Resistance: The Umbra Chronicles Book 3 Read online

  ‘Of course, they are entitled to their privacy. Our goal here is to give people a chance to live their lives as they choose, as free people, not to force our way of life on them.’

  How long had I been gone, for her to grow up so much?

  ‘Good morning, Princess!’ A woman waved from the laundry area before picking up a battledore and pummelling the laundry.

  Aine waved and smiled in return. ‘Good morning, Filiadh!’ She turned back to me. ‘You know what, Filiadh’s right. We should get to work. Are you any good in a kitchen?’

  I smiled and said, ‘Yeah, sure.’ I was a kitchen maid in two separate castles in two separate time periods. I mean, for all I knew, there were going to be some big advances in the field of cookery and washing up in the next twenty years that I’d taken for granted. Now that I was back in the past, I could bring these women into the future of culinary expertise. I sighed. Or I could make myself useful and build up the fire and get to washing dishes.

  Andras and another guard followed me, far enough behind that they weren’t obtrusive. I wondered if anyone noticed that I had an escort and felt an unaccustomed sting of shame.

  At the washing up troughs, I was joined by a middle-aged woman, dark haired, slim and brisk. I’d seen dozens like her in other kitchens. She was the type of woman who eats her meals standing up.

  She stuck out her hand for me to clasp, her sleeves already rolled up to display lean, muscled forearms.

  ‘Mhairi,’ she said.

  ‘Emer.’

  She nodded. ‘Wash or wipe?’

  I chose to wash. Something about the feel of half dried plates makes me squick out.

  We didn’t chat as we washed. Mhairi wasn’t that type, I presumed, and was almost glad.

  It wasn’t nearly as godawful miserable as I’d been expecting. I’d taken for granted that helping in the open-air kitchen here wasn’t going to be any different from when I was a featherskin doing the most menial tasks in the Empress’s castle, or when I was a servant in Aoife’s palace high atop the rocky spires of Cairastel, being punished for existing.

  I’d forgotten, in my own self-pity, that the men and women around me had been slaves their whole lives. I’d known some time of miserable servitude, but it hadn’t been my whole life. I hadn’t been stolen from my family and raised to believe that my only worth was in the work I could do for a community that didn’t even treat me like I was human. I hadn’t lived my whole life believing that nothing would ever change and I would live out the rest of my days in the depths of the palace kitchens.

  These Rhydda were free for the first time in their lives and they even made washing up joyful. They sang together as they worked. The music lilted around me, not unlike the music of the Draceni.

  Every song told a story, recalled some part of their history, or explained some facet of their life in a clear, easy way that could be learned and retained by a child. That way when the child was taken from their family, they still were able to recall at least part of their culture, to keep it intact to pass on to the next generation. The choruses were easy to sing and remember and pretty soon I was able to follow each refrain with the others. This whole camp was like an intensive training ground for the newly freed Rhydda to celebrate and pass on their culture and history.

  Aine was helping in the laundry, laughing as she stirred a cauldron of boiling lye and linen. She threw her head back at one stage, the sun lighting her face and limning her dark hair. She looked like Sparrow, but I’d never seen Sparrow laugh like that. I wondered if Sparrow was able to laugh with the Draceni and Rhiannon. I wished with all my heart that I could have her with me, singing beside me.

  And Caradoc. Oh, my God, Caradoc. I would have removed my own right arm if I could have had him by my side. This was what he’d fought for. This was what he’d defied the Empress and the whole of Meistria for: freedom for his people. That they could have this opportunity to be here, in their homeland, living life as they chose, that was all thanks to him. No wonder they idolised him. When he’d presented me to them that night before Darragh attacked Rheged, they’d accepted me whole-heartedly because he vouched for me. No wonder, if he’d given them this.

  At lunchtime we set up long trestle tables in the open area in the centre of the camp, the tables taken from inside the halls. My guards helped carry some of the tables, but neither of them let me out of his sight.

  ‘Too nice a day to eat inside!’ Aine informed me, bumping my hip playfully with hers as she carried a laden tray to the tables. She was just in time. Someone rang a massive bell that sounded through the whole of Am Dien, to summon the Rhydda to their dinner.

  The Rhydda thronged to the meal and we were even busier, although you could be forgiven for believing that wasn’t possible. Some took their food to eat on the grass, under the shelter of the massive plain trees all around. Some took a seat at table and sat there with the apparent intention to wait out the end of the world. Others sat down for a moment, swiftly ate their fill and departed just as quickly.

  After the meal, the kitchen staff took their repast while others came to begin the washing up. It felt so different from when I was a servant, serving under a cruel mistress. This was a community of free people, who worked because they chose to help one another. Mhairi, as I’d guessed, perched her plate on the edge of the table and came back periodically to peck at it.

  There was a lull when the dishes were finally done, after everyone had eaten and the great tubs of water were taken away by teams of people who were probably once the strongest soldiers in the Empress’s army. The kitchen hands were getting ready to begin preparations for the evening meal, hauling great sacks of vegetables to the table and massive basins to receive the peelings.

  I made to rise, to go join them, but Mhairi slipped down onto the bench beside me. She patted my arm.

  ‘Don’t get up. You’re not a slave here, who has to be busy every moment of the day. We’re a family.’

  I stared at her; struck dumb by something I didn’t even fully understand. Tears burned in my eyes and I blinked rapidly to clear them. I’d never been part of a family.

  But I couldn’t claim what I wasn’t entitled to, so I shook my head. ‘No, Mhairi, I’m not Camiri.’

  She threw her head back and laughed. ‘Umbra’s heir not a Camiri? Don’t be ridiculous. Emer, I saw you with Caradoc and he was a prince among us before we were even allowed to speak our family names in public. He is so respected among us that if you said the word, you could be our Queen.’

  ‘But Aine is also Umbra’s heir, how do you know I’m the one who was with Caradoc?’

  ‘I’ve been a slave all my life. I recognise the look in your eyes. You didn’t grow up free.’

  This time I had to clench my jaw against the tears.

  Mhairi went on. ‘You were his, so you’re ours now.’ She let her smile broaden into a mischievous grin I hadn’t expected from her. ‘You’re Rhydda now. Hope it’s what you always wanted.’

  She winked and I laughed before I even thought about it, the tightness in my jaw easing.

  ‘So, Emer, where were you from before you became Rhydda?’

  ‘Uh…’ So, this was small talk. I hadn’t had much chance to ever practice it and as it turned out it was harder than I’d expected. ‘Well, I moved around a lot.’ That was about the sum of what I was willing to share. ‘How about you, where are you from, Mhairi?’

  ‘I am of the family Surianann. That’s Surianann, not Solanann.’ She shook her head. ‘You have no idea how many times my parents had to repeat that to get it into my thick skull before I went to the Halls.’

  ‘How old were you when you went to the Halls?’ I’d been to the Halls of Youth near Cairnagorn, although I knew there were more scattered around Meistria.

  ‘Seven, of course. We were all seven when we were taken away. Actually, that reminds me. There is someone here who claims to know you.’

  ‘Me? I hardly know anyone.’

  ‘Then let’s go p
rove a point. I never could stand a boastful young man.’

  Chapter Eleven

  I followed her, bemused. And kind of amused, too, because it didn’t surprise me that she walked so fast I could barely keep up with her. My guards were following behind us, but they were making heavy weather of it. Every time we ploughed through a group of people, the guards had to push through the confusion we left behind. We wove our way through what looked like a random collection of small family halls, small firepits and right through the middle of a small group of people.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I said, holding up a hand and still trying to keep up with Mhairi as they scattered before us. I heard Andras and the other guard muttering similar apologies as they hurried behind us.

  As we passed, I heard one of them whisper, ‘Bach Chwaer’ and it was all I could do not to turn my head to see who had spoken.

  Mhairi barged up to one of the larger halls, nestled beside an enormous plain tree. She stopped at the top of the steps, the first time she’d even looked back to make sure I was following her. I wasn’t too far behind, but she skipped down the half-dozen stairs between us and grabbed my hand to pull me along with her. The other halls had an insignia above the door, a wolf, or a bear, or a rose. The door above this hall was bare.

  ‘Ho, the house!’ she cried. ‘I am Mhairi, of the family Surianann. With me is the Bach Chwaer, the beloved of Caradoc.’

  She might as well have waved a ribbon in front of a cat. People jumped to catch sight of me. I couldn’t see past her very well, but I heard the ruckus as dozens of people leaped up and hurried to get a glimpse of the action. I tried not to wince and was successful. I didn’t bother trying to hide my sigh. I wouldn’t have been successful, anyway.

  There was a small hubbub, mostly people repeating the news to other people in a desperate attempt to be first with the gossip. I heard, ‘Bach Chwaer,’ ‘Caradoc,’ and ‘the dragon, Darragh.’

  When Mhairi stepped aside, the doorway was crowded with people, still talking to one another as they strove to get a glimpse of me.

  I raised a hand. ‘Hi,’ I said, trying to smile and feeling dumb about it. ‘Mhairi tells me that one of you knows me?’

  ‘Let me through, let me through!’ A boy finally shouldered his way through the crowd to reach the front. I noticed the shock of red hair first, curling down to his shoulders, the bulk of the wild mass loose, but threaded with braids tied with blue beads. The eyes that he turned to me were unmistakably Caradoc’s.

  I had to swallow hard and the people fell quiet. I clenched my jaw. In twenty years, when I’d seen him last in my time, his face would be like Caradoc’s, but right now it was the smooth face of a boy.

  ‘So, it was true,’ I said, and tears stung my eyes as I tried to smile. ‘Mhairi told me there was someone here who knew me.’

  He stood up as tall as he could. It was so strange to think that the last time I’d seen him, he’d towered over me. Right now, even with the early musculature the Camiri children had developed during their military training, he was still slight. He couldn’t even be ten years old.

  ‘I met you the night the Halls of the Young burned, Bach Chwaer!’ he announced. I’d nearly forgotten that he’d barely known me for more than a minute. In twenty years’ time, when he was a man, I would have married him if he’d asked. He would grow up to be the spitting image of Caradoc. And in my grief, I’d been more than willing to settle for the semblance of the man I loved.

  ‘How long ago was that, Ronan?’

  He sighed. ‘You remember my name!’

  My smile turned into the smallest of chuckles. ‘You made quite an impression.’ He hadn’t. Up until he’d told me, back in my own time, I hadn’t realised that the man he became was the boy I’d met so briefly. ‘You were very brave, leading the children out of the Halls that night. I was very proud of you.’

  I’m sure he got a bit taller, when I said that. Right now, he certainly had excellent posture. ‘I was only doing my duty, Bach Chwaer.’

  There he was. That was the man he would become.

  He held something out to me. ‘You gave me your ring that night, Bach Chwaer. I have kept it, until I could return it to you.’

  The Empress had given me that ring. It was the official mark of the Bach Chwaer, the nominated heir to the throne of the Thousand Counties. I took it and slid it onto my finger. ‘You have done well in your duty, Ronan. Your family must be very proud.’ I looked at the crowd. ‘I see you found your family. May I ask your family name?’

  He looked uncomfortable.

  ‘I’m sorry, is that a rude question?’

  Ronan was too embarrassed to answer, a flush staining his pale cheeks. A man in the crowd spoke for him. ‘We don’t know our family names in this house, Bach Chwaer. This hall is called Ganainn. In the old language, it means those who are nameless. This is the home for the homeless. Not all the Rhydda have a family name…’ His voice trailed away and I heard the hurt in the silence.

  I wanted to scoff and point out the fact that Ronan was the spitting image of Caradoc, so they must be from the same family, but something held me back. I think it was their silence. This was a big thing to them. I could make out the shame in their downcast faces, in their cramped posture, in the way they suddenly wouldn’t meet my eyes. I couldn’t scoff at something that was so important to them.

  I put my hand on Ronan’s shoulder. ‘Look at me, Ronan.’ He did as he was bade. ‘I never knew my family name until a few weeks ago, either.’

  ‘But you’re Umbra’s heir. All you have to do is look in a mirror to see what family you belong to.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ I replied. ‘I was taken away from my family too, when I was just a baby. I was kept hidden from the world and the world was kept hidden from me. I didn’t know that I was Umbra’s heir because I didn’t know what Umbra’s heirs looked like. Every year I was given a new name, to keep my identity a secret. Every year I was given to a new Guardian, so I could remain anonymous. And I longed for a family. More than anything.

  ‘I didn’t receive a new name this year, because I escaped. This year, both of us found freedom in our different ways. But I am going to give myself a new name today, and this will be the name I will carry to the end of my days. Henceforth, I am Emer, of the family Ganainn. And anyone who wants to be a part of my family can consider themselves my brothers and sisters.

  ‘The Empress called me Bach Chwaer, which means “little sister.” So, from today, if you wish it, I will become a little sister to all of you. You need no longer be nameless. We can share a name. We may not have a history, but from today we have a glorious future and every one of us can make a mark in it. We will forge that future together.’

  And I thought I’d heard cheering before. Ronan went in for a hug, his thin little arms banding tight around my waist. The people in the hall celebrated, shouting and laughing and embracing one another. They reached out their hands to me and drew me into them. Behind me, Mhairi was weeping openly. She wasn’t the only one. And when I was surrounded by people who accepted me and wanted me as part of their family, I wept, too.

  They took me into their hall. Mhairi came with us. My guards stationed themselves outside the door. They were unobtrusively and unalterably present. The hall was sparsely furnished, compared to the lavish accommodations of the family Surianann. I wondered if this was what the barracks had looked like for the soldiers in the Empress’s army. There was a double row of cots at one end of the hall, with areas nearer the door for labour and storage.

  I met so many people that day I could never remember all of their names. There were whole generations of people without a family name and it was humbling to realise that for them to share a family name with me would be considered an honour.

  I didn’t take it personally. Even Umbra, slumbering in my brow, didn’t take it personally. As Mhairi had said, Caradoc had been a prince among them. They loved me because he had loved me. Had Aoife not killed him, we would have been married
and I would have belonged to his people officially. Now, in the creation of this family, we were bound together in a way that was no less real.

  They offered me gifts. I tried to refuse them but Mhairi whispered in my ear, ‘It’s very rude to refuse a gift in our culture,’ so I was stuck.

  ‘But I have nothing to offer you,’ I protested. ‘Perhaps one day — but right now I’m under guard in the palace. I don’t own anything but the clothes on my back and Caradoc gave me those.’

  An older man came forward, lean cheeked and sunken eyed. ‘Bach Chwaer, long ago it was the custom of the Camiri to mark their skin with their family name. The Meistri forced us to abandon the practice, and the Camiri in this land do not often observe the practice.’ I thought of how the Draceni used tattoos, but was silent.

  ‘If you accept no other gifts, Bach Chwaer, would you agree to receive a marking, to signify your belonging to the family Ganainn?’

  A woman came forward before I could answer, a piece of paper in her hands. ‘For our symbol, Bach Chwaer. A phoenix. A new thing, bright and glorious, born out of nothing, rising from the flame.’

  I took the paper slowly. ‘This is beautiful work,’ I said, and it was true. It was uniquely Camiri in design, stylised and intricate, the flames a pattern of knots interlocking beneath the rising phoenix. I looked up into their waiting faces. ‘I would be honoured to receive this tattoo.’

  Right then I was so proud and so happy to be a part of their family I would have agreed to get the tattoo on my face like Rhiannon’s. ‘Where does the tattoo go?’

  ‘On your wrist,’ the man said. He held out his hand and indicated the inside of his forearm. ‘I can do this for you, Bach Chwaer, and for all of us, if you consent.’

  ‘I do.’ I held out my hand. ‘I’m ready.’

  I thought he’d lead me away somewhere so we could sit down and he would take out inks and needles and the design would be pierced into my skin. Instead, he reached out and clasped my wrist, even where we stood. The skin stung for a moment and when he took his hand away, the symbol of the phoenix was printed there, the design perfect in miniature, details almost too fine for the eye to make out.