Free Between Worlds: the Collected Ile-Rien and Cineth Stories by Martha Wells Page A

younger
husbands.
    The only boy in the group was a little younger than
Ilias; shouting with excitement, he ran past the man and was scooped up and
captured, laughing delightedly. An older girl ran up to show the woman a beaded
bracelet she must have just bought. The woman took the girl’s hand to examine
it, and the man leaned over to give it serious attention, the struggling boy
still tucked easily under one arm.
    Watching them, Ilias was torn between cynicism and a
twist of bitter envy that soured his stomach, though he wasn’t sure where it
had come from. The adults actually seemed to be enjoying the company of the
children, something he viewed with equal parts fascination and skepticism.
    Castor’s sandaled feet suddenly appeared and his
brother said, “There he is. That’s the new Chosen Vessel.”
    Ilias pushed to his feet, shaking dusty hair out of
his eyes, frowning. He and Castor both came from inland Syprian lines, with
light-colored hair and short stocky frames. Except Ilias had always been judged
prettier by everyone in the family. His hair made long curls even when it was
dirty, and Castor just looked like he was wearing a dusty mop. “Him?” he said
with cautious approval, eyeing the man across the plaza.
    The old Chosen Vessel, Livia, had been killed last
year. Ilias had only known her well enough to recognize her in the market, but
she had been Chosen Vessel his whole life, and he had hidden under his and
Castor’s bed and cried the night the word had come of her death. He had heard
the poets’ stories and knew the Chosen Vessel was given to the city by the
local god. Its gift to the Vessel was the ability to see curses and track them
back to the wizards who came to kill and snatch people away. Even Livia’s
presence in the town had been enough to keep away the dark creatures, the
curselings the wizards created to come out in the night and destroy whole
villages. Her death had made going out at dusk to help get the sheep and goats
into the pens a test of Ilias’ courage; every moment he had expected something
horrible to jump out of the brush, either to eat him or carry his family off to
be a wizard’s slaves. That was a fate he didn’t even wish on Castor or his
oldest sister Niale.
    It hadn’t been until days later that someone had
finally explained that Menander, the Chosen Vessel from the Uplands, would
protect Cineth until the new Vessel was ready to take up Livia’s duties, and
that it was the god’s presence that kept the curselings away. Ilias had been
relieved and desperate to hide it from Castor. Pretending he knew what he was
talking about, he said now, “He looks like a good one.”
    “Not the man, shithead. That’s Ranior, he was lawgiver
years ago. The boy’s the new Vessel.” Castor looked down at him with utter
contempt. “The god doesn’t choose Vessels that are already grown.”
    Ilias rolled his eyes in exasperation, pretending he
knew that. He had known it, actually, but in his limited experience Chosen
Vessels were like lawgivers and warleaders; older people, with gray hair and
lines on their faces. It was hard to remember that the new Chosen Vessel would
start out as a child. “I know that. I meant the boy.”
    “Did not.” Castor aimed a shove at him, which Ilias
easily ducked. Castor’s natural instinct to bully his younger siblings had been
thwarted; though Ilias was smaller, he was already stronger, as Castor had been
sickly for the first years of his life. Ilias was also an expert in dirty
fighting; his cousin Amari, who had three elder sisters who had apparently been
trying to murder her since birth, had taught him everything she knew. Ilias’
older sisters were all too old to bully their youngest brother, but it helped
keep Castor humble.
    Watching Castor glare at him, Ilias could tell “the
god eats children” lie was about to make another appearance, as a last-ditch
attempt to make Ilias feel young and stupid.
    But as Castor opened his mouth, Ilias’