Fian leaned across and asked if I had the piece of writing I had wanted him to translate. After a slight hesitation, I produced my copy of the rubbing. He leaned close to a candle to study it.
Jakoby bent over his shoulder. “What does it say?” she asked the teknoguilder.
“The lettering is not very well scribed,” Fian complained. “There’s something about a way, and that word means ‘need’ or ‘must.’ I think that is a name. Ka…Karada?”
Alarmed, I said quickly that a feast was no place to begin a translation and that I’d thank him to put the paper away until he was sober.
“I haven’t had any ale,” Fian said, giving me an injured look, but to my relief, he returned the copy to its wax pouch and slipped it into his pocket. I had probably overreacted, but I had feared he would translate aloud the name Kasanda.
“Where did you see these words?” Jakoby asked.
“I dreamed them,” I said lightly.
“What was the dream?”
“I was looking at…at a carving,” I said, deciding to stay as close to the truth as I dared. “That’s where these were scribed. When I woke, I wrote down what I remembered. I don’t suppose it will make much sense, but it irks my curiosity.”
“Maybe you saw words in the Earthtemple when you were there and remembered them in your dream,” Bruna said.
“I believe the overguardian would not have shown me anything I should not have seen,” I said, responding to her somewhat accusatory tone.
“That is so,” Jakoby said. “The Temple is very protective of its secrets.”
Bruna tossed her shapely head, making the beads and clips in her hair clank together, and I pitied Dardelan if he did care for the moody little hellcat. A strong longing for Rushton smote me.
Jakoby gracefully declined requests for another song, volunteering Bruna instead. The girl acquiesced with bad grace, but her voice turned out to be surprisingly sweet. Her manner might be brusque and arrogant, but her voice was pure sunlight and honey.
Rising sometime later, I asked Jak if we could see his workshop before we returned to Obernewytn. Harad and Bruna immediately protested that they were too full to move, and after some discussion, it was decided that the Sadorians would stay the night. I took my leave and followed the Teknoguilden back down the short hall to his museum room. On the other side of it, behind a long tapestry, there was a doorway.
“The tapestry keeps the dampish air I need in my workroom from getting into the museum,” Jak explained. His workroom proved to be a small, dank cavern with one flat wall against which his workbench and a host of shelves were built. Clusters of bottles hung on hooks, filled with coruscating masses of glows. Their combined light was dazzling. “I am trying to breed them,” Jak said. He indicated a series of tanks, where more glowing insects crawled over several lumps of metal.
“What are they doing?”
“Feeding,” Jak said. “That is mildly tainted metal.”
“Tainted!” I drew back in alarm.
“Mildly tainted,” Jak stressed. “You would have to handle it a great deal before the skin would absorb enough to do any harm. And it is a lot less tainted now than when I brought the stuff in.”
“Where did you get it?” I asked disapprovingly.
“Ah, well. I got it from the ruins on the edge of the Blacklands, but they are not dangerous unless you spend a lot of time there. I am not so in love with the idea of my death to lie about that. I’ve too much work to do to waste time even being sick.”
“All right, let’s say for the moment that it’s true the ruins are not very dangerous. You should still not be there, because guildmerge forbade it.”
“I know,” Jak said, but he did not look contrite. “I wanted to see what would happen if I bred some of the insects to tolerate a drier climate—hardier insects that could live out in the open if need be. We could set them to cleaning up the Blacklands. The problem is that any sun is quite deadly to them, so we would have to breed them to be nocturnal feeders.” He gave me a penetrating look. “Years ago, I dreamed of the Great White destroying the land, spilling its poisons. It has haunted me since, and if I can help heal what has been done, I would count my life well spent.”
I nodded, understanding even better than he how much harm had been done. “You ought to put in a formal request to spend some time in the ruins.”
I asked then if I could look at the plasts his guild had unearthed that had any mention of flamebirds. He rummaged obligingly in a trunk under the bench and handed me a slippery pile.
“There are only a few mentions, and they’re scattered. Why don’t you just take the plasts back to Obernewtyn with you? Someone can collect them later.”
I said good night and, donning my cloak, farsent Gahltha. Outside, mist swirled along the ground, wet and heavy, and my breath came out in white puffs.
Gahltha appeared like a dark ghost.
“I am sorry I was so long,” I sent once we were on our way. “You must be worried about Avra.”
He tossed his head. “Avra had no fear/worry for the foaling. Maybe it is the mother/nature to feel so, but I am no dam calmed by nature.” I sensed he did not wish to speak of Avra anymore, and I looked up at the sky. We had come high enough on the winding forest trail to rise above the cloying mist, and I was pleased to see the spine of stars running across a cloudless night sky.
Gahltha interrupted my meandering thoughts to ask if I would mind if he galloped. When I agreed, he leapt forward, and for a time the pace was too great for any thought other than those connected with riding. I flattened myself against his back, my cheek pressed to his hot neck, and concentrated on becoming a part of his flowing movement. Time seemed to blur and ceased to have any meaning as we sped over the ground. We might have ridden hours or minutes before we broke out of the trees, but still Gahltha did not slow. We galloped along the open path and plunged through the farm gate at a speed that would have been dangerous at any reasonable hour.
Outside the barns, Gahltha reared up and pawed the mist with a whinny of exaltation before stopping.
I slid from his back, laughing. “That was a wild ride!”
“There is no better way to chase fears away,” Gahltha sent, nudging me affectionately before trotting off to find his mate.
13
I WOKE THE next morning with Maruman patting a velveted paw against my cheek. My first thought was that Angina had succeeded in constraining Dragon’s mind, for my sleep had been undisturbed.
“You must not go back to sleep. Mornirdragon grows restless as feelmusic weakens,” Maruman advised.
I rolled over to stare at the old cat. He was curled into my pillow, his single yellow eye gleaming in the dimness of the shuttered chamber. “I’m glad to see you awake. I was worried.”
“Mornirdragon did not mean harm/hurt to Maruman yelloweyes,” he sent.
“But she did hurt you,” I sent. “You saved me and I thank you for it.”
Maruman made a sniffing sound. “ElspethInnle came late last night. I wakened….” He sent a picture of Ceirwan and Freya, whom I’d asked to watch him in my absence. They were sitting side by side before the fire, their heads close together. The image shimmered with his irritation, but I smiled to see Freya’s head droop into the curve of the young guilden’s neck.
The picture vanished in another flash of irritation.
“Human mating,” Maruman jeered. “So long-winding.”
I lay watching him until I remembered what day it was. Not only moon-fair day, but also the day Rushton would come home! Suddenly wide awake, I slipped out of bed and hurried across the room to open the shutters. The day was as fair as we could have wished, the sky blue and cloudless. I grinned and hugged myself.
Traditionally, on moon-fair mornings, Ceirwan sent some of the younger farseekers up with a special firstmeal for me, a mark of honor to the sender, even though it was truly my pleasure. But it was much too early to worry about disappointing them with an empty room. I slipped on
my robe and padded in woolen slippers down the stairs and along the halls. The bathing room was empty, which pleased me, and although it usually meant I had to stoke the furnace and wait for the water to heat before bathing, it had already been done. No doubt Javo and Katlyn had been up since dawn and had sent one of their kitchen helpers to tend to it.
I turned a spout and undressed as the end barrel nearest the window filled up. Closing the valve, I threw in a handful of sweet-scented bathing spices and climbed in with a sigh of pleasure. I thought blissfully that any worry that could not be eased by a gallop with Gahltha or a hot bath must be truly grim.
I returned to the turret room with my hair wound into a sodden turban and pulled a seat into the sun. I forced myself to concentrate on toweling it, combing the tangles out and rubbing in a slippery herbal liquid Katlyn had given me as a gift to make it shine. Then I fetched the pile of plasts Jak had lent me, Tomash’s rough chart, and the heavy dream journal Dell had sent up. Settling myself so that the weight of my hair caught the sun’s direct rays, I grabbed the pile of plasts resolutely. I did not feel like reading them, but better that than worrying endlessly about Rushton.
He will come, I told myself, and focused my mind on the plasts. A brief riffle through made it clear most were similar to other Reichler Clinic plasts, ostensibly advertising the Clinic while downplaying its successes. Written between the lines was the offer of friendship and help to anyone with Misfit abilities. They were cleverly composed missives, and I wondered exactly who had put them together.
I spotted a mention of Govamen and flamebirds.
Govamen are using flamebirds for their experiments, which naturally outrages animal welfare groups, as the birds are virtually on the edge of extinction. The director of the institute handling the research says that scientists chose the bird for the very qualities that have endangered it and that their team is not the cause
The plast ended suddenly, indicating that it was part of a longer document. There was no telling who it had been to or from, nor its purpose.
I glanced over the other plasts until I found another mentioning the birds.
Demands by animal welfare groups for a review of the breeding program and for the opportunity to monitor the experimental use of the flamebirds were met with a refusal by head of security at the institute, Mr. Petr Masterton. He reminded reporters that as the research was being conducted by an organization employed by the World Council, it must be assumed to have the highest moral and ethical standards.
Petr Masterton! I reread the name in disbelief, thinking back to my memory dream. Seeing the name here was proof positive that Cassy had lived at the same time as Hannah and the Reichler Clinic and that she had been connected to the Govamen that had kidnapped Misfits from the Reichler Clinic.
I flicked through the remaining plasts but found only one other mention of the birds, a description that confirmed conclusively that they were the Agyllians in the Beforetime, if I had doubted it.
I laid the plasts aside and turned my attention to Tomash’s work. Unscrolling his rough-inked map of the Land, I looked for the information he had added about individual Councilmen’s holdings. Radost’s sons, Moss and Bergold, were written in neatly, their territories marked out to show their common border. Tomash had written in tiny script that Moss had elected to extend Darthnor’s mining into his holding and eventually to open a smelter that would process his private mine yield as well as that of the Darthnor mines. Currently, Darthnor mines sent all their ore to the west coast to be processed.
Bergold had elected to transform his holding into orchard land. Later he would sell the fresh fruit, as well as dried and bottled fruit and sauces. In brackets, Tomash had written that his sister, Analivia, dwelt with him.
I let my eyes run farther over the map. The Councilmen used their holdings in a variety of ways, from farming, logging, and horse breeding to establishments for dye works and smelting. Radost operated a slaughterhouse in Sutrium. On the west coast, where there was little arable land, fishing was key, with Councilmen owning small fishing fleets and fish-drying plants.
At the map’s bottom were further notes explaining that in addition to their land holdings, all the Councilmen had interests in numerous smaller concerns that brought them a small but steady trickle of coin. Many Councilmen also had money sunk in businesses within the cities they ruled. They used their positions shamelessly to advance their interests and to extinguish rivalry and competition, with the notable exception of Noviny in Saithwold, a man who seemed, by all reports, to be just and good and widely respected in his area.
A timid knock at the door roused me. I sat up and farsent an invitation, whereupon a beaming Aras entered, accompanied by a wide-eyed child with corn-flower blue eyes and a curly mop of dark hair. I racked my mind to think of the child’s name as they deposited their trays.
“Twyna,” Ceirwan farsent, for, of course, he had been following their progress. “She is Lina’s younger sister an’ has slight farseekin’ Talent.”
I invited them to drink a sip of preserved berry juice to celebrate the start of moon-fair day. The toast was a tradition, and the tray Aras bore held a tiny silver jug and three glasses kept especially for this purpose.
I suggested Aras make the toast, and she flushed with pleasure. “To this day, Guildmistress. That it be bright, and with it, all the days thereafter.”
It was gracefully said, but a grim part of my mind knew that all days were not ever going to be bright. The most you could expect was that there would be more bright days than dark ones. Repressing a swirl of superstitious unease, I clinked glasses with them and we drank. Twyna drank so fast she almost choked, and Aras pounded her between the shoulder blades.
“Killing yourself would be a bad omen to bring to the day,” I chided.
“She’s nervous,” Aras explained, putting her arm about the smaller girl. Then she smiled shyly. “I am, too, a bit. I did not know I would be the one to come up in Ceirwan’s place. It’s too great an honor for me.”
“Never,” I said firmly. “We are very pleased with how hard you have worked and how much you have put into the new mindmerge, not to mention coming up with it in the first place.”
Aras’s eyes sparkled. “I really think we are on the verge of it working,” she said. “Zarak and I have been practicing and practicing in our spare time.”
“Zarak?”
She nodded, her smile disappearing. “I know you are angry with him because of how he was last time in the practice, Guildmistress, but he is very good usually.”
“He lets ambition cloud his mind,” I said coolly.
“No, indeed,” Aras said earnestly. “In fact, just yesterday, he was at me to agree to be a ward, because he thinks I am the only one fit for filling Matthew’s shoes. I said he ought to be one, because he was more Talented, and he said Talent was the smaller part of being a ward. He said you had to be fit for it in your heart and soul, and he was the least fit of all in those things.” She shrugged her bemusement, but I was well pleased.
When they had gone, I lifted the cover on my tray and smiled to find a stack of golden pancakes dripping with butter and honey-syrup, and another jug of preserved blackberry cordial. There were also bowls of cream and soft cheese for Maruman. I set these on the ground near the fire, thinking he would sniff his way to them when he was hungry enough.
I sipped at my cordial and flipped over the more recent pages of the futuretellers’ master dream journal. Individual dreamers were only identified by guild and Talents—perhaps I had misjudged Maryon’s ability to recognize people’s sensitivity about their dreams. There were a good number of entries featuring the dragon, though never in any particularly threatening way unless Matthew or I were also in the dream, in which case we were the only targets of the beast’s aggression.
I read:
I dreamed of Matthew, who was Farseeker ward before he was taken away by slavers. He looked older than I remember, and he was standing with a girl who had long moon-pa
le hair and a sad face. The girl was weeping, and he was comforting her. A big stout man with a beard came to them. “You can’t stand out here like this,” he said. “They don’t like seeing us acting human. It makes them feel guilty, and that makes them angry because to them, we are dumb beasts who have no right to feelings.”
“One day they will learn that neither we nor beasts are dumb,” Matthew said.
The big man scowled at him. “Such talk will get us all whipped or killed.”
Then the dragon flew at them, and I woke as it caught hold of Matthew.
Leafing on, I came to another mention of Matthew.
I dreamed of a building like the Councilcourt, only twenty times more grand and made of reddish stone all carved into lions and bears and other beasts. It stood in the midst of a dense city with packed-earth streets rather than proper paving stones or gravel. All of the buildings looked to be of reddish stone or mud bricks, and none ever rose more than two levels above the street, except this one. It was so hot you could imagine they never had to think of mud or slush or even snow. There was no grass or trees anywhere.
I saw the Farseeker ward Matthew with some other men. They were all carrying heavy loads of rocks in baskets and wore sandals and short skirts belted at the waist. They brought their loads into the courtyard of the biggest building, and as they laid them down, Matthew gave a gasp. He was staring at one of the walls, but I could not see what had caught his attention.
“What’s the matter with you?” one of his companions asked him.
“Th’ woman in th’ carving…she…she reminds me of someone…,” he stammered.
The other man laughed, but his face was so sad it seemed more like weeping. “Would that you had seen that woman, for she is our queen vanished these long years past. It is said she will return to us one day.”
The Keeping Place Page 16
