Misery's Child (The Cadian Chronicles) Read online

  “I do not care to send either like a poor relation begging charity,” Rowle grumbled. Impoverished families often sent one or more daughters to the Cadian Sisters when they could not provide for them, but the Vidor of Kirrisian shuddered inwardly at the thought. “You are right, wife. This is a better way.”

  “It is the only way.” She sat up in bed and stared at him, barely visible in the moonlight that came through the windows. “Oman forgive me, but I love Lillitha better than I ever thought I could love any child—”

  Better even than Jonil, she thought, who had broken her heart in ways that would never heal.

  “I know, I know,” he murmured.

  “I would not allow Lillitha to chose this path if I did not believe it was best for her. What happens to us is nothing! We’ll survive somehow, just as we always have. But I want more for her! In the temple she will know peace and beauty and learning and....oh, everything that we cannot give her!”

  Ersala thought of her daughter’s beautiful face, but Lillitha was more than lovely: she was radiant in body and soul. Ersala could not bear the idea of Lillitha wasting away in some forsaken countryside until life’s hardships ground out the light in her mind as surely as it would grind out her life, slowly and painfully. Lillitha was capable of so much more. She deserved so much more.

  “But what of love, wife?” he whispered. “Tell me, is it possible she will know love in the palace of the shallan?”

  “Anything is possible,” she said, rolling over with her back to him, angry that he’d spoken her own doubts aloud. “If it is Oman’s will, perhaps she will find love.”

  We can’t promise her that even if she does not go, Ersala thought. We can’t promise her anything.

  Chapter 4: Yannamarie

  Yannamarie was still a young woman, though few people realized it. Because cadia-techas were usually somewhere between their fortieth and fiftieth summer, everyone assumed she was much older than a mere thirty-five. It was nearly impossible to tell with cadia anyway. The ones who passed through Kirrisian all had the bland, smooth faces of newborns, the same quiet expression. Some said the sisters used magic potions and salves to remove the lines from their faces; others said they practiced meditations to keep their faces inscrutable. Under all those clothes, they looked pretty much alike anyway.

  The villagers were naturally curious about Yanna because she was the first cadia to live among them in a very long time. But even after ten summers, few could have described her accurately if asked. Those who dared to gawk averted their eyes quickly whenever her sharp gaze turned in their direction. She always seemed to know when someone was staring. Her stern glare made even grown men squirm.

  Her own outward appearance interested Yannamarie little, so she saw no reason for others to dwell on it. Tall and lean, she was not exactly pretty, but she was not altogether unattractive either. Her round face was rather long, but her skin was clear, her eyes small and dark but alert with a natural intelligence. She was not, at heart, a cold woman. The precision with which she went about her duties, the utter lack of humor in her face and the rigid, almost military straightness of her bearing was misinterpreted as disdain. She would have been surprised if anyone told her what a forbidding image she cut walking alongside her young charge. Then she would have shrugged and thought it not such a bad image for a lone cadia to project.

  The cadia walked with the brisk stride of a soldier. Lillitha found it difficult to keep up. The two guards—hardly more than boys, really—who followed them at a discreet distance were already puffing, yet Yanna wasn’t the least bit breathless as she continued her lecture.

  “Belah’s sister, Cadia the First, accompanied him as he rode across the realm recruiting men to fight against the Tors,” Yanna was saying. “Her parents were furious because she was betrothed to a young noble at the time. Do you remember what response she gave them?”

  Lillitha took a deep breath. “Chapter twenty-three, Book Twelve, verse nine: ‘For as much as my brother and my god require my obedience and service, I cannot surrender my devotion to any one man while so many others have need of me.’”

  Yanna nodded curtly. Only experience told Lillitha she was pleased.

  “And what is the significance of that verse?”

  “It is the creed of our sisterhood that follows the first Cadia’s example.”

  Lillitha was so relieved at giving the right answer that she stumbled over a rock protruding from the dirt path.

  A small furrow creased Yanna’s brow.

  “Honestly, Lillitha. Is it talking and walking at the same time that makes you so clumsy or am I walking too fast?”

  Lillitha did not dare agree to either suggestion.

  “Goodness, Yanna, it’s all these clothes! How do expect me to walk quickly with all this flapping about me?”

  Yanna stopped for a moment and surveyed the girl with a blank expression.

  “Cadia are expected to move with purpose and agility. As a shallana, it will be even more important that you carry yourself with dignity. It will become easier with practice.”

  Every other day, they marched the five and a quarter parsecs around the vidoran. Good health and physical stamina were prized by the cadia. This was the first such trek for Lillitha in the full garb of the sisterhood. That morning Yanna announced that she’d been lax in allowing the girl to wear ordinary clothes inside her tower for so long; the sooner she got used to the habit she would wear for the rest of her life, the better.

  Such a lot of clothing, Lillitha thought wearily. Yet Yanna seemed to move as easily as a fish through water. First, there was the shift: a shapeless under-dress of heavy linen, worn over a double-layered petticoat and the close-fitting wool stockings that covered her from ankle to waist. On top of that came the burlang: a full-skirted robe with long sleeves and a simple rounded yoke that rose to the base of her throat. The waist was quite high, riding just under the bosom, and close-fitting; Lillitha felt it catch against her ribs every time she drew a deep breath. The pleated skirt dragged and puddled around her feet, raising a faint cloud of dust behind her.

  “Do stop fiddling with your buttons,” Yanna said.

  “I’m sorry. They’re just so pretty. I’ve never had real copper buttons before.”

  “Of course you haven’t. The cadia are the only women allowed buttons of metal. When you go to Omana Teret, you’ll recognize the cadialana by their gold-crested buttons.”

  “The cadialana? That’s the governing council?”

  “Yes.”

  “They are the ones who will decide if I am to be chosen?”

  “Yes.” The corners of her thin mouth turned down. This did not escape Lillitha’s notice. “Along with the bene.”

  The older woman always seemed to frown whenever the Omani priests were mentioned. Lillitha sighed. She wondered if she would ever understand it all.

  “Will all the other consecratia be dressed this way, too?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I mean, will they all wear white, like me?”

  The question was frivolous but Yanna nodded patiently. Her charge’s curiosity was only natural. Her duty was to prepare the girl for the coming festival; the more Lillitha knew, the less nervous she’d be. Sometimes, unexpectedly, Yanna caught a whiff of fear coming off the girl so strong as to be a nearly tangible thing.

  “Because you are still a novice and a virgin, your burlang is white. Were you not a virgin, you would wear beige—”

  Yanna’s sharp ears heard Lillitha’s barely audible intake of breath.

  “I do not mean the consecratia, of course. But widows do come to us, as do some unmarried girls in unfortunate circumstances. Don’t make such a face, Lillitha. Prudishness does not suit a cadia. Our sisters seem to suffer more than our brothers do. It is our duty to offer succor and aid.”

  Lillitha saw the truth in the cadia’s words and was ashamed of her initial reaction, so lacking in compassion.

  “When you are initiated, you will wea
r the color of your branch. If Oman wills it and you are chosen shallana breda, your burlang will be deep green. Do you remember the significance of that color from your studies?”

  “Green symbolizes the mother earth.” Lillitha smiled. Green was her favorite color.

  “And what color does the shallan wear and why?”

  “Blue. It symbolizes the water of Oman’s isle that brings life to the earth.”

  “Well, it seems you have been reading something other than Gideon’s love poems.”

  Lillitha stopped dead in her tracks and gaped after her teacher. Yanna did not break her stride and she hurried to catch up.

  Yanna glanced down at her and smiled, surprising Lillitha even more.

  “No, your mother did not tell me. Neither did Edlin, so don’t look so betrayed.”

  “But how do you know such things?” Lillitha couldn’t stop herself from asking. “You always seem to know everything! Edlin says—” She bit her lip and looked away.

  “Edlin says what?”

  “Edlin says you know magic. And I heard Tesla saying that all cadia are part witch.”

  Yanna rolled her eyes to the skies and sighed. She motioned to a fallen tree lying near the path.

  “Sit down a moment, child. This is best discussed far from listening ears, since anything I say is bound to be twisted into more old wives’ tales.”

  “The cadia do not practice magic,” Yanna began as Lillitha sat down beside her. “True magic is an abomination that seeks to bend Oman’s will to our own ends. What the cadia do practice is observation and knowledge. Such skills often appear miraculous to the ignorant. That is why we train ourselves to listen to the world around us, to notice everything and everyone. The still, small voice of Oman whispers inside each of us, if only we listen for it carefully. That is why we meditate. Why we practice stillness and silence. Close your eyes and remember your lessons.”

  Lillitha did as she was told.

  “Tell me what you hear,” the woman asked after a long silence.

  The girl took a deep breath, imagining that the air was cleansing water from a clear, cold pool. She allowed the water to wash over her and through her, willing her mind to utter blankness until she could hear the beating of her heart.

  Hear it, she prayed. Don’t imagine it: hear it.

  “I hear the wind,” she whispered. “It blows from the east, and I can smell the salt of the sea in it. I can’t feel it, it blows so gently, but I can hear the leaves that rustle behind us.”

  “Very good.... What else?”

  “The cries of gulls. And over the next hill, there are sheep in the field. I can hear the tearing of the grass as they graze. I hear two heartbeats, mine and then, more softly, yours beside me.”

  “Concentrate.” Yanna’s voice was in her ear now. “Will your heartbeat to match mine, pulse for pulse, rhythm for rhythm.”

  She inhaled slowly; once...twice...three times... And then the two beats merged.

  She listened and felt the pulse beating beneath her own skin. Far away, two other rhythms came to her: quick and fast, the heartbeats of the two soldiers who accompanied them.

  Her eyes flew open.

  “Someone else is here.”

  Yanna snapped to her feet. She’d been concentrating so hard on Lillitha she had not even heard the stranger’s approach.

  “Dwain, Garvin.” Her voice was low and steady, but her eyes flashed in every direction. “Someone is coming this way.”

  Two boys, hands on the daggers at their belts, appeared from the edge of the wood. They looked far more frightened than either the cadia or the girl.

  For several moments, Yanna saw no one, though she could hear not one but two strange heartbeats now herself. One belonged to a horse, she was sure of that even before the dull clap of hooves reached her ears.

  Lillitha looked at her with wide, uncertain eyes.

  Then he appeared over the hill, a lone man on horseback. Neither he nor the horse seemed to be in any hurry. Yanna relaxed her guard slightly but did not take her eyes off him.

  “Hallo!” He doffed his cap to reveal a nearly bald head and smiled broadly. He drew in his reins and halted a respectable distance away. “Oman be with you, sister! I dinna mean to startle you. Mayhaps, you can tell me if I am near the vidoran of Kirrisian? I asked directions of an old man outside a tavern, but he seemed a bit daft, if I may say so.”

  Yanna quickly assessed his dress and the trappings of his horse. He wore a general’s tunic embroidered with the Tiran crest. In the center of his chest dangled a large medallion that glinted in the sun.

  “Oman be with you, my lord general.” Yanna inclined her head respectfully. She glanced at the two boys behind her and they retreated, daggers sheathed. “The House of Kirrisian lies ahead of you on this very path. In the name of Vidor Rowle, I bid you welcome.”

  “Ah, then you are attached to his household?” The old soldier beamed. “Excellent! Do I surmise correctly that the young lady behind you is Rowle’s daughter? The Lady Lillitha, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, my lord general.” Lillitha curtsied and offered up a tentative smile. “Are you acquainted with my father then?”

  “Aye, child! A good bit more than acquainted, I dare to say. I am Bastrop y’Tira. Your father and I served our time in the border army together.”

  Lillitha’s face lit up in genuine pleasure. “My father has spoken of you often, my Lord Bastrop! He will be so pleased to see you!”

  “Don’t believe a word he says about me,” Bastrop grinned. “Your father is a terrible liar. Sister, might I offer you or the Lady Lillitha my horse?”

  “Thank you, but no, my Lord Bastrop. We have not yet completed our morning constitutional. It is kind of you to offer. I am certain we shall see you upon our return.”

  The lord of Tira bid them good-bye and trotted off down the path.

  “How lovely!” Lillitha exclaimed as she watched his back grow smaller. “I wish we had guests every day.”

  Yanna chose not to hear the remark.

  “Lillitha, you must be careful to keep your wimple in place.” She adjusted the linen kerchief, pulling it firmly back onto the girl’s head and tucking a stray curl back underneath. “Oman’s beard, you have enough hair for three.”

  Lillitha giggled. Father’s friend was here! And from Tira, no less! No amount of Yanna’s chiding could dim her excitement.

  “Come, child. We have a walk and a lesson to finish.”

  Lillitha walked faster now; the sooner they concluded their march, the sooner they would be back at the house. Perhaps she would be allowed to help Tesla in the kitchen. The cook was always much put out when unexpected guests arrived.

  “You are getting much better at listening,” Yanna said. So much better, in fact, that she wondered if the girl was tadomani. “It is a gift that will serve you well. Knowledge is the second strongest weapon a woman may possess.”

  “The second? What’s the strongest then?”

  “The wisdom to know how to use it.”

  “Is that how you knew about the poems, then?”

  Yanna smiled again, ever so slightly. She had not expected to find so much amusement in her position as cadia-techa, neither had she expected to feel such affection for her charge. She was often more abrupt than she intended lest Lillitha detect any softness in her.

  “I simply observed. You were acting strangely that day in the library. One minute you were half-asleep with boredom, the next your color was high and your respiration had increased. I had only to glance at the shelves and see that the volume of Gideon was missing to surmise you had taken it.”

  “Are you angry with me?”

  “I suppose I should be.”

  “But you’re not?”

  “What’s done is done. You’ll find that rules and traditions have a purpose. In breaking them, it is yourself to whom you do the most harm.”

  Somehow the cadia’s calm answer was even direr than angry words.

  “I am not
here to force you along a path,” Yanna continued, “but to guide you. The most important lessons are the ones you must figure out for yourself.”

  The girl’s forehead creased. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re not ignorant. You’ve read it. Why do you suppose reading that kind of poetry is discouraged?”

  “I...uh, because it was written by a Tor?” She knew it was the wrong answer even before Yanna frowned.

  “I know that the love between Homa and Gideon was wrong,” Lillitha stammered. She hated it when Yanna pursed her lips that way. “Homa was a married woman.”

  “Love is never wrong. Nowhere in the poem is Homa actually unfaithful to her husband. The danger in such poetry is not in its content, but in the feelings it may arouse.”

  “If love is never wrong, then what is the harm? It was such a beautiful story—”

  “If you are chosen shallana breda, whom do you suppose you will think of when the Shallan takes you to his marriage bed? Gideon or Bogrode? Will it make your duty any easier to long for what you will not and cannot have?”

  “I had hoped... I had hoped that I might...” she stammered, unable to speak it out loud. She suddenly saw her folly clearly. She looked away, unable to bear Yanna’s gaze.

  “Don’t hope for one minute that love will be any part of your life as shallana breda,” Yanna said crossly. “Except during joining, the shallana breda is never alone with the shallan. Never. For him to allow himself to have any feelings at all for her is strictly forbidden.”

  “But why? Should not the sacred joining be softened by some sort of affection?”

  “Think, Lillitha! You’ve a brain in your head, use it!” Yanna stopped walking and took hold of the girl’s shoulders as if she would shake her. “When six summers have come and gone, with or without the birth of a male child, the Shallan must put aside his bride and choose another! Affection between them would only make that duty harder! And it is all about duty, duty and nothing more! Not love, not even companionship! Understand that now.”