Taelon

The journey from Seaggis to Thorus was blessedly uneventful. Though we spent a mere two weeks aboard the ship, those two weeks to me felt like years. I was trapped, unable to leave the wood decks; the sounds of oars hitting and pulling at the ocean; the stench of sweat, fish, salt, and the threat of a storm. Rain clouds followed us, sometimes rumbling dangerously, other times simply looming in the sky above us and casting the boat in shadow.

Rhaoette hadn’t made a sound since I had found her hidden in the flour barrel, and my concern increased by the day. Grieda had no answer for me.

“You might be grateful,” she’d said, watching as I wiped away the silent tears streaming down the little girl’s face with a worried expression. “Most children cry and wail and scream for months after they’re born.”

“But she still cries.” I had frowned at her, frustrated to find that for once she did not understand me. “Whether she makes a sound while she does, or not, she still cries, and it still hurts me to see.”

At night, I would lean my back against the wall of the ship and try to sleep, with Grieda’s head on my shoulder and Rhaoette in my arms. It was difficult. When had it grown so difficult? I knew when, even as I asked myself the question. It had become difficult since Ingrith was taken away, and this was both the obvious answer and a surprise to me. I hadn’t known her for much more than two years, and yet in those two, she had become an invaluable part of me, and every second that she was away was a second I felt less alive. To think of her; to wonder where she was; how she was being treated; what she was thinking; whether she remained alive; each thought brought deep, unbearable pain to my heart. Even worse was the pain when I did not think of her at all. I lived and breathed the sorrow of her being taken from me, as well as the joy of her memory, and it could not be any other way.

When the ship rocked, the sky cried, and Rhaoette was restless, I would attempt to hum the tune Ingrith had sung before. It was not long ago, not by an extensive amount of time, but when I let the melody reverberate from my mouth, I felt as though the time was no further away than yesterday. It would cause me to feel a mix of bittersweet sadness, and I would have to remind myself that she was alive and that I would find her. I was on my way to finding her. I would take her back and all would be well again.

The moment I glimpsed the crowded city of Ragnagh, my heart sank, and a morose cloud settled over my head. It had been seven years since I had last seen it, and yet somehow it was completely unchanged, apart from the cluster of Radkkan ships in the harbor.

I held Rhaoette close to me as we passed them, hating the ships nearly as much as their masters. They were here, I was certain, to enforce the rules that had been placed on every town, village, and city that was taken. Breaking or even bending these rules would result in imprisonment and death.

“Halt.”

I stopped and turned around as a sharp, commanding voice called out. Not for me, as I realized a moment later. For Grieda.

She was halfway down the gangplank, and one of the Radkkans was holding out a hand to stop her going any further.

“Women may not travel in these parts,” he told her sternly. He was dressed in rich, blue soldier’s robes, signifying his allegiance to the throne of Radkka, and his black hair was pulled back in a thick plait.

I felt a familiar fire heat my blood and took a step toward him; mouth full of a thousand words I wanted to pierce him with. Grieda stopped me before I could do any damage.

“It’s alright, Taelon,” she told me, then to the Radkkan asked, “May I say goodbye? This is my son and my grandchild.”

“Make it quick.” The Radkkan nodded tersely.

I hurried back to her and held out my hand. She took it and pressed it to her lips. “Be safe,” she told me, and her voice shook. She brushed her hand over the top of Rhaoette’s head. “And take care of her, won’t you?”

“Of course, I will,” I told her. “And I shall return. With Ingrith.”

“I know it.” She kissed my hair and slid something up my sleeve. “Keep this with you at all times. It will protect her.”

“Time to go,” the Radkkan barked.

“Grieda!” I called out to her before she was led back aboard the ship. “Grieda, be there when I get back, won’t you?”

She smiled and waved at me. Yes. She would be there.

“Where are you off to?” The soldier asked me the question before I had the chance to slip away, and I froze, tightening my grip on Rhaoette’s small body.

“It is not your business,” I told him through my teeth.

“No, but it is my business to know who comes and who goes. Who’s a threat, and who’s a weak spot that must be removed. All of that, it’s my business.”

“I am not here to make trouble,” I snapped. “I am here to visit my family. If you have a problem with that, arrest me now. If not, let me be.”

“I don’t have any problem with that.” With three short strides, he covered the distance between us and stood looking down at me. He was a good half a head taller than I was, but the look in his eyes was not one of intimidation, so much as interest and curiosity.

“A fine-looking child you have there.” He nodded at Rhaoette, and I shifted my body so that she was no longer in his direct view. “Where’s his mother?”

I caught myself before correcting him and said, “She was taken away, by your people. She and every other woman and child on our island. So don’t you dare look at me; at either of us, Bastard.”

I knew the moment I said it that I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t stop myself. The words came out in a torrent of anger and sorrow that left me feeling empty and strangely flat when I snapped my mouth shut.

He looked more surprised than angry. His sharp, glaring blue eyes widened, and he blinked at me, almost intrigued.

“Do you think that just because you hold us in your power, no one will speak? Hate runs far deeper than fear, and I—” I stopped myself short from saying the truth. That I hated him. I hated him, and everyone like him with every bit of my being. I felt the heat of Rhaoette’s breath through the material of my tunic, reminding me where I was, and what was at risk.

Without waiting for the Radkkan’s reply, I turned away and strode swiftly down the dock. He did not call me back, but I felt the tingle of his gaze on the back of my head, and my hands shook with shock.

The grey, dirty paved stone streets of Ragnagh were full. Full of people, full of noise. Full of horse-drawn carts, shepherds driving their flocks to the green planes outside the walls, stray animals scouring the cobblestones for scraps, and shops, clustered close together, selling all the same things.

In all my memories, this was a place where everyone and everything was in a hurry, no matter the hour or the day. If you didn’t watch yourself, you could easily be run over by a wagon, or a sheep, and the owner wouldn’t bother to stop and make sure you weren’t injured. The air was rank with selfish desires and commands.

The houses too were all the same; some large, some small, some short, some long, but they were all the same. The walls were built entirely out of white-washed stone; the roofs were constructed of wooden shingles or boards, darkened from the incessant rain that was native to the place. Each door was made of sanded driftwood and painted varied shades of red or green.

There was one thing, I realized. One thing that was not how I remembered, and the noticing caused an unfriendly shiver to crawl up my spine.

On each door, there was a crude oval, painted on with a thick, blue pigment that was not washed away by the dismal rain.

We have claimed you, it shouted. We have you, and now you must suffer.

I had to step out of the way as a group of men passed me by, walking single file in the easily distinguishable manner of Belnacaths. Their shaved heads were bowed, their long, red robes brushed against the ground; filthy, and their fingers were pressed against their mouths in prayer.

“Young man,” one of them noticed me, and stopped, and so in turn, did the others. He held out his hands, cupped to receive a gift I would not be giving. “Alms to the holy house of Belna?” he suggested, his lips pulling apart in a sour smile; teeth blackened from the ash he ate every Solday.

I clenched my jaw and stepped past them.

“Our life-giving God loves they who would give to the priests of Belna. In these times of war, Belna shall protect you.”

“I do not want the protection of your god,” I told them acidly. I felt Rhaoette shift in my arms and looked down to see one of them reaching for her, a string of prayer beads in his fingers.

My wrists throbbed.

“Do not touch her!” I pulled away from him with a snarl. He wasn’t perturbed. He frowned at me in disappointment and grasped my arm in a tight, thin-fingered grip. “There is a stain upon her soul. This child was birthed out of wedlock. Six Sefts and her curse shall be removed. Six Sefts gifted to the house of Belna.”

I jerked away from him and evaded his brothers to cross the street, saying as I did, “You have not got a curse, Rhaoette, don’t listen to what they say. They know nothing.” I didn’t care if they heard me.

“Pray to Belna!” one of them called after me, and his voice turned my blood cold. “Pray to Belna, or she shall burn in the Seven Hells upon her death!”

The moment I found myself outside the door of my family home, the third house on the lane of Aloràid, I knew I would rather be anywhere else. A torrent of memories cascaded down on me like the rain from the roof as I stood on the doorstep.

But I was here. As much as I wanted to turn and run back, I could not. So, I squared my shoulders and knocked stiffly at the door.

My mother, just like almost everything else in Ragnagh, was just as I remembered.

Her pale, sallow skin, yellowing with malnourishment. Her narrow blue eyes. Her thick wig of black hair which I knew covered a bald head. Her black dress with a red ribbon sewed to the breast.

“Taelon!” She exclaimed and embraced me tightly to her. This too was the same. I felt how thin she was; delicate and empty after months of fasting and ritual. Her smell was one of candle wax and incense, and though I knew this smell above all others, it brought no comfort to me. She pulled away, keeping her hands on my shoulders to look me over, and there was pride in her eyes.

“Nearly seven years and you’ve grown into a fine man,” she told me. Then she saw Rhaoette, and the smile slipped.

“What—”

“There is much I have to tell you,” I admitted.

“So I can see.” She opened the door for me and stepped aside. “Come in then,” she encouraged, then called, “Nuala! Tell your father that Taelon is here!”

“Nuala?” I brightened. “Nuala is here?”

“Her husband is away for many months at a time, and she stays with us now and then.” She eyed me cautiously. “I suspect she told you about her husband.”

“She did.”

“Well.” Mother shrugged. “Do not take to heart everything she says. It was an excellent match, and she was very willing to fulfill her duty to the family.”

Before I had a chance to reply, there was a loud shriek of happiness, and I was barreled into the wall with the force of my sister’s affection.

“Oh, Taelon! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? I—Oh, what is this?”

In nearly everything but stature, Nuala took completely after our father. She had his head of russet hair, red lips, and wide brown eyes. But she had my mother’s narrow chin and bird-like build. She gazed down at Rhaoette in bewilderment. “Taelon, this—Is this—”

“Yes, she is mine.”

“Oh, my.”

“Taelon has much to tell us of his time away.” My mother peeled us apart, then turned her head to glare at my father as he made his appearance.

Like the others, as soon as his eyes found my daughter, his expression twisted in puzzlement and surprise. Unlike the others, he said nothing about her and instead told us all to gather in the main room.

Seven years, as my mother had said. I’d returned after nearly seven years, but I might never have left at all, for they were all just the same. It felt all the same.

Our home had never been one full of furnishings —simplicity being one virtue that both my parents believed in — so I had little trouble making my way through it. The entire house consisted of six rooms: mine, Seowan’s, Nuala’s, and my parent’s. The fifth was the kitchen, and the sixth was what had always been called the main room, at the very back of the building. In the middle of it was a large, round table made of a dark, red wood that had been sanded and polished until it shone. There was a window, which looked out on the streets, a hearth, shelf, and several chairs. It wasn’t an especially pretty, or even interesting room, but it was the only one that all of us were ever gathered in at the same time, and that made it seem warmer than it was.

As soon as we were seated, I told them nearly everything, from my brother’s decision to leave Seaggis, to Ingrith’s arrival, and then her being taken away. I left out some of the more intimate and personal details, not merely for decency and privacy’s sake. In my case, putting full faith and trust in my family could be a failing.

They listened, quiet and attentive until the last words had slipped off my tongue, and I was silent.

Nuala was the first to speak, reaching out and brushing her soft fingers along my cheek. “How terrible,” she whispered. “You must be heartbroken.”

“I will find her,” I told my sister firmly. I couldn’t allow for a moment the thought that I would not. “I promised myself that I would. For Rhaoette’s sake, and mine.”

“Poor little lamb.” Mother stood up and scooped Rhaoette into her own arms, rocking her back and forth, pity spilling from her eyes like tears. “To lose one’s mother at such a tender age. How have you fed her?” Her expression narrowed sharply and there was a test in her voice.

“Grieda, a friend of mine; she fed her, with a cloth soaked in milk.”

“Good.” She relaxed. “The Lord Belna says that a child must suckle from a woman’s breast only if it is the birth mother until it be old enough to feed itself. Well done.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep, calming breath as a rush of irritation took my heart.

“The way I have her fed has nothing to do with your religion, Mother.”

“Perhaps not intentionally,” she said with a triumphant smile. “But the Lord Belna works through us in many ways. They have chosen you, Taelon. They believe in you, and you see, without knowing it yourself, you abide by their will.”

I began to rise angrily from my chair, but Nuala placed a warning hand on my arm, and my father took the chance to speak.

“You never sent us a letter to tell us you were to be married. You should have brought this woman here, and you could have had a proper ceremony. Surely you couldn’t have despised us so much as to refuse Banka—your mother, the chance of seeing you happy.”

The lines in his face seemed to carve themselves in deeper as he frowned at me. Always frowning. I couldn’t remember a time when he smiled.

“Yes, indeed!” Nuala agreed. “You should have told us! I know that in your last letter, you only told me that she was staying with you. Never once did you mention that you would marry her!”

“That is because we are not married,” I said.

The room was doused in stony silence, and I readied myself, as best I could, for what would come next.

“What did you say?” my mother asked me. She was smiling again, but this time it was a different smile. A smile that was ready to laugh, as though expecting me to say that it was all a jest. A smile that said certainly she had misheard me. Please, it begged. Let me have misheard you.

“We never married.” I would not play in her game. I would not hide myself from her eyes.

“Then—Then this child—” she looked down at Rhaoette in horror as though she held a corpse in her hands. “This child is born—”

“She was born out of love, Mother.” I stood up and took Rhaoette before she had the chance to be dropped. “And though I know it shall make little difference to you, I am not ashamed. I had and have every intention of marrying Ingrith as soon as I get her back.”

My mother’s skin had turned a ghastly shade of green, and I thought for a moment she might faint, or be sick, or even both. But then she steadied herself on the edge of the table and pursed her lips into a tight, colorless line.

“You must be tired.” My father broke the quiet awkwardly, but I was grateful to him nonetheless. “Your room is still yours if you want it.”

He did not ask me how long I would stay.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Would you like me to feed her?” Nuala asked me. “I know all about young children now. You may leave her with me. I’ll take the best care of her.”

“Would you?” I asked her hopefully.

“I would be glad to.” Nuala’s face had paled, but her smile was bright, and I knew she was not ashamed of me.

I was given back my room from when I was a boy, and a large basket stuffed with sheets and a blanket made up Rhaoette’s bed. I brought very little with me. Only Grieda’s last gift; a doll made out of a wheat braid, and the few precious things that had survived the fire. Seowan’s seal, a bit blackened but unharmed. Ingrith’s stone. Her comb, and the gloves she’d made for me so long ago. I couldn’t imagine opening up my pack and spreading them around the room, finding homes for each item, as though I would leave here again, so I left it closed and ready to be grabbed at the slightest notice.

But not yet.

The moment I lay down, I was exhausted. I placed my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. The wood beams crisscrossed above me, and I saw several red strings of braided cloth tied with small round bells hanging from those directly above my head. A Belnacath charm for shredding impurity.

I stood and reached up to untie them, casting them angrily to the other side of the room.

When I dropped back down to my bed again, I felt something hard dig into my rib cage and slid my hand between the thin, linen coverlet over the mattress and the slates of the bed to pull out a small, dark leather pouch.

When I opened it, a shower of colored stones fell into my palm, and they jilted forth a memory. One of my few fond ones of this place, that had long been absent from my mind.

'These are for you, Ito,'

I beamed as my older brother set a small pouch in my hands. 'Are they really, Ato? Are they really for me?' I threw my arms around his waist, and he patted my head.

'Open it before you thank me.'

The moment I did as he asked, the excited smile disappeared from my face. I picked one stone out and held it close to my eyes. 'It is a rock,' I said. 'It is a stone, not glass.' I looked at him for an explanation, fighting to keep disappointment from twisting my features.

'I wanted to give you the glass ones, Ito. Truly I did, but Mother said—'

'To live in simplicity is a virtue.' I rolled the stone between my fingers. It was painted a beautiful green, like an emerald. 'To live in expense is a sin.

'Yes.'

His brown eyes glittered with an apology, and I patted his shoulder importantly with my hand, puffing out my chest. 'I do not mind, Ato. Mine are better than the others. No one else can have them, can they?'

'That is right.' His lips were pulled up in a smile again. He was the only one I knew who smiled as easily as he did. 'No one else has stones like yours.'

'Did you make stones for Ita?'

'Ita is too young for stones. She may try to eat them.'

'I would not eat mine.'

'I know, Ito. You are grown up.' He patted my head again. 'Now hide them somewhere Mother won’t find them. Even if they are only rocks, she may get angry.'

The paint had faded to dim shades of red, green, black, blue, orange, white, and purple, with some of the grey stone showing through here and there. I let them trickle back into the pouch through my fingers and drew the drawstring tightly before replacing it beneath the mattress.

Moments later, I took it out again and tucked it into my pocket.

No one had asked me what happened to him. I might have tried to fool myself and think it was because, like me, they were sure he was dead and wanted to avoid the heartache that would accompany any conversations involving him. But I was too tired to lie to myself. They didn’t speak of him because he was a traitor to the family. He was a disappointment. He was dead to them the moment he took me away and refused the future they bore him for.

Now sleep wasted no time before taking me, though little did I know that while I slept, trouble stirred.

..........................................................

Through the rain, a red-cloaked figure traveled quickly down the streets, stepping carefully to avoid the puddles that dotted the paved landscape. She did not stop once until she reached the gate of the temple, which stood alone from the city in its red painted walls and silver caps.

She pushed open the doors with white, thin hands and knelt, pressing her head to the polished red stone of the floor. As she did, the hood of her cape fell away, revealing a shaved head that reflected the light from the flickering candles that lit the interior walls.

“Rise, Sister Banka.”

“Nunka.” She pressed her thin lips to the hand extended for her to take and gazed up at the robed man in reverence and respect. “Nunka, holy priest of Belna, I am come seeking permission for the chance to lay my troubles before our reverend mother and father and to take their counsel.”

“Permission granted, Sister. Approach the altar and give thy blood to Belna; that they may hear thy heart.”

She stood and advanced quietly to the decorated altar which stood beautifully in the center of the temple. A statue of stone and crystal draped in red silk. She took up the silver knife which lay upon it and slid the tip over her lips. Once they bled, she pressed a kiss to the statue’s hooved feet.

“Belna welcomes thee, Sister Banka. Be seated and speak thy troubles. Our reverend mother and father are listening.”

Banka sat and crossed her legs. “It is my son. Taelon. I am sure you remember him.”

“Ah, yes.” Nunka nodded and sat cross-legged before her. “The troublemaker. What has he done, Sister?”

“He has lain with a woman out of wedlock, and the result is a child: A little girl. I fear that she has been cursed.”

“You do well to bring this to us.” The Priest rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What are her symptoms?”

“She is silent.” Banka twisted her fingers in her dress. “She makes no sound, not even when I pricked her with a needle.”

“This is grave indeed,” said Nunka grimly. “Silence in a child means a future of drink and sin.”

“I feared as much.” Banka clasped her hands together and closed her eyes tightly. “I do not know what has caused my son to stray from the path of goodness. I know only that it must be by some fault of my own.”

“Yes. For faults of the parent always become faults in the child,” Nunka told her wisely. “Did you not continue to raise him under the gaze of Belna? Why have neglected to put him back under my care?”

“He left home when he was just fourteen with his older brother. They left where I could not influence them.”

“You never spoke of this to me before.”

“I—” She twisted her hands together and bit down on her lip, still bleeding. “I was ashamed.”

The Priest sighed. “When did you last fast, Sister?”

“It ends just today. For three months, every fourth. I drink only sheep’s milk. One cup every three days. As is my instruction.”

“You must purify yourself,” Nunka told her. “Fast for a fourth month. You must bathe in the milk of a thrice pregnant Ewe, and sage. Every night you shall kneel on cold stone and pray for three hours. You must do this for six days and six nights. If you falter, you must kneel on coal.”

“Thank you.” She bowed. “Thank you, Nunka. But . . . how am I to save my son and his child? What must be done?”

“Where is the infant’s mother, Sister?”

“She was taken by the Radkkans, a few weeks after the child’s birth.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “Ah, you see why this is, Sister. Misfortune only comes to those who are wicked. It saw that the mother was impure, and so it took her.”

“I see this.” Banka nodded fervently. “And now it sees the child?”

“It does, Sister, it does.”

“Then I pray.” Once again, she pressed her head to the ground. “I pray that Belna speaks to me. That they tell me what I must do.”

“In most circumstances—” Nunka placed a tender hand on her back and urged her to sit straight. “In most circumstances, Sister, the impurity is passed down through each generation. The only cure is the execution of the child.”

Banka clutched his hand. “Is there not another way?” she begged.

He rubbed his jaw. “You are a loyal Belnacath, Sister. I shall plead on your behalf. Plead that Belna be merciful

The Monk closed his blue eyes.

“Pray with me, Sister Banka. Sing Belna’s praises so that I might better reach them.”

They clasped hands and chanted, “Belna, holy mother and father of all. Blessed be thy holy light. Life be thy blood. Rain down upon me, Belna, so that I might embody thy being and live in thy name. Bless me, Belna. Make me pure as the red blood of thy veins. Let me bask in thy glory. Oh, holy mother and father. Blessed be thy light, and they who hold it.”

“Enough, Sister. Belna has spoken.” The Priest smiled and squeezed her hands tightly between his own. “Fate smiles down upon you. The lord Belna is kind to those who love them. They have spoken to me. In a haze of red light, I have seen a vision.”

“Tell me,” Banka begged. “Tell me, Nunka.”

“First,” he stopped her. “First you must offer a gift. Have you brought a gift, sister?”

“Yes! Yes, of course!” She pulled a pouch out of her belt and handed it to him. He shook the contents into the palm of his hand and admired the glittering coins.

“I would bring more,” Banka assured him. “But my husband . . . he would realize if I did.”

“Belna is merciful, sister. He shall take your offering. Now listen carefully. You must do as I say.”

“My ears are open,”

He reached into his robes and set his own pouch in her reaching fingers.

“Inside this pouch is a gathering of sacred herbs, blessed by Belna. Boil them in milk and feed the mixture to the infant. You must then soak her in a bath of blood from a lamb, and the ground feathers of a dove. If the child’s tongue turns red as flames, you may rest easy knowing that she has been cured. If it turns blue, it means that the curse runs deep. She must be purified by more difficult methods.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears of gratitude welling in her eyes. “Oh, thank you.”

He stood and held out a hand. “You may have already been tainted, Sister. Come to the pure chamber. Share your body, and the lord shall purify you through me.”

She followed him willingly into the innermost chambers of the temple, and there she was stripped bare, and laid upon a bed of straw, just as did the holy mother and father as they birthed the world.

Nunka purified her through their tending, his blessed life flowing through her, and they basked in the love of their god, satisfied with their work.

“Nunka.” Banka spoke to him softly, stroking her fingers over the pain in her lips. “If I were to leave my husband, would you take me in? I do sometimes dream of it. You and I, traveling the world, delivering the message of Belna to those unfortunates who live in sin, and saving their souls.” She smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “After all, Taelon is—”

Nunka pulled away from her, a smile stretching across his handsome face that did not reach his blue eyes. “Your son is what, Sister?”

She took his hand, hurt, and confused by his rejection. “We both know it,” she said. “He is your so—”

“Sister Banka.” Nunka broke her off with a warning hand cupping the bruise blooming along her jaw, tender and raw from the ferocity of the holy Lord’s affections. “You speak nonsense. A monk of Belna cannot sire a sinner.”

When she flinched away, he smiled again, all caring kindness, and pressed his lips against her bald head. “You are confused, Sister. The ordeals of the day have your frail, womanly mind troubled.”

“But—”

“Sister.” He kissed both her eyelids. “Do not distress yourself further. Replace your robe. Go home. And do as our mother and father instructed.”

Taelon

Immediately upon waking, I knew that there was something terribly wrong. Rhaoette was not in the basket where Nuala had left her before leaving to tend to her own child at home. I jumped out of my bed and crept quietly through the house.

It was silent.

My hands were shaking, and I cursed myself for not being more guarded. My feet took me instinctually toward my parent’s room. Only, of course, it was simply called that. I knew well enough that my mother was the only one who slept in it.

I stopped just outside and listened.

“Drink it, you stubborn thing. I am trying to save your soul. Belna has been merciful.”

I was full of blind, heated rage when I threw open the door and saw my mother holding Rhaoette in her arms and trying to force something into her mouth.

“What are you doing?” I hissed.

She jumped. “T—Taelon,” she stuttered.

I crossed the room in three strides and snatched Rhaoette out of her hands.

“Taelon, stop!” she shrieked, grabbing onto my arm, “Taelon, she is impure! Cursed! I am trying to free her!”

“Cursed?” I spat. “Impure? Mother, if only you could hear yourself!”

“She is silent! Silence in a child speaks of a future of drink and—”

“Perhaps she is silent—” I shook myself free of my mother’s fingers, “—because she saw something horrible happen. Perhaps she is silent because she was terrified. Did that ever occur to you, Mother?”

“She is an infant,” my mother scoffed and flung her hands into the air. “Less than two months old. She does not remember whatever happened.”

“How can you say that?” I cried. “How would you know? I remember so much, so much that you would think I have forgotten. I remember every time you scolded me. I remember every harsh word you spoke. I remember when you struck me. I remember so many things, Mother. How dare you presume she does not?”

“Nunka confirmed my worries, Taelon,” she said, gently, tenderly. “She is impure. In most cases, the only way to free her would be to execute her—but—but Belna was merciful. He gave me a way,” she finished quickly when my eyes widened.

“I must feed her milk-soaked herbs blessed by Belna. And then bathe her in the blood of a lamb and the crushed feathers of a dove. If her tongue turns red as fire, she is cured, if it turns blue, we must purify her again.”

“Nunka,” I snarled. “You are still consulting that fraud?”

“Nunka is—”

“Are you still tending to him?”

She struck me “How dare you!”

“So you are.” I scoffed. I couldn’t feel the pain. “And what did he give you in return?”

“You do not understand. You do not understand at all.” She wrung her hands. “Taelon, he is your—”

“What did he give you?”

She stared down at her feet. “Herbs.”

I let out an incredulous breath. “Herbs?”

“Blessed herbs, Taelon.”

“Blessed.” I seethed. I reached down and dug my fingers into the red leather pouch that she dropped to the ground and shook it out, so the contents fluttered to the red woven carpet.

“Mint,” I listed. “Sage, thistle, nettle, rose petals, and this,” I let them fall to the ground and held out a thin, glittering insect wing, “this is the wing of a Motta beetle. Known throughout the continent for its unique ability to dye everything it touches a vivid shade of blue the moment it encounters a liquid. Everyone knows it. You’ve been had, Mother, and not for the first time.”

She shook her head, and the movement caused the wig atop her head to fall to the floor. She bent down to pick it up, and jammed it back on, her cheeks flushed.

“They are ruining you, Mother,” I said. “They are draining the life from your veins. Your lips, Mother. They have you slit your lips open every time you wish to pray. You can hardly smile now. Can you not see what they are doing to you?”

“Be quiet, Taelon,” she snapped. “You speak treason. Belna is the loving mother and father of all, and they say that this child is cursed.”

Rhaoette began to struggle, and tears spilled down her cheeks. I held her closer to me.

“Leave her be,” my mother instructed firmly. “She will grow up soft if you cater to her every need as you do. Listen to me.” She took my wrist. “You must follow the Belnacath path. Nunka is a holy priest. He knows what is best. He is—”

“Yes, he is a holy son of Belna, Mother, I know.”

“He is more than that, Taelon!” she pressed. “He is—”

“Your lover. Everyone knows it. Father suspects it. Nuala denies it. Everyone on the street knows it. I do not suppose you got those bruises from a horse.”

“He is your father.”

An arrow was shot from my stomach and into my throat where it lodged, sharp and cold. I couldn’t breathe around it for the pain the air caused, whistling against the raw flesh.

I choked on broken, dry spurts of laughter. “No.”

“Yes,” she insisted. “It is true.”

“No, it is not.” I laughed again, my voice breaking and stretching higher, as though it could spread wings and fly away. How I wished I could join it. “You are delusional.”

“I am your mother, Taelon. I know. And you—” Her expression laxed into one of pure certainty. She cupped my cheek. “You, my son, are all the proof I would ever need. Look at you. Good Hearted. Generous. Strong. And so, so beautiful.”

“And a sinner,” I croaked. “How often have you called me so? Mother, I am not his son.”

“All sins can be rectified, Taelon. And why else do you think I brought you to him? In the glory and humility of serving beneath our holy mother and father, you shall find all you seek. You shall be satisfied.”

I drew away from her. “Enough, mother,” I said, and I knew she was unnerved by the break in my voice. “You’ve insulted me more than anyone has ever done. You’ve put my daughter in danger, and you’ve betrayed any trust I have kept for you. I cannot stay here.”

“Taelon—” Now there was fear in her eyes. Genuine fear. “Taelon, do not go.”

“I shall not stay under this roof a moment longer. Tell father–my real father, your husband, that I have gone, when you see him.”

“Taelon—” She dropped to her knees before me, fingers snatching at my hand. “Taelon, forgive me. Please—You cannot leave.”

Years ago, the tears in her eyes and the trembling of her hands might have shaken me. They might have swayed my determination and thawed my heart, but now my eyes remained cold, and I left her without a second glance.

Outside her door, I collide with my father. The man I’d known as my father my whole life. The man who was still my father. He had to be.

I searched his face desperately, looking for something I could recognize in myself. But staring at him, it was as though he was a stranger. His thinning hair that hung to his shoulders. His brown eyes, close-set, and round. His nose; perfectly centered. Thin, red lips. Tall, broad shoulders.

I’d never felt a kinship with him. I’d hardly seen him but for the nights he arrived home for dinner, and the few times my siblings and I accompanied him to the docks to see the bolts and bolts of beautiful cloth that were his livelihood.

He’d always been distant from us, but I’d never once imagined he couldn’t be my father.

I knew from the grim set of his mouth that he’d been standing outside the room for some time. He raised a hand, a large, square hand, and for a moment I thought he would strike me, but instead, rested it on my shoulder. The weight of it was warm and heavy. Unfamiliar. But it was comforting, and suddenly I was fourteen years old again, standing petrified with my brother's protective arm around my shoulders. My mother screamed at us to stay. She commanded my father to drag us back to our rooms.

‘I must take him from this,’ was all Seowan had said. Not to our mother. To him. And that was all he’d needed to say. Father nodded, one small movement that caused my mother to sink to the ground and wail, held a prisoner by the bonds of her religion that said a wife must not disobey her husband.

Then he placed a hand on my brother’s shoulder, and there was grief in his eyes and disappointment. But also, pride, as he said . . .

“Go.”

“Do not harm her,” I pleaded. “If you must hurt someone, let it be him.”

He inclined his head and stepped aside so I could move past him.

“The Ceàn.”

I stopped and turned back around.

My father stood in the narrow, dark hall, shoulders slouched, thumbs tucked underneath his belt.

“If you have nowhere to go. Your sister’s house is on the Ceàn. The second door. The skin of a sheep hangs above it. She shall welcome you.”

Then, for the first time in all of my memories, he smiled at me.

“Good luck, Itmac.”

The moment Nuala caught a glimpse of my face when she opened her door and found me standing on the doorstep, she wrapped her small arms around me, let me bury my head in her shoulder, and brought me inside without asking one question.

“I cannot stay there,” I told her once we were both seated by the fire, and I had told her what transpired.

“Not should you,” she told me, gripping my hand, and added, “I cannot believe that Mother would do such a thing.”

“I can, I only pretended I could not.” I leaned my head in my hand and watched as the red-gold glowing embers in the fire shifted and pulsed. They were beautiful.

“Nuala, you do not believe it is true, do you?”

Nuala gazed at me softly. “I do not know. But it would not change the fact that you are my dear brother. Does it matter who sired you? Your father is the man who raised you. That is what I believe. And it is what you shall believe too.”

“I do not know.” I closed my eyes. “I hope I will.”

“What is your plan?” she asked me tentatively.

“I am going to search for Ingrith,” I replied immediately.

“Taelon, you cannot. You cannot,” she insisted. “Not if you hope to take Rhaoette with you. She is not even two months old and would certainly die along the way. That would crush you. I do not pretend to know Ingrith, but if she is a mother, then I can tell you with certainty, that if she knew you saved her, at the expense of your child, she would never forgive you, or herself—”

“Stop,” I told her. “Stop just—Stop.”

Nuala’s brown eyes were gentle and innocent, and they angered me. Everything angered me. I felt as though I were about to burst.

“Taelon, I am asking that you wait, not give up. Just a few years, only enough that she is strong enough to travel with you.”

“But perhaps I do not have a few years.”

“Mamhiar?”

I lifted my head when I heard a voice, small and high-pitched. A little boy entered the room warily. He had an unruly mane of golden hair, and his eyes were my sister’s.

“Back to bed with you, Bhua,” Nuala scolded him cheerfully, and after kissing her cheek, he darted away.

“That is your son?” I asked her. It was strange. So strange to even imagine.

“Yes.” She smiled shyly. “He is a dear, sweet, wee thing. I love him more than the world.”

“I have been selfish,” I admitted guiltily, “I haven’t once asked how you are coping.”

Nuala slid her fingers through her hair. “I have had to come to terms with the fact that the grief never truly leaves you. I can bear it most days. There are times when I feel perfectly happy.”

“But there are times when you do not.”

“Yes.” Her smile was fixed and empty. “There are times when the sadness is so terrible, I feel I may like to drown myself. I will not,” she assured me when I looked startled. “I have someone who needs me. And many people I care for. But there are times when I feel like I would like to. Taelon, I do not ever wish to have such a wretched curse cast upon you. Please, hear what I say. To lose a child . . . To be torn apart, limb from limb would be nothing in comparison.”

I did hear her, and the choice was made, even if it wrenched at my heart; and I knew that it was the right choice. But I let myself have a moment in silence.

“Nuala,” I said. My throat was hot and dry as a cloudless summer. “I have nowhere to go. I have no money. I have a child I do not know how to raise. But I will find a way. I will find a place to work. You won’t have to support me. Please, may we stay here? For two years. Only two, and then I will be on my way. Please, allow us to stay—Will you allow us to stay?”

“Taelon.” Nuala’s lips wobbled, and she squeezed my hand. “Taelon, you may stay here as long as you wish. You and Rhaoette. You are both welcome. More welcome than you know.”

“And your husband? He will not mind?”

“He is away for now. But when he is here, he is a good man. I have been a dutiful wife and have asked for nothing since our marriage. I doubt he shall deny me this. Smile, Taelon. Soon enough you will be on your way. Two years is nothing.”

“It is everything—” I looked down at my hands, “—everything without Ingrith.”

“You have found someone that you love, Taelon,” my sister told me, and I couldn’t fathom how she had become a woman in so little time. “You have found someone you love, and who loves you. No matter how your story ends, you’ve had that.”

The next day I went looking for work, and by noon I was apprenticed to a Black Smith; a large, hulking man named Ahl Criagh

“You’re not much the size for it,” he warned me. “And it’s hard work.”

“I do not mind hard work,” I said. “As long as it won’t kill me, and it pays.”

“Well, it might kill you, but if you’re willing and able, with some patience, it does pay, I can promise that.”

“Then there will be no difficulties.”

“You’ll begin on the morrow. Before the sun rises. Don’t be late.” He turned the mountain of his shoulders away from me and went back to hammering a red-hot piece of metal. Each blow shot sparks into the air and caused a warm breeze to ruffle my hair and heat my face.

When I returned to Nuala’s house, she was waiting for me, Rhaoette lying snugly in the cradle of her arms. I took her and let her fingers tug at a strand of my hair.

“Two years,” I told her. “And then we’ll find Ingrith. We can wait a little while, can’t we?”

Together we will make these next months. Help me bear them, Rhaoette, as I shall do for you. Be there every day to remind me of what I am waiting for, and I promise to take care of you like I never managed to take care of your mother. Two years, and then we will all be together again.