Mother of Rebellion (The Leyumin Divided Saga Book 1) Page 5

  Last time he’d had a nightmare and fled to the comfort of his mother’s arms, Poppa had not been pleased.

  “You’re a big boy, Jabin. Eight years old.” He’d pulled Jabin away from his mother, set him in the hall, and pinched the bridge of his nose before sighing loudly. Then his father had let his hands drop to his sides, his jaw set. “Grow up a little and go back to bed. A dream’s just a dream. No reason to wake your mother. Or me.” When the door slammed in his face, there was nothing to do but sulk back to his room.

  Jabin hugged himself, squeezed his eyes shut, and willed his heart to stop thumping so hard against his ribs. He focused on an insect’s song, the melody distinct through his open bedroom window.

  Sustainer, help me be brave. What was it Oracle Lan said? Our god never forsakes?

  Jabin took a deep breath. His heartbeat quieted, and his breathing became more consistent. He opened his eyes. The brother moons in the night sky cast everything in an eerie blue light. As calmly as he could, Jabin walked over to his nightstand, opened his tinderbox, and lit his candle. He flinched at the small flame, his breath catching as it came to life.

  Calm down. A dream’s just a dream.

  The words did little to help him, but since Poppa had said them, they must hold some truth.

  The flame of his little wax candle danced in the slight breeze. He sat on the edge of his bed, his feet dangling above the floor.

  Jenna’s fine. Asleep in her room. A dream’s just a dream.

  But it had been a terrifying nightmare. Different from any he’d ever had. Every detail was clear and sharp. Jenna, his little sister, had been caught in a raging fire. He’d watched her burn to death among flames that didn’t hurt him. But it was more than the frightening images, still crisp in his mind. He had felt the unbearable heat. The smell of smoke and burning flesh still lingered in his nostrils. Her screams still echoed in his ears. It had been so real.

  Stop thinking about it.

  Jabin’s heartbeat quickened again. The nightmare wouldn’t fade, and Jabin felt the need to do something.

  Despite the cool air, his nightshirt clung to him. He peeled off the damp fabric and dropped it on the floor. Once again, he hopped off his bed, this time to wash the sweat from his body. A small wash table held water in its basin. Jabin soaked the wash cloth that had been laid out for the morning. The water was refreshing on his skin and as the sweat was washed away, the nightmare seemed to go with it.

  He pulled on a fresh nightshirt and looked around his bedroom. Sleep seemed impossible. If I check on Jenna, I’ll feel better about it, he thought.

  So, as quiet as he could, he took his candle and tiptoed to his door, opening it slowly. The spiral stone stair ended at a small landing outside his bedroom. His was the only one on the third story of the house. When he reached the second story landing, he entered the hallway and shielded the candle to make sure the light didn’t creep under the door of his parents’ bedroom. Jenna’s door was across the hall from the little library, in which Jabin spent as much time as he could. He stood outside Jenna’s door for a moment, just listening. He couldn’t hear anything, so he laid his hand flat on the smooth wooden door and pushed it open enough for him to see inside the little room. A few paces away, Jenna lay beneath her blanket.

  Jabin smiled. See? She’s fine.

  He closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. A little lighter in heart, he climbed the stairs again. By the time he made it back to his room, blew out his candle, and curled up in bed, sleepiness was settling in.

  He imagined Poppa would be proud of him for handling this all on his own, for acting more like a grown up than a little boy.

  “A dream’s just a dream,” he whispered to himself, and by the time he fell asleep, he very nearly believed it.

  The sanctuary bell rang in the distance six times. This time of year, it was barely daybreak when the waking call rang out from the sanctuary steeple. Not long after, the savory smell of sausages made its way all the way to Jabin’s room in the highest part of the Yllin Estate house. He threw back his blanket, washed his face, and dressed within a few minutes.

  Jabin bounded over the small landing outside his door and raced down the stone steps two at a time. A maid had already lit the lanterns in the stairwell, and he bounded from circle of light to circle of light. As he passed the hall to the second floor, he spotted his sister yawning and stretching in her doorway. She’d dressed, but her hair was still a mess of brunette tangles.

  “I’m going to win again!” he shouted.

  “Momma, Jabin’s running down the steps!” Jenna stuck out her tongue, and Jabin grimaced at the sound of his mother’s voice.

  “Jabin Yllin the Third! Walk down those steps like a gentleman!” Tallie Yllin didn’t bother to stick her head out into the hall. Her voice was enough to cause Jabin to pause.

  Jabin groaned and slowed his pace. “Yes, Momma.”

  At the bottom of the steps, he hurried through the small foyer and into the kitchen. The windows were all open wide. Dawn’s dim gleam and several candles down the middle of the table made for plenty of light by which to see.

  “Already in trouble this mornin’, are we, Master Jabin?” Noba clucked her tongue as she pulled a pan of biscuits from the oven with a wooden paddle. She was a stocky woman, a little rounder with every year. Almost like a grandmother to Jabin and his sister, her bright eyes and ever-wrinkling face was a welcome sight. She grabbed a poker and stirred the coals inside the black iron oven. A quick glance at the sausages sizzling on an iron plate produced a satisfied nod.

  “I’ll be good,” Jabin sighed. “I promise.” He perched his knees on the bench of the long stone table where the family usually enjoyed Noba’s food. His mouth watered at the savory scent of breakfast.

  “You better—” Noba cut herself off as a spark from the coals jumped out at her. She flinched, cursed under her breath, and dropped the iron rod.

  The sound of iron hitting stone.

  As the poker clanged and rolled across the floor, Jabin’s heart stopped. He pushed off the bench and hesitantly walked around the table, clenching his fists as his hands began to shake. He stared at the rod on the floor.

  The nightmare rushed back in a flood of images. Noba had dropped the rod in his dream. The sound of it, the way it hit the floor, how it rolled only a few inches. Everything was exactly the same.

  “Master Jabin?” Noba looked up from her hand where the spark had landed. “Are you all right?”

  Noba felt his forehead with the back of her hand. Her touch brought him back to the here and now, but his thoughts blurred, his muscles stiff and unmoving.

  “What?” Jabin furrowed his brow and looked at Noba. She had asked him a question, but the world was muted and distant. He looked back at the iron rod on the floor.

  Noba went to the sink and pumped water into a clay cup. “Here you go,” she said. “Let’s have a seat. I’d get you warm milk, but Vern must be runnin’ behind.” She held out the cup.

  “I’ve never seen you so pale.”

  Jabin took the cup and drank, his hand trembling, water sloshing over the rim.

  A dream’s just a dream.

  The cool water refreshed his dry mouth and throat, but the disconnection from the world around him lingered. Noba led him to the bench, and he sat down at her prodding.

  Am I dreaming again?

  Noba kept glancing at him as she transferred the biscuits into a bowl. Turning her attention back to the sausages, she flipped them one by one.

  “Biscuits!” Jenna skipped into the kitchen, her hair now neatly braided. She grabbed a biscuit from the bowl and bit into it, crumbs falling as she grinned at Jabin. “Don’t you want one?”

  Jabin felt like a rock dropped in water, his body numb and heavy. The front door slammed open and their father’s stable hand rushed inside, frantic. Jabin knew what he was going to say.

  “The barn’s on fire,” Jabin whispered. He heard his sister gasp.

 
The stable hand was already shouting, calling for Jabin’s father. Abner Yllin rushed down the stairs. “What is it, Vern? What’s wrong?”

  Vern pointed back toward the door, frantic. “The barn caught fire. Got the sandbeast, pikkans, and the milking goat out already, and I’ve got men filling buckets from the well,” he said. “We need all the help we can get. Stupid boy knocked over a lantern. Hay caught so quick…” His voice was desperate.

  “No time for that,” Abner said. He followed Vern out of the house. Noba’s hand covered her mouth, and she looked at Jabin. “Stay here, child,” she said. “I’m goin’ to — where’s your sister?”

  His mother entered the kitchen, pinning the last of her hair back. “Noba, we must help the men,” she said.

  “Lady Yllin, did you see Jenna go back up the stairs?” Noba asked.

  A cold sweat broke out all over Jabin’s body. A sudden burst of adrenaline shattered his shock and replaced it with a foreboding fear.

  This is real.

  Jabin bolted from the table, ignoring the calls of his mother and Noba. He knew where Jenna had gone the second she’d heard the barn was on fire. He rushed down the small set of stairs outside their front door, down into the large courtyard. The stone walls of the court blocked out the barn, but he could see black smoke rising against the ever-lightening sky. Feet bare, he sprinted past the courtyard entrance into the yard and toward the barn.

  There was a line of men from the well to the barn, handing down buckets of water, but the flames would not be quenched. The men were distracted, focusing on the side of the barn where the flames were the worst. The huge door to the barn stood wide open on the other side. Jabin had never run so hard or so fast in his life.

  Behind him, his mother’s voice shouted in panic. “Jabin! Stop!” And then, “Abner! Stop him!”

  But her voice didn’t seem to reach Jabin’s father. Jabin put his head down and crossed the threshold of the barn’s door. The fire was spreading rapidly toward the entrance. Images from his nightmare were rushing back to him, assaulting his mind. He knew if he didn’t get Jenna out soon, the beam above the entrance would be taken by the fire, collapse, and cut off their escape.

  The roar of the fire was even louder than it had been in the dream, and as he approached the thick of it, where individual stalls stood, a wave of heat stole his breath. He heard Jenna scream.

  “Jenna!” he shouted and forced his eyes to stay open, though the smoke stung. A deep groan sounded, and Jabin looked over his shoulder. Flames were eating away at the support beam above the only route of escape.

  He turned back toward the stalls. Jenna was in one of them. He was sure of it. “Jenna!” he shouted again. “I’m coming!”

  “Jabin?” Jenna screamed and coughed.

  He followed her voice to the right stall, the fire licking at the doorframe. Jabin centered himself and burst through the middle, landing on the other side. Jenna was there, a pikkan mare’s blanket over her head. The kitten was in her lap.

  “Come on!” Jabin grabbed her upper arm. “We’ve got to hurry!” Another groan, this one louder, sent panic through Jabin’s veins.

  “I’m scared,” Jenna said. She looked at the entry to the stall and then covered her face.

  “I just got through there without getting hurt,” Jabin said. He knelt before her. “Come on, Jenna. We don’t have time. You have to trust me.”

  “No!” Jenna was sobbing. The smoke was getting thicker.

  There’s no time!

  Jabin positioned himself behind Jenna and hooked his arms under hers. He heaved, almost falling backwards. Jenna was almost as big as he was. She stood, crying hysterically, clinging to the kitten.

  “No, Jabin, I don’t want to,” she said.

  “You have to!”

  She wouldn’t move, so Jabin wrapped his arms around her, picked her up just barely off the ground, and ran through the entrance to the stall. He lost his grip on her as he stumbled, and she rolled away from him when he landed. The kitten bolted, taking the only path through the fire to escape. To his horror, Jenna’s dress caught on fire.

  “No!” Jabin shouted.

  A great crack sounded. Jabin looked up. The beam sagged. Fire was consuming everything. Beyond it, the wind created a brief window through the smoke. His father held back his mother, arms wrapped about her waist. She was screaming, hands outstretched toward the barn.

  There was only a thin path to follow through the flames. He hooked his arms under Jenna’s again, and as she kicked and screamed at her burning clothes, he dragged her toward the entrance. As he crossed under the beam, another crack sounded. With all his strength, he pulled his sister as fast as he could.

  The beam broke. Cinders flew and the front of the barn began to collapse. Jabin threw Jenna to the ground and covered her head with his body.

  We’re going to die.

  But big, muscled arms wrapped around him and carried him further from the barn, and then he was doused with water. Sputtering, he opened his eyes. Vern held Jabin with one arm as he panted, his chest heaving against Jabin’s back. Noba stood above them with an empty bucket. Next to them, his father held Jenna. They’d been doused with water, too, but Jenna wasn’t awake any longer. And her skirts were burned away to reveal her blackened and blistered leg.

  His mother dropped to her knees before him, and she placed one hand on both of her children. The world was spinning. The crying, the screaming, the fire… all sound was muted and distant.

  Jabin closed his eyes.

  Poppa was wrong.

  Sometimes, dreams weren’t just dreams.

  Sometimes, they came true.

  Chapter Five

  Imrah

  Dakkan Household

  The City of Sydor, Adikea

  3rd Cycle of Chenack

  986 Post Schism

  Imrah gathered the last book in Lady Vega Dakkan’s rooms and placed it atop a small stack of tomes needing to be returned to the Dakkan library. She secured the books together on all four sides with a leather strap and wrapped the remaining leather around her hand. It was awkward, but she managed to hoist the books above her swollen stomach to hold the bottom of the stack with her other hand.

  The baby within kicked and rolled, and Imrah closed her eyes a moment to banish the swell of emotions. If Anakai had been there, she would’ve grabbed his little hand and let him feel the movement inside her womb. The baby would greet the world any day now. Imrah had already experienced light contractions throughout the last few days, just enough to make her even more uncomfortable, but not enough to push her into labor. The thought of bringing another child into the world when her heart was still broken was almost unbearable, but she forbade any more tears to fall.

  Not now. Not here.

  Imrah opened her eyes. Lady Vega wouldn’t take kindly to a slave-wife crying a river in her personal sitting room. So, Imrah walked — or rather waddled — her way out into the hall with several deep, even breaths to calm herself. If she kept busy, she could bury her hurt a little while longer.

  She headed toward the library. It was her favorite room and rarely occupied, except by little Lady Myna, the only true-daughter of the Dakkan Household. Lady Myna was a tad younger than Anakai. More than once Imrah had acted as the girl’s caretaker in between the more suitable Adikean governesses, none of whom Lady Myna seemed to care for. Imrah enjoyed the girl’s company, but today, she was glad to find the room empty.

  Larger than her living quarters, the library was an elongated rectangular room lined with shelves made of red taurret wood, polished to a shine. Scrolls and leather-bound books filled every shelf space. Most families, even the Central Sector ones, had only a fourth of the space dedicated to the written word. But because the Dakkan Household was host to foreign and domestic dignitaries, Dakkan stocked his library to impress. Foreigners especially valued the display.

  She hummed an Ergonian tune as she set the books down on one of the long thin tables near the bookshelves. Aft
er removing the leather strap, she started to put the books back in their proper places. The last one was on a shelf just above her reach. Imrah stood on tiptoe, struggling against the extra girth that made it difficult to gain leverage, stretching her arm as far as it would go.

  “Let me get that for you.” A man’s voice interrupted Imrah’s attempts.

  The book almost dropped on her head, but he caught it and slid it into the empty slot. Imrah kept her head down and quickly backed away, bumping into the table behind her.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Master Dakkan said from Imrah’s left-hand side.

  Imrah hadn’t heard the two enter the room, but she knew the stranger was an Eikonian ambassador who had arrived earlier that day. She’d spent six days — almost half a span — preparing for his arrival.

  “Ah, I believe it was. In Eikon, a woman this pregnant would be resting, no matter her station,” the ambassador said. Then he addressed her. “I’m Prestis. And you are?”

  Out of shock, Imrah glanced up, eyebrows knit together. She would have returned to her proper posture, but he was looking at her. She couldn’t help but look back. He was tall and slender compared to her master-husband’s stockier frame. Lighter skin. Brown hair, sun kissed with blonde strands. She met his gaze with her own for a moment, but blushed as he smiled at her and looked away.

  Master Dakkan took a step forward. “Ambassador Bakmann—”

  “I’d like her to answer,” Prestis said.

  Imrah opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She looked at her master-husband. He sighed and waved his hand, giving her permission to reply.

  “I’m Imrah,” she said, returning to a slave-wife’s posture. Head down, hands folded, unassuming.

  “I’m glad to meet you, and I must apologize for adding to your burden over the next span. I was delighted to find Eikonian tea, hot and ready, when I arrived. What a thoughtful gesture.”