She hated leaving them.
Hated herself for putting her child into the care of the Rai. Into the care of Vanhu particularly. She forced the guilt aside, lied to herself, told herself that this was the only way. Falnist had trapped her, curse the trion, she would deal with them when she returned to Harnspire, and if Venn was hurt then she would watch the older trion die and make sure it took days. She would not sleep or eat or even blink while their life left them. She wanted to spit as she trudged back to Harn-Larger. She had been manipulated, her. And she had known at some level. Falnist had seen her weakness, her need and her cowardice, and used it. She should have been harder on Venn, she had known that, but she was their mother and it held her back. Falnist had taken that knowledge, given her an easy way out that meant she did not have to be the one to brutalise the child into their power.
She knew the truth of Vanhu, even as she had tried to deny it. Why else would she have warned him, told him what she would do if Venn did not survive? She knew, deep down, how far the Rai was prepared to go. That he, in his power and cruelty, would push her child as far as needed, even if that cost Venn their life.
And if that happened? Vanhu would not burn, she would not be able to kill him. He would fall from grace, of course, probably be moved away to fight in the south which would please Galderin. But the Rai were long-lived and she was not. Vanhu had that advantage over her. He did not need to plot against her, only move out of her orbit and wait for her to die naturally.
Sometimes it was hard to think like them. To realise the truth of them.
Kirven wanted to scream, but could not look weak, and the soldier who had driven the raft knew who she was. News of the High Leoric screaming in frustration would spread, no doubt work its way back to Falnist, and the trion would think it some score on their chart against her. A victory. She could not have that.
She almost stopped. Almost went back.
No. For better or worse she was caught in the trap now. Venn was strong, she would trust in their strength. Her family had a powerful desire to live and if it came to it, if Vanhu put her child in that position, she believed they would choose to live. No matter the cost. She believed that. She had to.
They were stubborn, the Ban-Ruhn.
It was a family trait.
So it went, round and round in her head on the walk back to Harn-Larger. The rafter had tried to speak to her a few times, deferential, knowing their place. Talking of the landscape, the new ravine that had opened. The skyraft. The forest. Each time the conversation had died because it always led her back to the raft, and the men who had been on it. What that meant for her child.
Galderin met her at the gates of Harn-Larger; he was more subtle than Vanhu, had only two soldiers with him, did not greet her by name or title.
“It is done,” she pushed past him.
“The skyraft leaves before the light falls,” said Galderin, turning to walk with her, his soldiers running ahead to clear their way. “If we hurry we can be on it.” She did not want to leave. She wanted to stay and wait for Venn to return with Vanhu. It would be no more than a few days at most. But that would also make her look weak in front of the Rai. She knew Galderin would leave if it was his child, leave without a second thought. To rule the Rai she had to be like them, them but more; harder, fiercer.
“I take it we are ready to leave?” The stink of the town was more apparent after the freshness of the forest and plain around it. She lifted her hand to cover her nose. “It will be good to be away from this place.” Galderin looked across, smiled at her.
“That is often how I feel, too,” he said. “Did you enjoy the forest?” He held her gaze for a moment too long, it made her uncomfortable. She did not acknowledge it though it sent a shiver down her spine. Made her worry again what Vanhu had planned for Venn. What he would do. Made her wonder if Galderin knew why she hated the trees.
“Clear the lift for me,” she said. “I do not want to catch lice from these people.” Galderin nodded, sent his soldiers on ahead.
In the hours it took to get the fires burning and the nets full of gasmaws rigged, Kirven had to stand with Galderin on the deck, watching the skyrafters get the great craft ready. Feeling the heat, listening to the wind howl, the ropes creaking. Not showing her worry or pain. Not thinking about Venn.
Were they there yet? Had they done it yet? Did the cowl kindle within them? It was foolish but she felt like she would know. She would sense them changing. She was their mother after all. Ties of blood were stronger than any other.
She glanced across at Galderin. His face cruel even in repose, an ever-present half-smile on his lips. Sometimes she thought the Rai were barely even of the people.
What had she done?
Kirven took a deep breath.
Strength. She had given her child strength. Was giving her child strength. Without strength you were nothing. The new Cowl-Rai had shown that, binding all together under the one god. Strength. Power. Change. Venn would be part of that, a leader. If they still thought the world unfair once their cowl was active, then they could use their closeness to the Cowl-Rai, the power brought about by the great tilt, to exact change. She glanced across at Galderin again. He smiled to himself as groups of the indentured, those who owed the skyraft family, struggled, naked and back-bent under huge loads of wood.
If Venn still wants change when they have a cowl, she thought to herself. The steerswoman of the raft walked over, a stout woman, Archeon of the family, wrapped in colourful wool and chinking porcelain jewellery, strange symbols of the wind gods. Tarl-an-Gig had no power among those who lived in the clouds.
Not yet.
“Balloons are about ready,” said the woman, pointing up at the vast ovals of colourful cloth. “You can give the order to leave if you want, High Leoric.”
“Thank you,” said Kirven, she knew it was considered an honour, though she would rather be back in her cabin pretending she was on the ground. “What do I say.”
“Just shout at ’em,” she pointed to a group of rafters at the edge of the craft, “cast off, and heave bellows.” Kirven nodded, smiled at the woman.
“Cast off!” she shouted, “and heave bellows.”
“You heard!” shouted the steerswoman, her voice louder by far than Kirven’s. “Cast it off, heave the bellows.” The order was repeated. A large group at the edge of the raft hauled in the anchor that attached them to Harn-Larger’s rickety tower. Then she heard the crack of a whip. Looked towards it and saw the people who had been bringing wood, or maybe others, it was hard to tell when they were all filthy and naked, pulling on huge handles. A cough of air, and the fires roared, flames leaping up. She worried the balloons would catch. With a lurch that made her stomach flip the skyraft moved. Kirven watched for long enough that it did not seem disrespectful, then she turned to Galderin.
“I will be in my cabin, my responsibilities do not end simply because I am travelling.” He nodded.
In her cabin she could not work. She could not think. In the end she took to her bed but slept fitfully, her dreams of fire and pain. When she woke the next morning she thought those dreams a good omen. What were the Rai if not fire and pain? Surely this was her blood speaking, her link to her child. Venn, finally stepping up to their responsibilities.
She felt a little calmer for the dream. More able to sort through the papers in her trunk. She had put them away in no particular order. Unable to concentrate. No doubt what she wanted would be right at the bottom, such was generally the way of things. She moved the first set of papers, reports of crops and how badly the farmers of Harn county were doing at growing them due to bluevein, to one side. Beneath it were the portraits of the false Cowl-Rai her hunters had been charged with finding. A face stared up at her: Cahan Du-Nahere, killed by Sorha at his farm.
Familiar, somehow.
She found herself frozen. Horror, reaching out from the drawing and stealing all her strength.
This could not be.
A face staring at her from a cage.
“No,” she said it softly. Disbelieving.
Fire and pain.
Then she was up, running from the cabin, her voice raised. “Galderin!” she shouted. “Galderin!”