Wavesong, Page 2

  “I do not see how, since the ships that the rebels were building to reach the west coast have been destroyed. Dardelan’s message said there is no chance of landing a force on the west coast for at least another half year.”

  “Not a force, perhaps,” I said, “but I am sure that Dardelan’s request for a plast suit means he will try to send a spy across the Suggredoon.” We were transporting two fragile plast suits, which the Teknoguild had made during the wintertime; one was for Dardelan and the other was for Swallow, the leader of the Twentyfamilies gypsies, as a gift of thanks. Swallow had requested it as a reward for thwarting Malik’s murderous intentions.

  Garth regarded me narrowly. “You are thinking of offering yourself as their spy?”

  I hesitated, but unlike the other guildmasters, Garth regularly flouted the unspoken convention that leaders of guilds ought to keep themselves out of dangerous situations. “It would explain why Maryon sent me to Sutrium,” I finally said.

  The Teknoguildmaster grinned. “Very noble of you to ensure the veracity of the Futuretell guildmistress’s prophecy.” Then he grew serious. “I daresay the others would protest, but it does make sense. After all, you are powerful enough to coerce the guards on the other bank, so you wouldn’t be killed upon climbing from the water. You could also farseek Merret or another trapped Misfit to find out what has been going on there.”

  Garth continued. “I must say I am curious to learn how the Herders managed to sneak a ship into port, burn the rebels’ half-constructed ships, and sneak out again, all unnoticed. And what was the use, since the rebels will simply build more ships anyway?”

  “We will know better once we meet Brydda,” I said.

  “Why don’t you ask Brydda to ride to Saithwold with you? I doubt anyone would have the courage to hinder the Black Dog, even Chieftain Vos.” Garth stumbled a little over the unfamiliar title. Under the old regime, town leaders had been called Councilmen, but the messenger from Sutrium had informed us that the rebel leaders who had replaced the Councilmen were henceforth to be known as chieftains. As their leader, Dardelan was to be known as high chieftain.

  “Maryon did not foresee trouble in Saithwold, but it is true that Vos has no love of Misfits. And Khuria’s letters to Zarak certainly suggest that something is going on there,” I said. “It may be worth stopping at a roadside inn to see if we can glean any gossip about Saithwold.”

  “We can be sure that Vos is unhappy with Dardelan being made high chieftain,” Garth said dryly.

  “I wonder how Malik took it,” I said.

  Garth laughed. “I think it is safe to assume that he loathes it. Not only because he coveted the position himself, but also because he knows that Dardelan will allow us to make formal charges against Malik before the elections.”

  I frowned. “Do you think Malik knows that the soldierguards intend to testify against him?”

  Garth gave me a sardonic look. “I think that Dardelan’s sense of fair play would ensure it.”

  I sighed, realizing he was right. The new high chieftain’s first decree after being elected ultimate leader of the rebels had been that, after a year, he and all the rebel chieftains would step down from their positions to allow the Landfolk to freely elect future chieftains. Rushton had thought this sensible as well as honorable, but like most of us, he thought Dardelan ought to have kept power for a longer period to ensure stability within the new regime. Others felt that Dardelan ought not to have given such an undertaking at all until the west coast had been secured. But the young rebel was as determined as he was honorable, and the elections were looming.

  “Dardelan is not completely naive,” I said. “Otherwise he would not insist upon charging Malik before the elections.”

  Garth grunted. “I think it is only concern for justice that motivates our young high chieftain. I am sure he would say that justice delayed is justice denied. If he was a little more pragmatic, he might have kept the details of his proposed Beast Charter to himself until he had been elected high chieftain. He is well liked, but the idea that no beasts can be owned, that they must be paid for their labor, has alienated most of Dardelan’s supporters and enraged his enemies. It might well cost him the election.”

  “Surely when it comes time to elect their chieftain, people will remember that it was Dardelan who led the rebels in the virtually bloodless coup that rid the Land of the Council and the Herder Faction,” I said.

  “Isn’t it true that Dardelan wants to establish Obernewtyn as a settlement in its own right before the elections?” Garth asked. “If that happens, we will vote for our own chieftain.”

  I nodded. Rushton had been ambivalent about Dardelan’s proposal. Having our own chieftain would give Misfits a voice in running the Land, but it would also require the chieftain of Obernewtyn to travel regularly to Sutrium for Council of Chieftains meetings. It was as obvious to Rushton as to the rest of us that he would be our choice as chieftain, and just as obvious that he did not relish the thought. There had been some discussion of the matter in the last guildmerge. Some said that the proposed new settlement would cause un Talents to resent us even more than they already did. Others worried about transforming what had long been our refuge into a village that anyone could enter. We would have to make a decision before Rushton rode down to Sutrium for the ceremony to formalize the Charter of Laws, which was to take place just before the elections.

  Dardelan wanted us to lay charges against Malik straight after the ceremony and before the elections.

  “Hard to know what is best,” Garth grunted, his thoughts no doubt running along similar lines.

  I said, “In any case, to respond to your suggestion, we will stay the night in the White Valley.”

  “Good,” Garth said. “There are a few things I would like to show you, for I know you have an interest in the past that our good leader does not share.” His expression changed, and before I could extricate myself from the conversation, he added reproachfully, “I must say that is why I was so disappointed when you voted against opening Jacob Obernewtyn’s tomb. Surely you want to know more about the Beforetime Misfits who once dwelt at Obernewtyn? Or how Hannah Seraphim is connected to Rushton?”

  I suppressed a sigh. Garth was aware of my interest in the Beforetimer who had established Obernewtyn, but he did not know why I was interested in her, and of course I could not tell him. I said, “I am not convinced that opening Jacob Obernewtyn’s tomb will add to the sum of our knowledge about the Beforetime or indeed of anything. I see no evidence to suggest there would be diaries or journals kept there.”

  “If it is no more than the resting place for a body, why create such a solid structure, and why set it on an obscure path where there are no other graves?” Garth reasoned. “Do you know that it was even marked on Beforetime maps we found of Obernewtyn’s grounds? And some believe that with Jacob Obernewtyn’s body are not only the records we have been searching for, but Hannah Seraphim’s body as well.”

  “In the same grave?” I demanded skeptically.

  “The Beforetimers did sometimes bury bondmates together, an’ even whole families, though of course nowt at the same time,” Zarak broke in, apologetically. “But if they put more than one person in a grave, there should ha’ been two names on it and the birth and death dates of each.”

  Irritation flickered over the Teknoguildmaster’s ruddy face. “If Hannah Seraphim died during or soon after the Great White, as we surmise, I doubt there would have been a stone-carver handy to chisel another name into the gravestone. And if Hannah is not in that grave, then where is she?” This last was directed sharply at me.

  Before I could frame an answer, Garth looked back at Zarak. “Besides, the Beforetimers did not always date graves. Jacob Obernewtyn’s was undated.”

  “Maybe dates seemed pointless after the Great White,” I murmured, but neither of them heard me.

  “Maybe Hannah Seraphim was away from Obernewtyn when the Great White came,” Zarak said. “She might have been visitin
’ the Reichler Clinic Reception Center under Tor. There would ha’ been a lot of coming and gannin’ betwixt the two places.”

  “Even if I had voted to open the grave, Garth, all the other guildleaders still would have refused you, just as on every other occasion you’ve raised the matter since the grave was found.”

  Garth scowled. “True enough. If Maryon would just—”

  “She is entitled to her opinion and her visions,” I said evenly. Inwardly, I cringed at my hypocrisy, for I had often wished the Futuretell guildmistress would keep her thoughts and visions to herself.

  Garth was not diverted. “The trouble is that the others are overly swayed by her opinions, because they imagine them to be based on futuretell visions that she chooses not to divulge,” he growled. “Without her influence, I am sure I could have convinced the guildmerge to see it my way.”

  “Maybe she is basin’ her resistance on things she has foreseen,” Zarak suggested.

  Fortunately, at this moment, we reached the scree ramp down to the White Valley. Zarak dismounted, pulled aside the woven foliage that obscured it, and scrambled down. The two wagons followed slowly, steadied by Zade and Belya, and checked by ropes belayed around tree trunks, paid out slowly by Gahltha, Lo, and the big piebald, Welt. When the others were all safely down, I drew the foliage screen back in place.

  Once on the floor of the valley, I felt less anxious, though I was never able to feel entirely at ease here. Nor was I alone in this. The White Valley was generally regarded as being cursed by numerous tormented Beforetime wraiths. And maybe it was, I thought soberly. I did not know what had stood here in the Beforetime or what had become of it, but the valley attracted trouble like a lodestone attracts steel. The renegade Herder Henry Druid had established a secret encampment here, which had been wiped out by a terrible firestorm. I, too, would have died here, if not for the intervention of the mysterious Agyllian birds who had taught my body to heal itself. And here in the White Valley, Malik had betrayed us.

  But cursed or not, the White Valley was undeniably beautiful. The trees were a delicate haze of bright new green around damp charcoal-black trunks and branches, and shoots and buds burst from the rich dark earth on all sides. The ground was soft, so we kept to the stone-studded track laid by the teknoguilders. This soon brought us to an avenue where the branches of trees had been interwoven overhead, creating a green tunnel. I guessed that Garth had commanded this new arrangement to conceal the track, part of which had been visible from the ridge road. If anything, the Teknoguildmaster was more concerned now about Landfolk stumbling onto his guild’s research site than before the Council had been overthrown.

  Because the wagons were hard to haul over the uneven track, we were all walking now, except Katlyn, Darius, and the two soldierguards. Louis Larkin walked behind them with Dragon, while Garth strode ahead, eager to reach his guild’s new settlement at the foot of Tor. His intention was to make a formal claim on the land where it stood, including the cavern leading to the submerged Beforetime city under Tor, which we now knew as Newrome.

  “I always think of Jik when I come here,” said Zarak, catching up with me. “If I had nowt been farseeking without a guide an’ without permission, I would nivver have made contact with him, and we nivver would have brought him out of his cloister in Darthnor. He would nivver have come here to die.”

  “Do you think he would have fared well among Herders?” I asked. “Something more dreadful may have happened if he had remained in the cloister.”

  “More dreadful than dying in a firestorm?” Zarak asked in a low voice.

  “Jik was terrified of being taken to Herder Isle. He said the priests knew about Misfits and experimented on them. Maybe if he had stayed in the cloister, that would have happened to him.”

  Zarak was silent for a time, then he said, “Why do ye suppose they took some Misfits an’ burned others like they did seditioners?”

  “Jik said they were always more interested in children with Misfit powers and that some abilities interested them more than others.”

  “Maybe they wanted to train them to catch us,” Zarak suggested.

  “Maybe they used them to help create demon bands,” I suggested.

  Zarak made no response, and when I glanced at him, he was looking at me. For a moment, I saw myself as he must: a long lean woman with a tight-bound plait and overly serious moss-green eyes. I said gently, “Do not blame yourself for Jik’s death, Zar. Many things happened to bring him here, not simply the foolish disobedience of one young farseeker.”

  “Do ye remember that dog Jik insisted we rescue with him?” Zarak said suddenly, half smiling. “He was th’ ugliest creature I ever saw.”

  “The Herders breed them to look like that,” I said. “Darga.”

  “Yes, that was his name. I had forgotten.” Zarak gave me a look of curiosity that I pretended not to notice. It was generally assumed that Darga had perished with Jik in the firestorm, but the Agyllian birds that saved my life claimed he lived. They said he would return when it was time for me to leave Obernewtyn to undertake the final stage of my quest—to destroy the deadly weaponmachines left by the Beforetimers.

  I had been waiting so many years for that moment that I sometimes wondered if it would ever come.

  Zarak had drawn ahead, no doubt discouraged by my silence, but Kella took his place. I glanced at her, wondering if she would regret leaving Obernewtyn to run the healing center she had established in the old Sutrium Herder cloister during the rebel uprising. She and Dardelan had developed a genuine liking and respect for each other during that time, so it was hardly surprising when he asked her to come and run the center and establish a teaching facility for healers. But Kella’s acceptance had startled me.

  Roland, the Healer guildmaster, had been enthusiastic about his guilden’s new venture, and Rushton, too, praised it as an excellent way of further impressing ordinary Landfolk with the usefulness of Misfit abilities. I seemed to be alone in feeling that Kella’s departure marked the end of an era. Of course, it was time for us to live in the Land openly. Wasn’t that what we had fought and longed for? Yet my heart ached for the days when Obernewtyn had been our secret refuge, just as it had been for the Beforetime Misfits.

  Kella gave me a quizzical look, no doubt sensing something of my feelings.

  “I was just thinking of the Beforetimers,” I told her quickly.

  To my surprise, she bridled fiercely. “We are not like them. We would never do to our world what they did to theirs.”

  Would we not? I wondered morosely. Or was it only that we did not have the ability to destroy as efficiently as they had?

  2

  I HEARD A shout and looked up to see the slender, brown-haired teknoguilder Fian burst through the trees with loud halloos that scattered birds from nearby bushes. Garth beckoned to him impatiently and they spoke, then the Teknoguildmaster strode on, and Fian came beaming to greet me.

  At Obernewtyn, I was accustomed to being honored and held in awe for my powers and for what I had done, but I was unused to being liked. Yet Fian liked me. In part, he knew me better than most, having taken part in several farseeker rescues that I had led; moreover, the year he had spent in Sador with the Empath guildmaster, Dameon, had given him an independence of thought and attitude that allowed him to see everyone as an equal, despite differences in rank and power. I valued his friendship as well as his cleverness and un-failing good humor. The fact that he had also unwittingly adopted several of Dameon’s mannerisms only endeared him to me more, for the Empath guildmaster was my closest friend.

  “Is Dameon nowt with ye?” Fian asked, as if he had read the name in my thoughts. He nodded a smile to Dragon, who shrank behind Kella.

  “Dameon has decided he would rather ride to Sutrium with Rushton and the coercer-knights next sevenday,” I said.

  Fian’s eyes widened. “Did ye say he would ride?”

  I nodded. “He has been practicing with Faraf, and he wants to see how well he can m
anage. She knows he is blind, of course, and that she must be his eyes.” I spoke as if it was a minor detail, but in fact I wondered very much why Dameon had become so determined to ride when he had always seemed satisfied with being driven in wagons. I could not believe it had anything to do with the case against the cousin who, in order to inherit his property, had reported Dameon to the Council as a Misfit. There were many such cases now, as people who had been dispossessed of their property sued for its return.

  “What will Dameon do if he gets his farm back?” Fian asked curiously. “I canna believe he wants to run it himself.”

  “He means to establish it as a cooperative farm run jointly by beasts and un Talented humans. He hopes ordinary Landfolk will see that it is possible to work with beasts to our mutual advantage, even without Misfit translators. It is a brilliant idea. I am only sorry that it will not be established in time for the elections.”

  “Alad thinks Dardelan ought to present the Charter of Laws and his Beast Charter at the same time.”

  I shook my head. “If he did, both would be rejected. By keeping the two charters separate, no matter what happens in the elections, Dardelan will have at least established a basic set of good and fair laws for the Land. And people who dislike the idea of rights for beasts might still vote for him, since Dardelan is known for listening to the opinions of many different people and might be talked out of it.”

  “He’ll nowt change his mind,” Fian said stoutly.

  I smiled. “I don’t think so either.”

  More teknoguilders came toward us now, but my attention was caught by the long, low, curving building I could see in the clearing beyond them. Constructed from wood and stone, it faced the section of the Suggredoon River from whence I had once set off on a raft to escape the renegade Herder Henry Druid. I had a fleeting but vivid memory of the gallant, red-haired druid armsman Gilbert. He had been one of the few to survive the firestorm that had killed his master.