White Pagan, page 62
part #6 of Kestrel Harper Saga Series
“Thank you.”
He wondered how ill she had been, what the bhur was, that it had taken so long to recover from it, or whether it had taken so long to persuade her people that he was no threat. From the corner of his eye, he studied her, seated beside her friend, no effort made now to hide the child she carried. Other than that change and a degree of detached aloofness, she seemed no different to Kavan than before her faint.
He did not blame these people for their caution; k'Ádhá knew how his display of power must have frightened them. Perhaps the márbhyndhánis were capable of such feats, but he doubted displays of power were common, that most dhóbhaen ever saw more than the most mundane and simple uses.
“I regret any offense; I intended only to protect…”
“kymyhé Raebhá,” Audh smiled, looking at the woman warmly, “we know.” He turned to the side and gestured to the ancient toothless man nearest him. Despite the old man’s smile, his manner was grim, as if he had accepted Kavan’s freedom and yet had not forgiven that dramatic display of power. “We have passed verdict on our own, but at márbhyndhánis Éthym’s insistence, we will relent to kymyhé’s demand that you confirm what we have exposed and expressed.”
“These five?” By the binding of their hands, they seemed to have been previously judged; anything now was to assure Kavan of Raebhá’s safety and perhaps for her peace of mind. Perhaps they hoped that, once satisfied that he had done the duty of delivering her to safety, he would depart and take his dissenting gifts with him.
“Of all.” Raebhá’s reply, unexpected as it was, was even in tone and emotion. She might have resumed working with the márbhyndhánis as was traditionally expected of her station, but she was reluctant to trust any of them except Audh.
From the way she resisted Kavan’s gaze, he thought she mistrusted him as well. “I want no more secrets.”
Audh nodded. Another look passed between him and Raebhá, accompanied by an awkward squirming of some of those standing behind him, and Kavan scowled. There was a secret here, something that had occurred during his confinement, but as it was not his place to know it, to interfere in the governing of the ghísaer of Gálínphel, he turned towards the first of those purportedly innocent of conspiracy.
When the woman dropped to one knee as Audh had done days before, Kavan caught her hands and brought her to her feet. She was older than he was, closer in age to Ártur’s mother. In that short touch he read naiveté and innocence, things one might expect in the heart of one raised to adhere to a set of beliefs without hesitation, one who never asked questions or challenged authority or did anything more than she was instructed. The lines about her eyes and mouth, the trembling in her hands, suggested she questioned those things now, forced to do so by unfortunate events at the heart of her beliefs and by the arrival of one from outside of everything she was taught to be real and true. A crisis of faith was brewing, not only in her but within others in the room, sparked by what had been done to Raebhá by those they were supposed to trust and revere, contributed to by the White Bard standing before them. The results, particularly if he was not prudent with his words and deeds, could prove disastrous.
“There is no need. I will have none bow before me,” he murmured.
“My head then,” she murmured, tipping her head forward so that her pale red hair fell before her face.
“I need only your hand.”
“My hand?”
From her confused frown, Kavan knew she wondered if he had already read her, though she had experienced nothing in his touch. “I swear it.”
“You will reveal one private detail of each, in addition to their fault or virtue,” Raebhá said. “Something other márbhyndhánis would know but that I might not, something that will support your readings so that each will know your integrity is not in question. Each of you,” her gaze swept the room, “have my word he will not harm you.”
Confident of that support though not of the outcomes he would receive, Kavan moved from one offered hand to another, touching thoughts through the brief contacts before speaking their secrets. A favorite color. A new spouse’s name. An age or other detail he felt fit Raebhá’s criteria. He relayed the truth as he saw it, whether each individual had known about, supported, or participated in the attack and banishment of the ghísaer’s leader. Only once did he hesitate, his probing efforts ramming against a wall of protective power that hid all but the most choice of surface thoughts. Thinking it an effort to hide guilt, he used skills he did not often need to rely on to force his way into the tall man’s thoughts.
There was no guilt there, however, only the satisfaction of having tested Kavan and a reflection of mental pain that lingered in the man’s gray-blue eyes.
Kavan suspected he would be tested many more times for however long he remained in Curnydhá. They feared him, but they were also curious, a dangerous combination if Kavan revealed too much.
Before the five segregated for whatever punishment a non-violent community might inflict for sedition, he paused to center his power and calm his racing heart. Their physical threat was contained, and though one might choose to attempt a psychic attack on Raebhá’s less protected mind, since they had not done so already he doubted they would try with him in the room, nor would they risk attacking him.
In the contact with each, he read the accusations against their leader, their suspicions about Raebhá’s illicit training, their beliefs that she was a follower of a belief system long outlawed and eradicated wherever it surfaced. He saw the truth of conspiracy. How Celen, detecting Ombhrís lust for power, had been instrumental in the introduction between Ombhrís’ father and Raebhá’s, thus also in the eventual meeting of their children with the suggested union of both ghísaer. How she had been quick to seed Ombhrís’ mind with suspicions, how she determined to steer him on a path that would, they hoped, eliminate the perceived heretical treason from the leadership of Gálínphel. Kavan saw how Celen had brought the committee of five together and led them in the decision to banish Raebhá through the rynlagne to a destination where her survival was not guaranteed, where there might be barbarians or beasts or inhospitable natural elements, any of which could have caused her death.
They had believed that, even if she survived, there was no chance she would return to Curnydhá.
None had anticipated that she would be deposited at a place so near to the one person capable of bringing her back.
Though he touched their memories of the Gate they had used, he could not see it nor tell how the five together had accomplished the banishing. It was a secret they prevented him from knowing.
If not for Audh, Iólán would not have escaped the blame intended to fall on him. Audh had not known of the conspiracy, had not known who the perpetrators of the night’s events were, but he had been quick to act when disturbing dreams prompted him to get Iólán to safety. He had been unable to aid, or reach, Raebhá, had not known she was in danger, but his warning had allowed Iólán to get safely away before his sister was reported missing.
The details of events and Celen’s motivations made Kavan quake with anger, but not one of the five exhibited the strength of character or power to challenge him, particularly when his thoughts were intertwined with theirs. It was as if they instinctively recognized how easily he could tug on the spark of life, wrap it in ropes of power, and extinguish it without a visible indication of responsibility. He could leave each dead at his feet if he chose.
But Raebhá would know, and others would suspect, and her disapproval, as well as his respect for life, prevented him from silencing them as they had sought to do with her. They might not have attempted to kill her with their own hands, using the same manner of shadow attacker that had come for Kavan in Maras, but their thoughts revealed their acceptance without regret that their actions could end in that result, no matter how revered life was to the dhóbhaen or how much death terrified them.
After waving Kavan away from the five, the ancient Éthym sighed with the last pronouncement and held Raebhá’s gaze for several moments. No one spoke until Raebhá nodded and Éthym cleared his throat. To the five, he said, “You will submit to kylldrenai until deemed fit and worthy to walk as dhóbhaen.” He locked his steady gray eyes on Celen’s haughty expression. “There are enough of us to follow through; we do not require any of you to see it done. We,” he looked at Raebhá, “will conclude our business later.”
Curious but thankful he did not know what Reconditioning entailed beyond Raebhá’s previous hints that it was meant to purge undesirable beliefs and behaviors from a person, Kavan watched the five be escorted from the building, led through the streets in the direction of the cave cell where he had been held. There were several similar wooden doors set into the cleared lower slope of the mountain but Kavan did not continue watching to see where the five were taken. He did not want that knowledge to feed the temptation to take their punishment into his own hands.
That was where they had imprisoned him. Stripping him of power had undoubtedly been their hope or intent. He imagined a long enough period of power and sensory denial would be enough to alter anyone attuned and trained to its use, but he did not understand how such deprivation was intended to affect those forbidden the use of power.
He chose not to dwell on the memories of his days in that place.
Iólán and many of the townsfolk trailed after them, some determined to see justice done, others curious to witness the fate their once-respected leaders would endure. Raebhá and Ephé exchanged words and the touching of their foreheads together and then Ephé’s departure left Kavan and Raebhá alone in the dhó dónáré.
For several minutes they stayed there, silent, Raebhá where she sat, Kavan where he stood, inspecting the hall of what he determined to be the seat of márbhyndhánis rule. Wooden stairs led to balconies of closed doors, and rooms and corridors branched off from the room he was in. There were benches, tables, the manner of furnishings expected in a place of learning. Behind at least one of those doors, Kavan expected to find whatever manner of record-keeping the dhóbhaen maintained. He wanted to see it, wanted to touch documents he wagered would be older than any he had ever found.
As if reading his thoughts, however, and determined to sway him from them, Raebhá rose, tilted her head towards the door when he looked at her, and led him from the building into the adjoining ghís kelyhag, empty except for the handful of people tending the fires, cooking over them. There was evidence that those from Maras and Phaurd were being housed here each night, as there were too many to be put up in homes and the dhóbhaen had nothing akin to inns in which to house travelers. When the evening meal was ready, the dhóbhaen would collect here, but for now, they had privacy.
When Raebhá pulled him to a bench with one hand and urged him to sit with her, many of those loitering returned to their business. He did not miss their looks of disapproval but he could not tell if those looks were directed at him or Raebhá.
“There is unrest.”
“du,” she sighed, her voice low. “It will not end soon. The histories record other times when márbhyndhánis were forced to Recondition, but never in so large a number, and never for offenses such as this. Their actions, your presence, have tipped the scales. If I remain as kymyhé, if I am not forced into exile, Gálínphel will become the heart of an upheaval unlike any seen since the days of Dhágdhuán.”
“How…?”
Raebhá stared towards the door but the márbhyndhánis could not be seen. “If there is to be honesty and trust between the márbhyndhánis and myself…or any that comes after, there needs to be a balance. It is as obvious to them as it is to me that secrets kept are damaging. Without you to read for me, there is no adequate way to be assured of their truthfulness…and without trust, governing becomes fractured and fraught with difficulties that will only harm us. How can anyone trust those who teach and guide us if those same men and women are the breakers of our laws without regulation?”
Absently she brought Kavan’s hand to her mouth and brushed her lips across his knuckles, remembering how he tasted, how his touch made her feel. When he shivered, proving that he remembered as well, a smile faintly lit her features. “There are few good solutions and no easy ones. The márbhyndhánis can demand election and hope to replace me with someone they can manipulate or bully into covering up what has happened. But continuing the status quo will allow mistrust to fester. They know it. They can usurp all power in the ghís, throughout the ghísaer, but the repercussions would spread throughout Dhóbhaen, bringing conflict most prefer to avoid. Or they can accept the inevitable and work with me to reestablish trust.”
“You could trust them after…?”
“I must. I can if they agree to allow any kymyhé or kydhé elected to be trained as they are so that we can read their truths and lies as they read others. Never again should the márbhyndhánis be able to hide behind conspiracies nor able to turn power against our leaders in a way that can harm those unable to defend themselves.”
Kavan let out a long hissed breath. “You’re speaking of opening power to all…to be as Elyri…”
“Not at first, but in time. It could come to that. I hope it will. A successor, or multiple potential successors, would have to be trained to read others, to protect themselves, to harness and control dáni in small ways.”
Frowning, Kavan left her seated and went onto the steps, stifled by the sudden pressure in the hot indoor atmosphere that he hoped the cooler outdoor air would relieve. It did, but only enough that the choking sensation eased. He was not surprised that she followed.
“Audh and Éthym…they know my wishes…Mánd certainly did. Both know now that Mánd provided initial training in the ways of dáni before his Ceasing. It is enough to condemn me, if they wish. If I am to avoid kylldrenai, I must sway others to accept that a kymyhé or kydhé who is trained is a proper balance of power.”
Or you could come to Alberni with me, he thought with both a stab of pain and a fleeting soaring of spirit. “It will be dangerous.”
“It will.” Raebhá side-eyed him with a faint smile, not needing to hear his words to know his thoughts. He more than anyone understood the dangers of opening culturally sensitive doors. “After an eternity of conditioning, generations of fear and culture and belief, I find myself in the unique position of being able to affect a change, to be a catalyst, to bring my people what yours already have.”
“Fear, hatred, and intolerance?” He shrugged when he felt confusion bubble in the air around her. “Training our children is normal. Most have a degree of core skills. Relatively few continue past that. Even fewer train as rigorously as I have…for as long…but doing so was my choice. I know my potential and have always been driven to explore it, fulfill it, at any cost. Now the tables are turned against us…from what you have here. Those who do not train are as reviled and outcast in Elyriá as those of you here who choose to train without approval. And the Faith…what has grown of it has become an institution torn by ideology and narrow-mindedness that excludes some for differences in interpretation. It instills in us the fear that only those who die may see Ethenae and the Ceasing…as you call it…”
He raked his hair away from his face. “What happens to those who do not die, as normal and common as it may be, is not discussed. It is our greatest collective fear, erased from our memories. I would never aspire to share such rigid beliefs, to have them emulated…by anyone.”
“Somewhere in between,” Raebhá agreed after several minutes of contemplation. “None of us can know perfection; it’s different for everyone. But we can strive to be better, to better the lives of those we love to ensure safety and prosperity. I believe that seeking begins with no longer denying that power is part of us…in embracing it and learning to be who we are. I may not succeed in…”
“You may become a martyr instead.”
Fingers threading through his, stung that he would say that though she understood he was speaking from personal experience and not disagreement with her cause, she whispered, “I’m not asking you to fight my fight, aislé. You cannot. I ask only that you support me, and do not reject me for the path I follow on behalf of all dhóbhaen.”
The endearment upon her tongue sent shivers through him, the weight of its near-sacred connotation sucking the breath from his lungs. He had never believed he would hear anyone use that word to address him, that anyone could love him so completely. His hand tightened around hers and though he tried to say it back, feeling the truth of it filling his heart, the word would not come out. No sound did for several moments as he wrestled with his fears.
“I was asked once to support such a perilous path for someone I treasured,” he finally murmured, recalling Prince Arlan’s exuberance, how much of the boy was lost to the man he had become through the troubles that came after. “I’ve asked for such support myself.”
He had chosen to support the prince because it was the right thing to do, just as Ártur had supported him in the perils he regularly faced over the years. What Raebhá proposed was likewise for the best, for balance always was. The dhóbhaen, their future, needed balance, and she was in the position to cultivate it. Facing that, accepting destiny, was her choice. Succeed or fail, it was her goal to wrap her arms around. If their positions were reversed, Kavan would undertake the same mission towards the same end.
In a way, his place in the Elyri Faith sought a similar rebalancing. Everything he learned of the dhóbhaen, of Elyri history, could well have a similar rebalancing effect, if he dared to use it. He did not know if he had the heart to try.
“You know I will never reject you, Raebhá. I cannot.”
“Good.” Relieved, she led down the steps. She thought to enjoy the ghís kelyhag but after having been held captive for so long, the air and sky appeared to be doing Kavan good. “I’ve taken the first steps to set things in Curnydhá right, but until I deal with Ombhrís…”
