our last.”

Tahn nodded, but could not shake the restlessness and panic in his chest that thrust his reason into chaos. His mind returned to the dark figure who commanded the elements and burned wet soil.

Unwittingly, he traced the hammer-shaped scar that marked him, which no one had ever really asked him about, and which Balatin had dismissed as a birthmark. Touching the scar, though, Tahn found words.

“We must spread the news. Now. People must be warned before—”

“Careful how you share such knowledge,” a deep voice interrupted. “And keep your voice low to do it.” Before Tahn even looked up, he saw beside him the dark boots that belonged to the man who’d been sitting in the chamber on the other side of the fire.

CHAPTER TWO

Strangers in the Hollows

Tahn sat, his plate of food forgotten in his lap. Raising his gaze to the face of the stranger, he saw sunken eyes ringed by dark circles. The man wore a closely trimmed beard with faint touches of dark red running through black. His hair was not as long as Tahn’s own, but fell in long waves just past his shoulders. A black cloak hung from his shoulders, only the touch of firelight showing the deepest blue in its folds. At his neck, the man wore a short necklace drawn tight. The chain resembled a very thin, black rope woven from long thin strips of wood or leaves. From the chain hung a pendant in the hollow of the man’s throat: three rings, each one inside the next, but all joined on one side. The pendant shone as dark as its chain. But the man’s eyes communicated the most about him; a clear walnut color and edged by deep lines, they seemed to both worry and reassure in the same moment. He did not move, but stared down, appraising Tahn, as though he could see everything about him with a look.

“Were you invited into this particular conversation, stranger?” Sutter interjected. “It’s all well and good for you to take a room at Hambley’s fine inn here, but that doesn’t give you the right to meddle in the personal lives of his friends.”

The man looked directly at Sutter, showing him a flinty stare. Sutter retreated deeper into his seat. Then the stranger turned his hard gaze on Tahn. He leaned forward as he searched Tahn’s face.

Hambley chimed in, “Master, he is a good lad. And we were discussing a family matter. There is no need for us to be at odds. Please have a seat.” He gestured toward a fourth chair nearer the fire. The stranger appraised Tahn a moment more, still looming over him. Though he remained seated, he could tell the man would stand taller than him. The hilt of a dagger protruded from the opening of his cloak, but to Tahn the weapon seemed only an ornament. The newcomer’s broad shoulders and stony visage inspired caution more strictly than anything else.

The man released Tahn from his gaze and took the chair Hambley offered. He drew it around, closing a circle with Tahn, Sutter, and Hambley.

“Would you care for a plate or a glass?” Hambley asked.

“No, I’ve my own, and much to say besides.” He took a wooden case from the folds of his cloak and produced a small sprig. Thoughtfully, he placed it on his tongue. Tahn caught a whiff of something like peppermint.

“You are Tahn Junell,” the man stated. He then waited as though he expected a response. Tahn finally nodded. “I am Vendanj.” The man proffered his hand in greeting. Tahn clasped it in the customary salutation. Vendanj twisted their united hands, looking intently at the mark on the back of Tahn’s hand. His grip tightened, hurting Tahn’s fingers. Then he let go, returning his hand to his lap and his eyes to Tahn’s own.

“Are you here for Northsun?” Tahn asked.

The man did not answer the question. “My concern turns toward the reader. It is not like Ogea to come late to retell the stories. The cycle of the sun has come and gone.” Vendanj trailed off, his eyes appearing to see something Tahn could not. Something, he guessed, in a different place or time.

Sutter could no longer remain quiet. “The reader may need our help. Shouldn’t we organize a party to search for him? He typically enters by the east road, I think. We could leave this very hour.”

Hambley had finished his plate. “Lad, now that the rain has stopped, the bigger animals will be after meals of their own. It’s best we wait on Ogea a while longer.”