A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)
A Day of Fallen Night: Part 4 – Chapter 83

someone will remember us

I say

even in another time

– Sappho

A fire kindled by magic flickered in the hearth. Wulf watched it, wishing he could sleep a little longer.

Today was the day he would tell Tunuva. For weeks, he had considered whether to stay or leave, torn between two lives.

He was still a curiosity here. An outsider raised to worship the enemy. A noble in a place with few titles. A man better with blades than bread. In the Priory, war was the domain of women, who lived to exemplify and honour its founder, while men took care of the home.

But he was also an anointed brother, odd fit though he was. His head had been daubed with the sap of the tree when he was just an hour old. In the end, he had found a sense of belonging.

He still had to go back to his family in Inys. After the Conviction, they could not bear his loss again.

He would miss Siyu. She had given him the strongest welcome to the Priory, taking him under her wing in all things. Of the many women he now called sister, she felt most like family – never more so when she had told him why she was named after Tunuva.

He would miss Esbar, even if she had taken most of the autumn to warm to him. After all he had learned of the Priory – the truth of what had happened here, and who the Saint had been – he supposed he might be suspicious of armed Inysh outsiders, too, if he were her.

The men’s quarters encircled a round chamber for rest and study. The walls were thick enough to dull the sounds of the nursery. Wulf walked along the corridor, where large vases overflowed with flowers, tended by the boys. He had never so much as watered a plant, but Sulzi, who was three years his senior, had taught him a little of how to care for them.

Wulf was glad. In the wake of so much fire, knowing how to nurture would be useful.

Tunuva had told him what had happened to his own birthfather. Now he knew why he heard the bees in his sleep. Now he would always know.

It was not quite sunrise. Tunuva would still be in the burial chamber, so he descended to the hot spring. A soak always fortified him. Perhaps it spoke to the magic slumbering in his veins.

He was still absorbing all of that: the orange tree, and Galian and Cleolind. The Priory itself was proof, or he might never have believed.

It should have hurt. This place should have confirmed his fears that he was the child of a witch – but acceptance was soft, and bitterness shrank the heart. He refused to be like Karlsten.

At last, he had the missing threads of the tapestry. He knew how old he was. He knew he had been born in winter. He knew why he was still alive. Since he was born, magic had slept in his blood, no more dangerous than warm oil or wax. It was no curse. All it had ever done was keep him safe, both from the plague and a death by cold water.

Tunuva was no witch. She was a warrior, and a woman of honour. He was proud to be her son.

He found her in the armoury, polishing one of her blades. Usually the men did such work, but she seemed to find peace in caring for her weapons.

She noticed him and smiled. ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

‘Well,’ he said in Selinyi. ‘Just sore.’

In the months he had spent here, he had done his best to learn her language. Unlike Hróthi, Selinyi shared no roots with Inysh, but with help from Canthe, they had managed.

‘It was a long journey,’ Tunuva said, keeping her answer slow for him. ‘You fight very well.’

‘Thank you.’

Throughout the autumn and winter, he had helped the sisters defend the South from the two wyrms roaming there: Dedalugun and Fýredel. He had been the only man among them, but Esbar had refused to squander a trained warrior (‘If you’re staying here, boy, you can make yourself useful’). For the most part, they had been protecting the Wareda Valley.

He had only seen Fýredel once. It had made him sweat, as he did when he saw the white ship in his dreams.

‘Can I help you?’ he said to Tunuva.

‘Yes.’

Wulf stood beside her. She nodded to her clever spear, and he started to scrape the dry blood from its engravings.

‘I have to leave.’

It came out low and hoarse. Tunuva stilled for a moment, her lips tightening.

‘I know,’ she said, this time in Inysh. ‘I know . . . you would say.’

He placed a hand over her wrist.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘For all of it, Tunuva. I’m sorry I was stolen from you. I’m sorry for Meren. I’m sorry we’ll never know how it happened, and that we lost so much time.’ He swallowed past the dryness in his throat. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay with you.’

Tunuva forced a smile. ‘You are a strong warrior, in the bone. Men, they are not the warriors here.’ She grasped his hand. ‘You have a life in Inys, in Hróth. Your family. Thrit.’

‘I have a family here, too.’

Now her smile reached her eyes.

‘Come.’ She placed a hand on his back. ‘We will find Canthe, and speak with Esbar.’

Canthe was reading in her room, dressed in sleeveless gold silks. Unlike the other women, she had no cloak, and Wulf had never seen her fight. She haunted this place like a ghost.

Still, he sensed a power in her. Not the comforting warmth he felt from Tunuva. No, whatever lurked in Canthe was strange, and struck him as familiar, in some distant way.

‘Hello, Tuva. Wulf.’ She closed her book. ‘Imin told me you had returned. You must be tired from the road.’

‘I’ll be back on it soon,’ Wulf said. ‘I must speak with the Prioress. Would you help?’

‘Of course.’ Canthe rose. ‘I take it this is not a private matter.’

‘I’m leaving.’

‘So soon?’

‘For now, my place is in Virtudom.’

‘I understand. The Priory is not an easy place for outsiders.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘As I have learned myself.’

They found Esbar on her balcony, watching the sunrise. In the Lasian Basin, one could almost think the world had not come to an end. Several wyverns had flown over the valley, but the women had brought them down.

Esbar turned. Her gaze darted first to Tunuva, as always. It would be a comfort, to know they had each other here. Esbar was sharp as a thistle, but any fool could see that she would die for Tunuva – for anyone born into the Priory.

‘Prioress.’ Wulf inclined his head. ‘I’ve come to take my leave. I must return to Virtudom.’

Canthe translated into Lasian. Esbar listened, arms folded.

‘We knew your time here would not last. You are free to leave, as a brother of the Priory,’ Canthe said, pausing when Esbar spoke again, ‘but you will keep the vow you made when we showed you the tree. You will never utter a word of this place, nor tell its truth to anyone.’

‘The Inysh should know,’ Wulf said, looking at Esbar. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Everyone in Virtudom should. They should know what Galian Berethnet was. Who really swung the sword.’

When Canthe had translated, Esbar shook her head, and this time, Wulf understood her reply.

‘One day,’ she told him in Selinyi. ‘Not today.’

Wulf lowered his head a little. ‘Tell her I swear it on my honour,’ he said to Canthe. He went to one knee. ‘Prioress, before I leave, I would ask a last favour of you.’

At this, Esbar stepped forward. ‘Get up,’ she said, in barbed Inysh. ‘Here we do not bow or kneel.’ She took him by the elbows, and Wulf rose, surprised. She must have learned from Tunuva. ‘What do you ask?’

He took a deep breath. ‘First, there’s something you should know. About the Queen of Inys,’ he said. ‘She’s with child.’ He looked Tunuva in the eye. ‘The child is mine.’

Tunuva stared at him. Beside her, Canthe was a statue, every feature still.

He had hoped not to confess it, but something in him felt he should. His child, the future Queen of Inys, might have magic of her own, even if no fruit would kindle it.

‘She is your friend, this queen,’ Tunuva said.

‘Yes. I understand you might resent her, but she doesn’t know the real history, Tunuva,’ Wulf said. ‘I’d like to go back, to see her safe. She’ll be close to giving birth by now.’

Esbar closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

‘I’m sorry, Prioress,’ Wulf said. ‘If I’ve complicated matters.’

‘I’m sure it’s just a shock,’ Canthe said gently. ‘Tell us, Wulf, how will you return to Inys?’

‘I’ll have to risk the sea. That’s where my request comes in,’ Wulf said. ‘I wondered if I might take an ichneumon to the coast. They’re faster than any horse I’ve seen.’

Esbar seemed to consider, then nodded. ‘One of the unclaimed ichneumons will take you as far as the Yscali coast,’ Canthe translated as she replied. ‘From there, you must go alone.’

‘Thank you, Prioress. Canthe.’

With a bow that made Esbar sigh, he left. On his way out, he extended a cautious hand to her black ichneumon, who gave it a sniff before licking it.

On his way back to the men’s quarters, Wulf slowed in a wide and windowless corridor, seeing the Priory as if for the first time. This was his birthplace. It should have been his home. As he took in every detail – the tiles on the floor, the ornate pillars – he felt a sudden sorrow for the life he could have led, for the boy who had been named Armul.

He opened his hand on the wall, committing its strength and coolness to memory. As he pressed his brow to the old stone, he yearned to drag his lost home into his soul, make it stay with him. He would carry this place through fire and ruin, across the remnants of the world.

‘Wulf.’

Siyu had appeared behind him, Lukiri on her hip. ‘Siyu,’ Wulf said, clearing his throat. ‘How are you?’

‘I wanted to spend today with Lukiri. I am afraid she will forget me, next time I leave.’

‘You never really forget your mother.’ Wulf paused. ‘You’re young to have a child, Siyu.’

‘It was not planned.’

‘Do you ever regret it?’

‘I was careless,’ she said quietly. ‘Her birthfather paid for it. But Lukiri is a blessing.’ Lukiri laughed at the sound of her own name. ‘Why did you see Esbar?’

‘I’m going back to Inys, to fight with my family.’

‘This is your family.’ Siyu creased her brow. ‘It will hurt Tuva.’

‘I’d like to come back, but this war isn’t over yet. I have people who need me in Inys.’

Siyu sighed and held out Lukiri. Wulf took her, confused.

‘Come with me,’ Siyu said. ‘You should see, before you go to the Deceiver.’ Wulf turned Lukiri to face him with care, and she looked up at him with huge brown eyes, blinking.

He would never hold his own daughter like this.

Siyu took him to the splendid War Hall. This was where Tunuva had shown him her magic and taught him new ways to fight. It made him proud that his mother was the best warrior he had ever faced. Now Siyu walked to the pillars at its end, all capped with sculptures.

‘These hold the names of all the women of the Priory. The sister lines,’ Siyu said. ‘They go back to the handmaidens of the Mother.’ She pointed at a neat inscription. ‘Here is Tuva.’

Wulf studied all those centuries of names. A small number had been chipped away.

‘So many,’ he said. ‘Where are the men?’

‘Not in here. Come.’

They descended again. As it turned out, the men had chosen a wall in their quarters as a memorial.

‘The brother lines,’ Siyu said, placing a hand on it. ‘Here is Meren, your birthfather.’ She took a pouch from her belt and handed it to him. ‘Your name should be here, too.’

Wulf opened the pouch to find a small hammer and chisel. With resolve, he chose a place close to his birthfather, and he carved his birthname in Selinyi, the way Tunuva had taught him.

****

Siyu had stolen an evening with Lukiri in the valley. The child wobbled on her stout legs, heedless of the destruction beyond the Lasian Basin. Wulf sat nearby, the corners of his mouth curled up. Lukiri squealed for joy as she fell against Siyu, bubbling with laughter.

Tunuva watched them from a storeroom, aching with love. She could still not believe Lukiri was almost two, or that her birthson was twenty. She watched and watched, wanting to preserve this perfect day in amber, wear it like a pendant on her breast.

Soon it would be a distant memory. Wulf was leaving. Esbar had called a retreat to the Priory only to gather more supplies, to renew their siden and whet their blades, before they set out to protect the survivors – however many might be left. This was a dream within a nightmare.

‘Our children.’

Tunuva looked back. Esbar had found her.

‘I wondered where you were.’ Esbar cast her gaze about. ‘I don’t think I’ve been in here since—’

Tunuva nodded, remembering. Their hungry kisses on the straw, before Saghul knew. Every night they had found a new place to make love. Esbar came to join her at the window.

‘I don’t want him to go,’ Tunuva said, very softly. ‘But he would not be at peace here.’

‘He was too long in the world.’ Esbar sat on the sill. ‘There is my grandchild, Tuva. The Queen of Inys carries yours – the Deceiver’s bloodline, for ever twined with the Priory.’

Tunuva had not allowed it to sink in. Her unborn grandchild was already doomed to the fate of a queen, condemned to bear fruit no matter the cost, and all she would know of the Mother were lies.

‘There is no longer a siden tree in Inys. The child will never know the truth; I doubt any of her descendants will,’ Tunuva said. ‘But what does this mean for the Priory?’

Esbar continued to look at the valley. Even in perfect stillness, she was graceful. Tunuva sat beside her and reached for her hand. She feared Esbar might pull away, but she let Tunuva hold her, even if she made no move to tighten the grasp, as she usually would.

‘For now, I think it best if we keep this between the two of us – and Canthe,’ Esbar said, a cool afterthought. ‘Many of our sisters would resent an Inysh queen with mage blood. They might even want her dead, for fear she would use her powers to honour the Deceiver.’

‘I agree.’ Tunuva glanced at her. ‘Where will we go next?’

‘Wherever duty calls us. We will stay here long enough for our sisters to eat of the tree, to recover from the fever – and then we ride, to protect our world. To give what hope we can.’

Tunuva nodded. ‘I am with you.’

‘Good.’

Esbar pressed their hands together – a tiny, precious folding – before she left in silence. Tunuva returned to her watching, knowing this was the last night she would have everything she wanted in the world, all in one place.

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.