Rite of Exile: The Silent Tempest, Book 1 (7 page)

A chill ran through her veins, mingled with pity. Caleb Stenger had told her about his home, and how it lay beyond the stars, and she had never quite understood it. Now she did. No ship of the sea would ever reach the land of his birth, an existence bereft of all warmth and compassion except for the bond he shared with his son.

Telai emerged from her trance in time for the closing scene: hordes of blood-stained soldiers struggling to reach Heradnora as she struck them down a score at a time. A young man ran forward, grappled with her as if wresting something away from her hands, then leaped up with fists raised in victory as Heradnora collapsed in a heap.

“Is that Grondolos?” Caleb Stenger whispered, leaning in, and she nodded. Then he noticed Warren sleeping on her lap.

His eyes locked onto hers, an intense longing she had never seen in him before. It stripped away all her defenses. She blushed and faced the stage again, feeling much more exposed than when she stood shirtless on Sonién for all to see.

The dancers lifted their hero onto their shoulders, and marched in triumph into the shadows to the right. The man who first appeared emerged with his fists held high, just as Grondolos had done. The audience rose to a stand. Telai remained seated, unwilling to wake the child. Yet she joined in the final chant, her voice ringing as one with the others:

Feru a yentré gidas ksatré kya!

The attendants rekindled the lamps along the wall, and the crowd filtered out of their seats. Caleb Stenger reached over to jiggle his son awake, and Warren sat blinking in the light before struggling to his feet.

Telai followed, only to drop to her seat again with a groan. Her leg had fallen asleep. She rubbed her thighs, then lifted a hand at a dark blotch on her trousers.

Caleb Stenger wiped the lingering drool from Warren’s mouth. “Twice in one day,” he said, winking at her.

6

Firefly

Too often are we blind to the path of contentment;

too often do we let the promise of our lives slip away.

- from
Besir Orand’iteé

CALEB FOLLOWED
, Warren at his side, as Telai led the way at a relaxed pace along the cobblestone streets. The fine summer evening had already erased the lingering effects of his Judgment, and now the prospect of what was sure to be a delightful meal with an equally delightful hostess consumed his every thought.

After a few confusing turns and branching side streets they reached a long, single-story building of reddish stone and tall windows on the left, which Telai identified as Gerentesk. She lived two houses farther on, an exquisitely crafted place, with a second-story balcony overshadowed by towering oaks.

They followed Telai up the short stone path to the porch, where she opened the engraved wooden doors without preamble. Lamps hanging by fine silver chains softly illuminated the small foyer beyond.

“I need to take care of something,” she said, and gestured toward the middle of three archways. “You can wait in the atrium if you like.” She disappeared through the arch to the left.

Caleb stepped into the large, square room dominating the center of the house, drawn by his curiosity. Warren followed, scanning the decor. A balcony similar to the one outside ran along the perimeter; banners, rich with the scenes of what he assumed were historical events, hung from a railing engraved with ancient verse. Larger versions of the lamps in the foyer warmed the paneled walls.

Such obvious evidence of Telai’s prestige was starting to bewilder him when he heard the approach of soft footsteps.

She stood near the archway wearing a short-sleeved, aquamarine gown, and a pale emerald on a silver necklace. He gaped at her like a schoolboy, spellbound by her transformation from cultural guide to stunning beauty. Why she hadn’t captured another man’s heart by now was beyond his comprehension.

“Thank you for your company, Caleb Stenger and Warren,” she said, as if greeting them for the first time.

Her polite manner was no less charming than her beauty, and Caleb readily assumed the role of honored guest. “Pleased to be here. I must say you look—well, your dress—um,” he stammered, his face burning. “Anyway, it’s pretty,” he finally managed.

Telai beamed, and stepped forward to offer Warren her hand. “I’ve got something for you. Interested?”

The boy nodded eagerly, and Telai led him over to a long, narrow table against the left-hand wall. Caleb followed, wondering how Warren could possibly understand her, until the artifacts on the table caught his interest. There was an old, tattered book, an ancient dagger with half the jewels missing from its hilt, and what looked remarkably like an astrolabe he had once seen in a museum. Telai ignored all these and led Warren to the center, where a little wooden box sat alone as if occupying a place of honor.

She undid the metal clasp, opened the box, and lifted out a small ivory carving on a plaited leather necklace. Facing Warren, she draped it over his head and around his neck. Warren turned it over in his hands for a moment, then showed the necklace to his father.

Caleb recognized it at once: its back arching in a slow curve, a wide fluted tail ready to churn the waves with its fury, and a long, upside-down feral grin running nearly all the way to its tiny flippers and eyes. It was almost identical to the sculpture of a bowhead whale Karla had once received from her Inuit grandmother, the last surviving remnant of a forgotten way of life. Caleb still remembered the day at his father’s house when he had opened the door to see a tousled, eleven-year-old girl out of breath and bursting with pride. Now she wore that little whale in eternal darkness, countless stars away on a planet he would never see again.

“Thank her, Warren,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. The boy gave her a quick hug. “Where did you get this?” Caleb asked.

“It’s one of several copied down through the years from the original. Legend says it was worn by a close friend of Urman as he led his people across the sea.”

“A fitting gift, thank you.”

An elderly woman entered to announce the meal was ready. They followed her back to the foyer, and through the right-hand arch into a smaller room, where a round table laden with food occupied the center. Though Caleb needed no further evidence of how rich the culture was in Ekendoré, he never expected anything like this: young pheasants roasted a golden brown, baked apples stuffed with walnuts, and a pale, exquisitely perfumed raspberry wine that without the meal would have gone straight to his head. Warren ignored most of his food, and kept sneaking delicate pastries onto his plate, but Telai’s glance of delight eased Caleb’s initial embarrassment.

The little things she did fascinated him—never taking two successive bites of the same thing, holding her glass with the stem between her fingers, even the way her nose wrinkled when she scratched it.
He valued the attachment she shared with his son, and not just because it filled some small part of Warren’s longing for his mother. There was little doubt in Caleb’s mind how Warren might take to Telai as a new member of the family; his own feelings were more complicated. But h
e knew his grief could easily outlast its day and turn into a betrayal all its own, ruining what few years of happiness fate had allowed for his son.

Caleb turned to see him drooping in his chair, Telai’s gift clasped loosely in his hand. He shrugged at her look of surprise. “He does that a lot.”

Telai gestured for Eké to approach the table. “There’s a guest room on the upper story,” she said to Caleb. “Eké can watch over him for the rest of the evening—if you don’t mind, that is.”

“Your trust is good enough for me, Telai.”

A dash of impertinence sparked her eyes as they fixed on Caleb. “Be careful, Eké. I’ve let a charmer into the house!”

The old woman grinned, then walked around and gently woke the boy. Warren looked to his father, who gave a reassuring nod, and followed Eké out the door.

Knowing his son would be well cared for, Caleb returned to his host. A change had happened since this morning, he realized. Now that Telai was freed from her role as teacher, she could approach him as a woman—flirt with him, challenge him, turn the tables at every opportunity.

Mesmerized, it took him a while before he
noticed the growing smirk on her face. He sat up straight. “Sorry, I shouldn’t stare.”

“Maybe it’s the wine. Enilií does put out some heady vintages.” She lifted the flask. “More?”

The memory of an unbuttoned blouse popped into his head, and his face warmed. Her grin broadened; she filled his cup, and when he lifted it to his lips, the tremble in his hand only added to his chagrin.

“How did you come to be Loremaster?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.

She set the flask aside, abruptly serious. “It’s a little complicated.”

“Oh. If it’s personal—”

“No, not really. It was too many years ago. And it’s hardly a secret,” she said, rolling her eyes.

She took a sip of wine, while Caleb relaxed, his embarrassment forgotten. “His name was Tenlar—and he was quite the
charmer
,” she added with an emphatic glare. “I was very young at the time. Too young. I was still struggling with what I wanted to do with my life. He had no doubts, though:
The noble life of a Raéni soldier
,” she said, deepening her voice in mockery. “But he kept putting it off, for I would have to become a Raén, too, if we were Joined.”

“Why?”

“The law requires it.”

Caleb shook his head. “That sounds so unfair. Choosing to spend your lives together is a big enough decision.”

Telai locked stares with him. “Remember what I told you: the Oath always takes precedence.” Caleb straightened in his seat, nodding quickly to forestall an argument.

She turned thoughtful, swirling the wine in her glass. “Anyway, my mother thought Tenlar was pressuring me too much, and told me to wait. Once he found this out, he became … annoyed, to put it mildly. And typical of a young recruit, he approached the problem with rash confrontation.”

“The Overseer? Your mother?”

“She was only First Underseer of Spierel back then,” Telai explained, attempting a smile. Caleb leaned in, his arms crossed on the table, no less spellbound than he was at the theater. “It’s still the second-highest position of civil authority in Ada, though,” she said. “His convictions about the Raéni were, shall we say, challenged by fire. He took the Oath the very next day.”

“Now there’s a man I’d like to meet. But how did this lead to your decision to become a Loremaster?”

“I had already begun a few introductory studies. Raéni recruits are required to do the same. So Tenlar was right there with me while I was struggling with my decision. Acallor, my mentor at the time, wasn’t too pleased about that.” She shrugged. “Can’t say I blame him. Then Tenlar took the Oath without even telling me, and—well, you don’t want to know how dramatic I got when I found out. Let’s just say it clarified my choices.”

“Joining the Raéni didn’t appeal to you?”

She shifted in her seat, frowning. “I admire them as much as anyone. I’m just not cut out to be a soldier.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up too much. Tenlar would be lucky to have done as well as you.”

“He has—Master Raén of Spierel, no less.” Her gaze drifted. “He never Joined with anyone, though.”

Caleb drew a long, quiet breath.
Neither did you.

Telai shook her head as if to clear it. “All this talk about my youth is depressing me.” She filled her cup of wine, lifted it to her lips, and the ruby on her finger glinted in the light.

Caleb gestured. “What does that signify?”

She took a moment to identify the target of his attention, then set the cup down and stretched her hand forward for a closer inspection. “It’s the sign of my position. Most every major city and fortress has its own Loremaster, including Ressolc, the Loremaster of Ekendoré. Each wear an amethyst, but I wear the ruby. For certain official functions I wear a larger version of this in the form of a pendant. The red symbolizes the blood of our ancestors.”

“Yours is the highest position?”

“Yes. As Grand Loremaster of Ada, I make the final decision about the validity of written works or artifacts.”

“How long have you held that position?”

“Three years. I’ve been a regular Loremaster for longer than that, of course. Which reminds me. How old is Warren?”

Caleb knew that Adan years were about a six percent longer than Earth’s, so he did a quick sum in his head. “Ten, I think.”

“Then he was born the same year I became Loremaster,” she said. “I like that for some reason.”

He said nothing of how much time had passed while in artificial hibernation: no point ruining her pleasant fantasy. “He’s actually closer to eleven in Earth years. He’s a bit small for his age.”

“And you?”

He grinned. “Am I small for my age?”

“Very funny. Answer the question!”

He worked it out on his fingers this time, brows knotted. “Thirty-three.”

“Good. I’ve always been attracted to older men.”

His stomach did a flip. “What? Just how old
are
you?”

“Thirty-two,” she answered, eyes twinkling.

Caleb blushed again. He definitely needed to up his game. “At least it isn’t the other way around. I was afraid the Grand Loremaster would turn out to be a damn good-looking old maid.”

She nodded slowly, lips pursed. “Thanks. At least you didn’t criticize me for being too young.”

“Um … young for your position, you mean?”

“The youngest ever—and I have to be careful not to brag about it. I’ve always enjoyed Ressolc’s support, though, so no one takes their jealousy very far. I rely on him for plenty of other things, too. No one possesses the long-lost knowledge of the Prophets, but he comes close.”

“Prophets? You mentioned them earlier today.”

“They left Ada a long time ago, less than a hundred years after we arrived. Only Odreld remained. When his father Orand wrote the Yrsten Prophecy, the others feared evil would come to Ada and exploit their abilities.”