The Sundering

Sillman, Suanna, Mica, it’s good to see you again so soon. Will you come inside? I’ve been baking this afternoon.” Sillman turned from his horse, and whatever else she might have said died on her lips. She had rarely seen him look so grave. “This is not a social call,” Sillman told her. “We are here on a matter of great importance.” “I did not imagine otherwise,” she said, a trickle of unease growing. The last time she had seen Sillman look so serious, they had been at an open mine, made by slaves who were mostly children, the mine being dug down to the burial site of the first Hunar’s ancient enemy. That had been not that many days before. She could not imagine what had happened since to bring that expression back to his face. “What is it? Please tell me.” “Word has reached us of a serious matter,” Sillman began. “I can hardly believe it. I can hardly believe that you would do such a stupid thing.” “Sillman,” Suanna scolded, “you’re making a mess of this.” “I am,” Sillman acknowledged. He straightened and drew in a breath, blowing it out while keeping his rigid posture, the lines of age around his eyes and mouth deeper than she remembered. “We have been led to believe that you have formed a bond with the goblin, Guidrishinnal de’laj Krejefell.” For a moment, Yvonne could not say anything. She had only found out about the bond herself that afternoon. Not long enough to understand what it meant. She could not understand how the Hundred could have heard about it so soon. “Is this true?” Suanna asked. “I am told it is,” Yvonne answered, her face stiff. “How could you?” Sillman asked, the words pulled from him, rigid posture flowing into anger. “Hunar and goblins should not mix.” For a moment, Yvonne forgot about her own issues and remembered the expression their fellow Hunar, Pieris, had when he was talking about the winter he had spent in the northlands, with a goblin lord who had taught him a lot about their magic. Judging by Pieris’ face as he remembered, she did not think he would agree that goblins and Hunar should stay apart. She had no time to protest, or gather her thoughts. Sillman was not finished. “It is not possible to be a Hunar and to be bonded in that way. A Hunar must be able to act where there is need, with no thought of the consequence. Family ties are an inconvenience.” A small spark of anger lit inside her. She was the only one of them, as far as she knew, with any sorts of family ties, with the children who were even now somewhere inside the house, keeping out of the way, which was unusual enough that she should have noticed it before now. “I do not recall this being part of our oaths,” Yvonne said. The oaths were simple, and focused on providing service to those in need. None of the rest of the Hundred might have children, or husbands, or wives, but they had entanglements nonetheless. Elinor, her mentor, had enjoyed her lovers, and had been one of the most warm and generous people that Yvonne had ever met. “You cannot be a Hunar with this bond,” Sillman told her, straightening a little more. “What?” Yvonne heard her voice, thin and breathless. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. “That is not in our oaths,” she protested. “I can recite them for you, if you have forgotten.” “We are bound to service. And only that.” “That’s ridiculous,” Yvonne protested, anger in her tone. “You are telling me that no Hunar has ever been married? Or had children? Or been in love?” Elinor’s face rose in her mind, the heat in her gaze when she looked at Adira or Renard. No one had ever questioned Elinor’s life, or the love that she had. “It does not matter,” Sillman said, dismissing her words and her inarticulate protest with a wave of his hand. That hand wave made her more furious. He was treating her as the lowliest apprentice, not fit to hold an opinion. “I have sworn my oaths. I have upheld them. I have been one of the Hundred for nearly a decade. The highest calling of a Hunar is service. It’s in the name,” she told him, hearing the flat tone of her voice and unable to do anything about it. Hunar meant servant, in the ancient language that they used for spell casting. A dead language no one apart from the Hundred knew. She felt her jaw tight, forcing words out through stiff lips. “There has been no complaint about my service. Not one. I have put the service of the Hunar above my family and above myself. I have fulfilled my oaths.” “That is not how the Hundred see it,” Sillman said, voice as hard as hers. His face could have been etched in stone apart from the blaze of his eyes. He was furious. A bond with a goblin that she did not remember making. That she had only just found out about. And it seemed enough to cancel out her years of service. Not just as Hunar, but the apprenticeship she had served before that. Nearly two decades in total. The greater part of her life. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Dozens of words choked each other. She shook her head, unable to believe what he was saying. “Yvonne of Fir Tree Crossing. By order of the Hundred, you are sundered from our ranks. Your name will be struck from our records. You are no longer Hunar,” Sillman pronounced. “Hunar Suanna. Hunar Mica. Will you bear witness to this sundering?” “We will.” Suanna and Mica spoke with one voice. Yvonne realised that they were just as stony-faced as Sillman. Just as determined. The anger disappeared, crushed by ice that formed through her. It did not feel real. She could not feel the ground under her feet, the air against her face. Nothing was real. No longer a member of the Hundred. No longer a Hunar. “You have brought this on yourself,” Suanna told her, face tight. “We cannot have goblins being part of our secrets.” Yvonne wanted to scream. She was being punished for something she could not remember, and did not understand. And she wanted to shout at Suanna. Guise had more secrets than the entire Hundred put together. Sillman drew a small piece of parchment from the pouch at his waist. Yvonne recognised the sort. The Hundred used them almost daily. It was a prepared spell of some kind. Her whole body tensed. Sillman had planned this. Brought a spell with him, ready to use. He murmured a word, the activation word for the spell, too low for her to catch, and the parchment dissolved into a cloud of green magic that he blew in her direction. The green cascaded over her, blasting across her exposed skin, burrowing its way underneath clothes, wriggling across her body to the place on her shoulder where the symbol of the Hunar glimmered faintly in the light. The symbol that sat in the same place on her shirt, no matter what she was wearing. The little spark of magic that identified her to the world as Hunar. Sillman’s magic caught hold of the symbol, the green flaring and clashing, and she bit off a cry, falling to her knees, as the magic cut not into the cloth of her shirt, but into her skin, boring into her flesh, and carving out the symbol that she had carried for so long, that she had earned through the training she had endured, and the final test, and the years since when she had fulfilled her oaths. To help those in need. To act where it was needed. To not demand payment for the service that she offered, as a Hunar. She wanted to scream. Partly in agony, partly in frustration, partly in grief. She held the cry back between her teeth. The three Hunar in front of her were standing motionless, with stern expressions, watching as the magic Sillman had released bit into her. She had begged once in her life before, faced with feral wulfkin in the filth of a quarrel. It had not done any good. She would not beg again. Not ever. At length, it was done and the agony faded. Her shoulder felt raw. She glanced down to see blood blooming on her shirt and knew that, if she looked underneath, she would find a wound on her skin in the shape of the Firebird, the Hunar’s symbol. Just one more set of scars to add to those she already carried. “You have made your choice. We wish you joy of it.” Sillman said, voice bleak. He turned with the others and got back on their horses, riding away without a backward glance, leaving Yvonne still kneeling on the ground outside her house. She was hot and cold and shaking and frozen and hurt and bleeding and numb all at the same time. Her mind spun around and around and around as she tried to comprehend what had happened, wondering if it had actually happened. Had three of her oldest friends, three of the people she trusted most in the whole world, really just ridden up to her house and torn the symbol of the Hunar from her? Light footsteps sounded behind her. She could not move. She was locked in her kneeling position, staring blindly ahead. Her shoulder was sore. She recognised that, distantly, but could not think what she might do about that. Or even if it was worth doing anything about that. She was no longer Hunar. Sundered, Sillman had said. Dismissed. The words did not make any sense. Nothing made any sense. The sounds echoed inside her, into the great void that had opened up, black and endless. That place where the spark of magic had sat, had