The Silent Tempest: Rite Of Exile Part 9

Soren ignored him. He faced Caleb, drew the dagger from his belt, and presented the charred hilt. "You know what needs to be done."

"I thought this was going to be a fight to the death or something," Caleb said. "You're asking me to kill an unarmed man!"

"Then your profession of loyalty means nothing. This is a Hodyn spy, the worst of the lot. An enemy who directly threatens our citizens deserves to die."

"The Supreme Raen of Ada shows his true colors," the prisoner muttered. "Be careful what kind of friends you make, Falling Man."

Caleb nodded. "So it would seem. Is this what justice means to your people, Soren?"

"You keep using words instead of deeds," he answered. "Either do as I ask, or go back and look for another line of work." He shrugged. "Your choice."

Minutes pa.s.sed as the Master Raen waited with the dagger in his outstretched hand, his cold stare fixed and unwavering. The prisoner waited too, his glance darting from face to face.

Caleb took the weapon into his hand. The vision of Warren reappeared, his intellect restored, a swiftly growing teenager with his whole life ahead of him. Yet as the years pa.s.sed the slow realization that Caleb had saved his son's life through an act of murder would poison every word between them, every chance for reconciliation for the deeds he had done on Earth, until not even a father's love could breach the wall between.

He flicked the dagger into the opposite corner, where it clanged against the bucket like a death-knell. "I won't commit murder, Soren, not for the Raeni, not for you. If that's what the Oath really means, then it'll never pa.s.s my lips."

The following silence lasted so long he wondered if Soren had misheard him. "I don't believe this," Caleb said. "Was this some kind of trick?"

"Yes-one a lot easier to see through than what this fellow is capable of," said Soren, jabbing a thumb to one side.

A string of spittle arced away from the cot. "Shove your little compliments up your n.o.ble a.s.s, Adaian!"

Soren leaped toward the prisoner, blade held high. "You're lucky Caleb Stenger isn't a murderer. Neither am I. But one more word out of that hole in your face and I'll make an exception."

Caleb took a long breath as Soren resumed his place. "So you'll let me take the Oath?"

"So it seems," he said, sheathing his sword. "But I have a question. Every recruit must choose where the ceremony takes place, a location symbolizing his loyalty to Ada. What is your answer?"

"I don't have time to decide?"

Soren shook his head. "This shouldn't be that difficult."

Caleb had a.s.sumed he would take the Oath in Wsaytchen, or some such hallowed place. Now he had an important decision to make. Or was this another trick? He raced through the memories of all those lessons, looking for that one unmistakable symbol of Raeni tradition.

"Krengline. Atop the Old Wall."

"Very well-a.s.suming you're not just b.u.t.tering my bread. The ceremony will take place a week from today, at noon."

"In one week, at noon," Caleb repeated, all civility again.

"One last thing. The ceremony requires you to acknowledge the sacrifice of your civilian life." He stepped close, his stare like ice. "Make d.a.m.n well sure you're the only one who bears that sacrifice."

They walked out, and Soren turned to shut the door. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Caleb asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"Fdarel won't take too kindly to leaving a dagger with one of his prisoners."

Soren blushed for a moment, cursing. Then he wiped it out with an evil smirk. "You threw it away. You get it. Consider it another test of loyalty."

Caleb stepped through, looked around in vain ... and the prisoner let out a long, harsh laugh.

9.

Leap of Faith No one should utter these words without a little fear in his heart.

- Etrenga, author of the Oath of the Raeni THE FALLING MAN woke to the grumble of an old storm-a fitting end to a restless night, and to a long week of doubts and soul-searching battles.

By noon a bl.u.s.tering wind had driven the last of the storm into the west. High above the gra.s.s, Caleb stood atop Krengline like a cadet at attention, dressed in skillfully embossed leather tunic and breeches. An empty scabbard hung at his side.

A crowd of people surrounded him, drawn by either curiosity or necessity. Ceremonial clothes rippled angrily in the breeze. Telai waited to his left wearing a long, alabaster gown, Warren's hand in hers. Soren and Hene stood opposite, the honored Raeni witnesses, their polished scabbards glinting in the sun. Feitseg stood directly in front, his sandy hair accentuating an amber, ankle-length vestment trimmed with embroidered runes.

Caleb drew deep breaths to slow the pulse of his heart. He dared not look at Telai. Another glance at the hurt in those eyes would destroy his resolve.

"Caleb Stenger, have you made your decision?" asked Feitseg. "Do you wish to become a Raen of Ada?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Do you accept this duty without reservation?"

Caleb struggled for a moment. His lips would not obey him. When he gathered his courage and forced out an answer, his voice seemed to travel the length of Krengline.

"I do!"

"And does Lord Soren, Supreme Raen of Ada, waive the right to refuse Caleb Stenger this honor?"

Soren's knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. "May all Raeni accept him as I do."

The Underseer took a step back. "Caleb Stenger, I ask your closest companion to present the Fenta te Esire, the Gift of Farewell."

Caleb shut his eyes for a moment, then turned stiffly. Telai approached, a small box of silver-bound wood in her hands. "Caleb Stenger, you leave the life of a citizen and enter a world of high honor and duty," she said, her voice quavering. "I offer this gift of farewell as a promise that my friends.h.i.+p will never die."

He took the case, pa.s.sed it to a servant, then leaned forward briefly to place his left cheek against hers. "I accept your gift, and the friends.h.i.+p it represents."

The shadow of pain in her face said what her voice could not: Do you, Caleb?

Feitseg stood before him once more. "Caleb Stenger, to whom do you bestow the honor of the Fet'anidare, the Presentation of the Blade?"

"Soren, Supreme Raen of Ada."

Another servant, dressed in jet black with a wide belt of gray, approached bearing a long wooden case. Soren opened it to reveal a curved sword, much like the Samurai wielded in ancient j.a.pan, but with a wider cross-guard. Its hilt was chiseled from ivory, while its blade, polished yet unadorned by any rune or symbol, flashed brilliantly in the sun. With slow, careful motions, Soren took two pure-white cloths, one in each hand, and lifted the sword from the box by its ornately crafted hilt and razor-sharp point.

The Master Raen faced Caleb squarely, the sword held level before his eyes. "Caleb Stenger, behold the Fetra. Since it emerged from the fire it has never been touched. It is untested and deedless, as are you. Do I have your promise that this will change before the seasons have turned full circle?"

"You do."

Soren extended the sword. Caleb took it by the cloths, turned the flat of the blade toward him, and placed the cold metal against his lips. Dropping the cloths, he clasped both hands around the hilt and aimed the sword at the blue sky, its sharp edge to the east.

In the name of Ada, and of Orand, and of Etrenga the first Overseer and the first Raen, I swear this Oath: To follow and subdue evil, and all the enemies of Ada to the uttermost parts of the world, To destroy them where they seek to destroy, To confound them where they seek to confound, And to honor the Fetra, the symbol of the Raeni, And keep my skills forever as sharp as its edge.

May I give aid to all Adaiani in their need, Protect them from wrongdoing, Be an ally to allies, a friend to strangers, And respect all living creations.

Should fortune show me a way to Kseleksten, May I not s.h.i.+rk this duty, Nor turn aside to any other thing, Until my death, or until Kseleksten is destroyed.

Let my fellow Raeni hear my words.

I, CALEB STENGER,.

by great Hendra, and for the prosperity and happiness of all Ada, swear this Oath.

Caleb sheathed his Fetra with swift confidence, never taking his eyes off the horizon. He had practiced it endlessly these last few days, determined to make a good impression. Yet the following silence was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to scream, to race down the Old Wall like an escaped lunatic. But it was too late. He was a Raen.

"Caleb Stenger, I welcome you to the full honors and duties of an Adan soldier," Soren said. "May your deeds be surpa.s.sed only by your dedication." He grinned devilishly, and with a gripping hug whispered in his ear: "Which you will need when you train under my watchful eye for the next two months!"

The a.s.sembly began to disperse, treading one by one down a long set of steps behind the wall. Caleb felt a hesitant touch on his arm.

Telai wore a smile-her pain, for the moment at least, nowhere in sight. "I hope you return to Ekendore from time to time."

"Of that you can be sure, Telai."

She peered over his shoulder. "Will you open your gift?" She shrugged. "It's not much."

"Of course." He took the box from the servant's hands, and opened it to reveal a small oval of yellowish-brown, transparent material, presumably amber. It baffled him at first, then he saw the firefly suspended at its center.

"Do you know what it is?" she asked.

He only nodded, powerless to speak. She bent to place a kiss on Warren's cheek, and Caleb caught the tiniest flash of gold chain peeking over the neckline of her gown. After one last smile, wistful yet unsullied by any bitterness, she followed the a.s.sembly down the steps, a sunlit promise of life and love fading from his sight.

Caleb closed the box and buried it in his deepest pocket. The vision of a firefly glimmering across her balcony that night had whispered its own truth.

10.

First Cloud Hesitation is a choice, not a lack of one.

- Josen, Raen of Udan CALEB STARED in horror at the man dying at his feet. Soren stood to his right, facing the opposite way, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword as he scanned the brightening landscape. Two more Hodyn soldiers lay in the tall gra.s.s nearby, their clothing spattered with blood and their faces locked in the agony of death.

The harvest was in full swing, and with it the raids that yearly plagued the farmers and ranchers along the northwest borders of Ada. Caleb's training was over. He had pushed himself to the limit for weeks, no less uncompromising than his instructors, determined to silence their doubts. Now he had killed his first Hodyn, his well-balanced Fetra singing through the air as if he had been born with it in his hands.

But he felt no pride, no sense of achievement. Only a firestorm of guilt ignited by the cold, accusing eyes of the dead. He couldn't help thinking of Warren, and whether some Hodyn child was about to mourn the loss of a father.

Caleb fought to hold it in, but it was no use. He turned his back on the spectacle, and crouched down, bowing his head. With one wrenching heave he emptied his stomach onto the gra.s.s, as though purging the shameful deed from his body.

He sat recovering for a while, the breath of dawn chilling the sweat on his face. Then he felt a firm grip on his shoulder.

"Clean your sword and get on your feet, Caleb Stenger. You've done what's required of you. It's time we headed back to Udan."

He nodded, did as he was told, and afterward followed his commander back to a grove of yellowing tamaracks where they had tied their horses. Soren drew his attention to the right. A distant plume of smoke and the roof of a barn rose above the morning mist. The lowing of cows and the clucking of hens traveled across the dew-soaked fields as if only a stone's throw from his ears.

By the time they reached the grove and mounted their horses, Caleb's hands were steady, his mind free of doubts.

From there they rode northwest, keeping to the shadows of the trees whenever possible as the day broadened about them. Caleb knew how privileged he was. Though a more experienced soldier always guided a recruit on his first oath-fulfilling duty, both as a witness and a comrade, that soldier was rarely the Supreme Raen of Ada. Yet Soren rode in silence, offering no word of comfort or praise. Caleb wished he would. Though he had come to terms with his deed, he still needed a little rea.s.surance or at least a distraction to eradicate the poisonous images from his mind.

It was a full day's ride to Udan. Color bloomed in the scattered woodlands, and a brisk wind flew down from the whitening mountains in the west. To the south, Hendra towered majestically above the clouds.

In the afternoon they came to Gegre-Udan, the road out of Ekendore. Following it north, they soon crossed a bridge over a wide stream hastening from the mountains: the Winding River, which flowed through Grimoa, the land of the Hodyn to the northeast.

An hour or so later they reached a walled city, its back to the foothills of an eastern spur of the mountains: Udan Fortress. A stark contrast to Ekendore, Udan echoed the austere practicality of Krengline, though on a smaller scale. There were no stately homes save for one owned by the master of the town: Rewba, the First Underseer, the only civilian authority in Ada who was also a Master Raen.

Two modest towers flanked the south gate, and soldiers paced the walls. But its true defense lay in the lookouts and outposts in the hills beyond, which offered greater views of the surrounding country. A relatively small number of military families const.i.tuted the bulk of its population. This time of year, however, because of the enemy raids and the resulting influx of reinforcements from the south, Udan bristled with activity like any other town.

As they pa.s.sed the gate servants appeared, greeted Soren and his companion with respect, and took the horses and baggage to the stables and barracks down the street.

The thought of a hot meal quickened Caleb's weary limbs. But he would not rest until he saw Warren. He had left him in the care of a member of the Frehaiani, a middle-aged, kindly woman living in a plain but well-kept house past the barracks. When she opened the door to his knock, the sight of his son, plunging into his arms like so many times before, did much to erase the disturbing images of that day. Soren had no objection to bringing Warren along, and after Caleb thanked the woman, they left for the refectory.

Warren walked close, intent on the new surroundings, as Soren led them into a wide hall filled with yellow lamplight. Caleb breathed deeply, relis.h.i.+ng the rich aromas of simmering pots of stew and freshly baked bread. A crowd of Raeni chatted noisily at tables stretched along the opposite wall; others ate their meals in weary silence, sitting alone or in pairs at smaller tables scattered through the rest of the hall. Soren did not greet anyone or announce his presence. He merely chose the nearest empty table and waited with his companions for their food.

There was no mistaking the big, towering chef as he threaded his way between the tables, dangerously balancing a platter laden with food over the heads of his customers. The autumn raids taxed even his strength, however, as well as his patience, and he set their plates down with a show of exhaustion.

The big man's jaw dropped when he noticed Soren. He faced the crowded room. "Ykea! Pay homage to the Master Raen of Ada!"

There was a clamor of sc.r.a.ping chairs as everyone scrambled to their feet. One seat crashed loudly to the floor, followed by a curse. Soren's eyes twinkled. They all murmured various expressions of respect and returned to their seats. The few who remained stepped hesitantly forward, then withdrew when they saw the food on Soren's table. In Ada it was an unspoken rule never to interrupt a meal unless absolutely necessary, and with a Master Raen this took on paramount significance.

The chef departed. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Caleb said.

Soren handed Warren a slice of bread. "Yes-especially when the chef used the Raeni danger call to announce my presence."

Caleb grinned, and started on his plate of stew. Warren, who had recently turned eleven, almost matched his father bite for bite. Soren ate sparingly-accustomed, Caleb presumed, to smaller rations.

They finished with a few mugs of yrgona, the Adan equivalent of ale. Caleb frowned when Warren lifted a mug to his lips. But after a tentative sip, the boy shuddered and plunked it down with a grimace.

Soren chuckled. "You should get him used to it. The Raeni drink it to revive themselves after hard duty."

"You know how kids are about medicine," Caleb said dismissively. "But tell me, Soren-shouldn't I be doing a little mingling? No offense, but I can't hang around you all the time. I need to establish my ident.i.ty."