far.” He pulled back his cowl and brushed the water from his nose. Still, Vendanj did not turn. Tahn gave Sutter a fretful look, and nodded toward Vendanj.
“Her cloak is behind the door,” Tahn said finally. Braethen took the garment from its peg and helped Tahn drape it around Wendra.
Vendanj pivoted sharply and surveyed the room. “Watch there for Mira,” he said, pointing first to Braethen and Sutter and then toward the hole in the wall. They did as they were told.
Vendanj took two long strides toward Tahn and Wendra, gripped one of Wendra’s hands, and eased her into a chair beside the overturned table. He knelt before her and looked intently into her face. He released her hand and then deliberately reclasped it, interlocking the bottom two fingers and folding her thumb into his palm. With his other hand he touched her brow. Almost inaudibly, he began to speak, never allowing Wendra to look away. A soft glow appeared in his face as he spoke, and Wendra’s own face mirrored the luminosity. A look of wonder spread across Braethen’s features, and Tahn suddenly remembered what Braethen had called the man back in the townsmen’s council room: Sheason.
Even in the Hollows it was known that the Sheason were hunted. The League of Civility had branded them spies for the Quiet. The Sheason were expected either to keep their gifts hidden, or to openly disavow their use of the Will. If caught rendering, they were executed; otherwise they were tolerated. Tahn involuntarily took a step back. What if this man was the figure he’d seen in the trees early that morning? Few could summon the Will; it was a gift that had to be conferred, and that after years of training and careful study.
Vendanj reached for Wendra’s other hand and helped her to her feet. Tahn’s sister stood on her own, a combination of amazement and gratitude in her thin smile. “I—”
“You’re welcome,” Vendanj said. “Sutter, can you see Mira?”
“No.”
Another shriek rang through the storm, this one deeper and more anguished.
“We can’t wait,” he said, moving toward the door. “Leave her horse tied to the stoop; we must be gone.”
Sutter and Braethen came away from the wall and rejoined them.
“How can we run the horses, Vendanj?” Braethen asked.
“I’ll see to the horses,” the Sheason replied. “Now listen carefully. We go to Recityv. I did not speak it in town where someone may have overheard. But fix it in your minds. Much depends on us getting there.”
Vendanj took a moment to look at each of them, then strode through the door into the night. Tahn looked at Sutter, whose jaw hung agape. Recityv! The thrill and fright of such a journey, such a large place, made his heart race. The revelation of where the Sheason meant to take them seemed to hit them all like another strike of lightning. In silence, many questioning looks were exchanged.
A moment later, they all followed Vendanj through the door. They clambered onto their horses in the pouring rain. Wendra came last.
Vendanj went from mount to mount, removing sprigs from his small wooden case and giving one to each horse as he went. Again, Tahn thought he caught a whiff of peppermint. The Sheason then jumped onto his horse. Tahn looked back at the lone mount still tied to the stoop post—Mira’s.
In the darkness, a lusting, hate-filled cry arose.
“We no longer all need to return to town. Mira provisioned your horses before we left. And we have enough extra for Anais Wendra. Only Braethen need return.” Vendanj sidled up beside him. “Ogea’s satchels. Can you manage to retrieve them alone?”
The insult sliced through the downpour.
Braethen nodded.
“Meet us on the north road. Move fast. We’ll be leaving the road soon.”
Braethen didn’t wait for further instruction, and was gone. As he raced away, Mira appeared as if from nowhere, jumped into her saddle, and kicked her horse into a dead run.
“Stay close.” The Sheason kicked at his mount
“Her cloak is behind the door,” Tahn said finally. Braethen took the garment from its peg and helped Tahn drape it around Wendra.
Vendanj pivoted sharply and surveyed the room. “Watch there for Mira,” he said, pointing first to Braethen and Sutter and then toward the hole in the wall. They did as they were told.
Vendanj took two long strides toward Tahn and Wendra, gripped one of Wendra’s hands, and eased her into a chair beside the overturned table. He knelt before her and looked intently into her face. He released her hand and then deliberately reclasped it, interlocking the bottom two fingers and folding her thumb into his palm. With his other hand he touched her brow. Almost inaudibly, he began to speak, never allowing Wendra to look away. A soft glow appeared in his face as he spoke, and Wendra’s own face mirrored the luminosity. A look of wonder spread across Braethen’s features, and Tahn suddenly remembered what Braethen had called the man back in the townsmen’s council room: Sheason.
Even in the Hollows it was known that the Sheason were hunted. The League of Civility had branded them spies for the Quiet. The Sheason were expected either to keep their gifts hidden, or to openly disavow their use of the Will. If caught rendering, they were executed; otherwise they were tolerated. Tahn involuntarily took a step back. What if this man was the figure he’d seen in the trees early that morning? Few could summon the Will; it was a gift that had to be conferred, and that after years of training and careful study.
Vendanj reached for Wendra’s other hand and helped her to her feet. Tahn’s sister stood on her own, a combination of amazement and gratitude in her thin smile. “I—”
“You’re welcome,” Vendanj said. “Sutter, can you see Mira?”
“No.”
Another shriek rang through the storm, this one deeper and more anguished.
“We can’t wait,” he said, moving toward the door. “Leave her horse tied to the stoop; we must be gone.”
Sutter and Braethen came away from the wall and rejoined them.
“How can we run the horses, Vendanj?” Braethen asked.
“I’ll see to the horses,” the Sheason replied. “Now listen carefully. We go to Recityv. I did not speak it in town where someone may have overheard. But fix it in your minds. Much depends on us getting there.”
Vendanj took a moment to look at each of them, then strode through the door into the night. Tahn looked at Sutter, whose jaw hung agape. Recityv! The thrill and fright of such a journey, such a large place, made his heart race. The revelation of where the Sheason meant to take them seemed to hit them all like another strike of lightning. In silence, many questioning looks were exchanged.
A moment later, they all followed Vendanj through the door. They clambered onto their horses in the pouring rain. Wendra came last.
Vendanj went from mount to mount, removing sprigs from his small wooden case and giving one to each horse as he went. Again, Tahn thought he caught a whiff of peppermint. The Sheason then jumped onto his horse. Tahn looked back at the lone mount still tied to the stoop post—Mira’s.
In the darkness, a lusting, hate-filled cry arose.
“We no longer all need to return to town. Mira provisioned your horses before we left. And we have enough extra for Anais Wendra. Only Braethen need return.” Vendanj sidled up beside him. “Ogea’s satchels. Can you manage to retrieve them alone?”
The insult sliced through the downpour.
Braethen nodded.
“Meet us on the north road. Move fast. We’ll be leaving the road soon.”
Braethen didn’t wait for further instruction, and was gone. As he raced away, Mira appeared as if from nowhere, jumped into her saddle, and kicked her horse into a dead run.
“Stay close.” The Sheason kicked at his mount
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