We passed onto the low westernmost slopes of the Brown Haw Rises, hillocky and undulant—I was astounded to discover how much I knew of land I had never seen. My father had talked a good deal of these places. He had traveled much in the Land before he bonded with my mother. Sometimes he had seated me on his knee and shown me colored pictures that he called maps. He would point to places, tell me their names, and explain what they were like.
We passed a small moor, wetter and more dense than Glenelg, and I peered through the leafy eben trees along the roadside at the mist-wreathed expanse. There had been no moors in Rangorn, but I recognized this from my father’s descriptions. He had said the mists never went away but were always fed by some hissing subterranean source. He thought the moors were caused by some inner disturbance in the earth, yet another legacy of the Great White.
My mother had said good herbs always grew near the moors; she came from the high country and knew a great deal about herb lore. I thought of the great, white-trunked trees that had stood on the hillside around our house. Were they still there, though the house had long ago been reduced to ashes? I remembered my mother making me listen to the whispering sounds of the trees; the rich, shadowed glades where we collected mushrooms and healing flowers; and the summer brambles laden with fat berries, dragging over the bank of our favorite swimming hole. I thought of standing with my father and looking down from the hills to where the Ford of Rangorn met the onrush of the Suggredoon, and the distant, grayish glint of a Blacklands lake.
And I remembered the burning of my mother and father, in the midst of all the beauty of Rangorn. Perhaps that was what Jes remembered most, what had made him so cold and strange in recent times.
As the late-afternoon sun slanted through the window of the carriage, we halted briefly at a wayside hostel, and a new coachman came to take the place of the other. The hostel was just outside a village called Guanette, and I felt a jolt at the name. It made me think of Maruman, and I wondered if he had understood that I really was going away for good.
We rode on, and I saw that the village consisted mostly of small stone-wrought hovels with shingled roofs. They looked ancient and had probably been erected during the Age of Chaos. Their stolidity seemed a response to the turmoiled past.
Laughter drifted in through the windows as we rode by children who scrabbled in pools of dust along the roadway. They looked up indifferently as we passed. I was once like them, I thought rather bitterly, until the Council had taken a hand.
The carriage jerked suddenly to a halt, and the coachman dismounted. We had stopped outside yet another hostel called The Green Tree.
After a long time, he came back, unlocked a window, and threw a soft parcel to me. “Supper,” he grunted in a curious accent. Impulsively, I asked him if I could sit outside and eat.
He hesitated, then unlocked the door. “Out yer get, then,” he said.
Thanking him profusely, I did as he bade, and he relocked the carriage, muttering about children. I stood blinking at him. “Go round th’ back. Ye can eat there. Mind ye don’t wander.” Thanking him again, I hastened away, thinking many of the late-night callers at my father’s house had spoken like this, with a slow, singsong lilt. They had looked like this man, too, gnarled and brown with kind eyes.
There was a pretty, unkempt garden out behind the hostel, and I scoured it for a spot under one of the trees.
“Least you/Elspeth could do is share food/meal,” came a plaintive thought. I jumped to my feet in fright, dropping the food parcel. Maruman rushed forward and sniffed it tenderly. “Now look what you have done.”
I stared at him, unable to believe my eyes. “What … how did you get here?” Maruman gave me a sly cat-look and fell to tearing at the parcel. I sat back, my own appetite forgotten.
“I came with you,” he told me as he ate. “In the box with wheels, on the back. I am very clever,” he added smugly.
I burst out laughing; then I looked around in fright, because my laughter had sounded so loud.
“You took a terrible risk,” I sent. “What if you had been seen?”
“I had to come/follow,” he sent. “Innle must be protected.”
I looked into his eyes, but there was no sign of madness. “You won’t be able to come all the way to Obernewtyn,” I sent. “The carriage goes over tainted ground.”
“I will stay here, and you will come to me.”
I shook my head impatiently. “Obernewtyn is like a cage. I won’t be allowed to do as I please.”
Unperturbed, Maruman began cleaning one of his paws. “You will come,” he sent at last. “Maruman does not like the mountains. I smell the white there.”
“Well, how will you live here?” I asked him.
He gave me a scornful look; Maruman had, after all, lived a good many years before meeting me. Just the same, I reflected, he was not a young cat, and then there were his fits of madness. Finishing his ablutions, he curled in my lap and went to sleep.
I thought of what I had said to Daffyd, the boy in the Councilcourt. I had not meant it then, but now I seriously considered escaping. I could run off; it would be far easier here than it would have been in Sutrium. I could find work in some remote hamlet and keep Maruman with me. The thought of escape made me feel breathless.
My mother once had bought a wild bird from an old man who caught the poor things. We hadn’t much money, but she had a soft heart. He had given her the oldest bird, an ugly creature he had had for some time. She had opened the cage to let it fly away. But it was a poor half-starved thing and would not go even when prodded. It died there, huddled in the corner of the cage. My mother had said it had been caged for too long. Neither Jes nor I had understood then, but I wondered if, like that bird, I had been caged too long to contemplate freedom.
A voice called my name. Maruman woke immediately. He leapt from my knee and melted into the shadows just as the coachman and a woman came onto the porch of the hostel. The old man blinked, and I sensed he had seen Maruman, but he said nothing. The woman turned to him. “Just as well for you that she did not wander away.” She flicked her hand at me. “Get into the carriage.”
I followed them to the road with an inward sigh, noticing the horses had been changed. The woman climbed heavily into the seat and glared at me as she settled herself.
“I am Guardian Hester,” she said.
I waited, but she seemed to feel it was beneath her to say more. She yawned several times and soon seemed bored. Eventually she took a small vial from her pocket, uncorked it, and drank the contents. I recognized the bitter odor of the sleep drug. In a short time, she was dozing.
After leaving Guanette, the country grew steadily steeper. The road was still well cobbled, but it became progressively more narrow and winding. The coachman maneuvered carefully around the bends, for on one side was a sharp drop to a darkly wooded valley extending as far as the eye could see. It was slow going, and after about an hour, he pulled the coach over to the right of the road to fetch the horses water from a spring. I called out to him.
“Hey,” he grumbled as he came to the window and peered in at me. “Is that my name, then?”
“I’m sorry. No one tells us names. Can I ride up there with you?”
Predictably he shook his head, peering in at the guardian’s sleeping form. “If ye were alone, maybe I would let ye,” he said softly. “But if she were to waken an’ see ye gone …” He shook his head in anticipation of the coals of wrath that would be heaped on his head.
“But she won’t wake for hours. She took some of that sleep stuff.” I poked her hard to show him I spoke the truth.
He ruminated for a moment, then took out his keys.
“Oh, thank you,” I gasped, astounded at my luck.
“Well fine of me it is,” he agreed. “But she better not wake, or I’ll be in deep troubles.” He finished watering the horses while I capered in the crisp highland air. “Enoch,” the coachman said suddenly.
“Pardon?” I said.
&nb
sp; “Enoch, girl,” he repeated. “That’s my name.” He helped me up onto the seat beside him, and I felt a thrill as he clicked his tongue and the coach began to move.
“My name …,” I began to say, then stopped. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to know my name. Misfits, after all, weren’t supposed to be quite human.
“Your name?” he prompted; encouraged, I told him. He nodded and then pointed to the valley to the west. “That’s the White Valley.”
I stared, thinking that Maruman would not like the name. Enoch went on. “Many have gone to that valley in search of refuge, but it ain’t a friendly place. Strange animals rove there, an’ they don’t love men.”
“Maybe that’s where Henry Druid perished,” I said, to see how he would respond.
The old man gave me a sharp look. “Accordin’ to yon Council, he died in the highlands, true enow, an’ some say they have seen his ghost walk. Me, I dinna believe in ghosts.” He saw my quick look of interest, and his expression went bland.
I looked at the wood and wondered whether the Druid still lived.
“That were a fine cat,” the coachman said presently. “Some don’t like cats. Reckon they’re incapable of love or loyalty, but I dinna agree. A cat can love, fierce as any beast.”
“He’s not a very pretty cat,” I said hesitantly.
The old man grinned. “All that’s fine is nowt necessarily fair. Look at me. But as a matter of fact, I thought that cat a handsome creature.” He glanced at me. “I’ve a good mind to have a bit of a look for him. Maybe he’d fancy living with me. Of course, he might not take to me.”
“Oh, he will!” I cried. “I am sure of it.”
The coachman grinned and nodded, and we rode for some distance in companionable silence. Perhaps Enoch would find Maruman. I hoped so.
The valley was lost to sight at last as we wound into the mountains. “That stuff would kill a pig,” said the coachman. He jerked his head back to where the guardian slept. “Now, me mam gave us herbs when we couldn’t sleep. Good natural things. That were good enough for us.”
“But herb lore is banned,” I said.
He looked taken aback. “An’ so it is. Damned if I didn’t forget fer a minute. But it weren’t so when I were a lad.” He paused, seemingly struck by the oddness of something that had been a good thing in his youth but which had since become evil in the eyes of the community. Finally, he sighed as if the problem were unresolvable. “Things were different then,” he said.
Looking around, he pointed again to where we had come back into the open. The mountains hid the White Valley from us, but there was a broad plain on the other side of the road. “Th’ land hereabout is Darthnor, and th’ village of Darthnor is that way,” Enoch said, nodding to the east. I stared but could see no sign of any settlement. “ ’Tis a strange place,” he said, “an’ I say so even though I were born there. None dwell in these parts but a few shepherds. Those in the village are mostly miners, but I reckon th’ ground here is tainted, so I dinna go under it as me father did before me.” He looked sad. Then his expression sharpened and he brought the coach to a halt.
“Ye’ll have to get in now. Soon we come to tainted ground, an’ the vapors are pure poison,” he said.
Regretfully I climbed down and held the horses while the coachman tied rags around their noses and faces, and bags on their hooves.
“Won’t you get sick?” I asked. He shook his head, saying that he would be all right for the short time we would be on tainted earth. Nonetheless, he tied a scarf around his face before leading me back to the carriage.
Suddenly he gave a shout and pointed up. I looked but saw nothing.
“That were a Guanette bird,” he explained. “Ye missed it, an’ that’s a shame, for ’tis a rare sight.”
“A Guanette bird?” I gaped, thinking I had misheard him. “I thought they were extinct.”
Enoch shook his head. “Nowt extinct, but I guess it might be better to be thought so. They’re rare, and rare things are hunted. That village back there were named after them by the first Master of Obernewtyn, Sirrah Lukas Seraphim. A grand queer man he must have been to make his home up there with the Blacklands all round. His grandson is master up there now.”
There was a subtly different note in his voice at the mention of the present Master of Obernewtyn.
“Have you seen him?” I asked, hoping to elicit further information.
“He never comes down from the mountains,” said the coachman. A strange look crossed his face, but it was so brief I thought I had imagined it.
“In ye go,” he said. I clambered into the carriage. On the verge of locking the door again, Enoch hesitated. “Look, if ye be special fond of animals, I’ve a friend of sorts up there. His name be Rushton. Tell him I vouch for ye, an’ maybe he’ll find a job ye’ll like.”
But before I could thank him, he had locked me in, and the carriage lurched as he resumed his seat.
8
I DREAMED.
In my dream, I was somewhere cold and darkly quiet. I could hear water dripping, and I was afraid, though I didn’t know why. I seemed to be waiting for something.
In the distance, there was a bright flash of light. A feeling of urgency made me hasten toward the light, stumbling over uneven ground I could not see. A high-pitched whining noise filled the air like a scream, but no one could scream for so long without stopping to breathe. I sensed danger, but the compulsion to find the light overrode my instincts. Again it flashed, apparently no closer than before. I could not tell what the source was, though it was obviously unnatural.
All at once, a voice spoke inside me. Shocked, I skidded to a halt, for it was a human voice.
“Tell me,” the voice said. “Tell me.”
There was a sharp pain behind my eyes, and I flinched in astonishment that a voice could hurt me, understanding at the same time that the whining noise and the voice inside me were connected. I turned to run, at last obeying the urge to escape. Then the ground beneath me burst into flames, and I screamed.
I woke and stared wildly about, my heart thundering even as the nightmare faded. I could feel perspiration on my hands and back. I lay there trying to think what such a dream might mean. I rarely dreamed so intensely.
It was dark, and bruised purple clouds scudded across the sky. A distant cracking noise heralded the coming storm, and within moments, a flash of lightning illuminated the barren landscape. There was a rumble of thunder, then another crack, and this time the scent of charred wood drifted in through the window. I pitied Enoch and hoped Maruman was somewhere safe.
I sensed the unease of the animals, and with each crash of thunder, their tension grew; yet I had the odd impression it was not the storm but something else that unnerved them. There was another loud crash, very close, and a log fell right alongside the carriage.
The horses’ suppressed terror erupted, and they bolted, plunging along the road at a mad pace, jerking the coach after them like some doomed creature being dragged to its death. I could hear Enoch’s blasphemous thoughts as he fought to control the maddened team.
Clinging to my seat, I looked down at the guardian, who continued to sleep. Branches scraped at the window; the road had suddenly narrowed, and we were in the midst of a thick clump of gnarled trees. I hoped none would fall, for they were big enough to crush the carriage.
A blinding gray rain fell as we passed from the trees and out into the open again. I could see very little because of the rain and the darkness, but the landscape looked barren and ugly. Then the rain stopped as abruptly as a tap turned off.
The silence that followed was so complete it was uncanny. The horses were under control again, and I heard a tired snort from one. The sound almost echoed in the stillness. It had grown fractionally lighter, and I could see sparse trees drooping wearily. I thought the land must indeed be cursed for the fury of nature to strike at it so mercilessly.
Then, before my eyes, the land seemed to transform itself from a barren place to the ble
akest, deadest piece of earth. It was impossible to imagine a single blade of grass or even the most stunted tree growing in this place. A strange, terrible burning smell penetrated the carriage despite the thick glass of the windows. I could see vapors rising sluggishly from the earth and writhing along like yellowish snakes. In some places, the ground was as smooth and shiny as glass.
This, then, was the tainted ground, but surely it could not long ago have been true Blacklands.
Now I understood the tension of the horses. It was not the storm they had feared but the poisoned earth they must cross. It was a narrow stretch, and only a short time passed before we returned to a less desolate landscape, but the brief glimpse of the effects of the Great White seared into my mind.
I heard a faint rumbling sound and, looking around again, wondered what could happen next. The noise arose almost from the hills themselves, and a small breeze began to blow. The sky had the dull sheen of polished metal as the wind grew in force. All at once it was cold enough that my breath misted the air inside the carriage.
Then the storm burst over us again. This time there was no rain, just a fierce wind that tossed the cart around like a leaf. The long-suffering trees were bent almost double beneath this fresh onslaught, and I began to understand their ragged appearance. They did well even to survive in this savage land. There seemed something primitive and destructive in the wind, an evil intent I could nearly feel.
Like the rain, it stopped suddenly, and all at once I could hear only the slushy rattle of the wheels as they plowed through the new mud. The sound accomplished what nothing else had been able to do—it woke the guardian.
With a grunt, she sat up and blinked owlishly. “Have we passed the storms?” she asked.
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