The Wayfinder

by Darcy Pattison

  Hazel pulled him into a fierce hug. “You are a Wayfinder. I grieve for Zanna, too. She was my only daughter.” She hugged him harder as if she would never let him go. As if she’d lost one child and couldn’t stand the thought of losing another. Then she turned him loose and held him at arm’s length. She gazed intently into his eyes. “But you can’t let the dead rule you. You must let her go.”

  “How?” The anguish of the last six weeks was in that single word. Win wished there were an answer that would help him. The loss burned in his heart.

  “Make this journey. You will Find healing for yourself. And you will bring back water to heal our land.” Her voice trembled. “I don’t want to lose you, too, but you must go. For yourself.”

  Win wanted to believe Hazel’s words. Would the Well of Life heal his grieving heart? Once more he pictured Zanna’s face and tried to get a Finding for her. Nothing.

  “I can’t believe Zanna is—she isn’t–” He couldn’t say “dead.” She was down there, somewhere in the Rift waiting for him to Find her. But for the first time in six weeks, Win saw a way out of this pain. He would go into the Rift, following the Finding for the Well. Once on the Rift floor, he would abandon that Finding and look for Zanna.

  In spite of the chill, sweat trickled down his back. Was he afraid of the journey? Would his fear of heights allow him to climb down the cliff face into the Rift? Was he afraid he would fail, and the Heartland would fall to the plague? All these things were fearful, yes. But to himself Win admitted his true fear: What if he only found Zanna’s body?

  There was still his secret hope: Zanna was alive and waiting for him.

  He had to go. He had to try.

  He nodded silently to Hazel.

  Then he closed his eyes. The Finding from Prince Reynard washed over him, and the incredible longing for the pure water from the granite well filled him completely. The Finding pulled him around. He opened his eyes. He faced the edge of the cliff. Was it a true Finding? Could he trust the Finding?

  “Where is the path?”

  “Here.” Hazel stepped around the low cactus, past the juniper tree, toward the spot where the Finding seemed to lead. “The path is very narrow and dangerous. It will take you all day to descend. Time is too short. I can’t begin to tell you of the dangers you will face. I can only give you this Wolf Amulet. I stole it from the Wolf Clan the last time I was in their village. You may need it to bargain with them.” She pulled the amulet from her neck and slipped it over Win’s head.

  She nudged him toward the edge of the Rift. “Be careful, my son.”

  The sky had lightened even more; dawn was close. He edged closer to the Rift, trying to see the other side. In the clear air the far rim was visible in the growing light, a jagged line of rock. So far across, he thought. I’ll never make it.

  Hazel hugged him. “Be careful. Trust your Finding. And be polite to Paz Naamit.”

  The ball of the sun peeked over the horizon.

  “Hurry,” she urged. “You must be gone, and I must get back with rabbits for the stew pot before I am missed. Eli will be furious. Hurry.”

  Win looked at her once more, trying to memorize her lined face, then turned away to face the cliff.

  THE RIFT

  Win walked toward the Rift with the resignation of a doomed prisoner. It didn’t matter that he was terrified of the height. He had no choice but to descend into the Rift, from which only his mother and the King had ever returned. He picked his way through the cactus to the cliff’s edge and searched for a path.

  Just when he thought there was only a drop-off and the Finding must be false, he saw a narrow ledge hugging the side of the cliff. Was that narrow slice of rock really a path? Peering down, he was overcome with dizziness.

  He turned toward the cliff and hung his feet over until he felt the ledge. It was only eight or ten inches wide. He started creeping sideways and downward until his head was below the top of the cliff. He made himself look at the rock face and not out into the open canyon. The rock was yellow ocher streaked with browns and reds. From a distance the rock face looked bare, but small grasses and shrubs had found occasional footholds and grew clinging to the sides of the Rift. Patches of moss, nurtured by the mists that rose from the Rift during the wet season, were dry and crumbly now. Win marveled over all these details with one part of his mind while the rest of him concentrated fiercely on where to put his foot next and how to avoid looking down. The path widened to twelve to fifteen inches, and he embraced the solid rock as he inched downward.

  Then he froze. Something told him to straighten out his hands, to thrust his body away from the cliff. The compulsion was so forceful it was like battling a tornado trying to rip his hands free. He clutched an ocher rock until his fingers were white against the yellow.

  Calm down, he told himself.

  Instead panic swelled, filling his head. He had to jump.

  He panted. No, do not let go.

  His hands grew numb. Any second now his grip would give way, and he would fall into the Rift.

  Think of something else! he told himself.

  But there was only the void at his back enticing him. Each breath was a conscious labor.

  “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-six, ninety-five…” Win started counting backward, trying to fill his mind with the numbers, to block out any other thought.

  Finally his breathing became easier. Slowly he turned his head to look for a new handhold. Biting his lower lip, he moved his foot once more. “Fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five…” He inched his way into the Rift.

  A dozen times he stopped, frozen in fear, remembering Kira’s nimble runs back and forth between the windows of Finder’s Hall. He ground his teeth and pried his thoughts away from the abyss at his back and counted, shouting the numbers so they filled his senses.

  Only the wall in front of him existed, and he thought only about moving his hands and feet along the cliff face. He took some comfort in the familiar feeling of a Finding. The Prince’s vision of the Well of Life was pulling him onward and downward, ever downward.

  His side of the Rift wall was in deep shadow all morning while the sun shone brightly on the other side. At first Win was grateful for the shade. Then he groaned when he realized he would get the full brunt of the afternoon sun.

  Sometime about midmorning the ledge broadened into a three-foot boulevard and Win gratefully sank down to rest. He sat with his back against the Rift wall and took off his cloak. He opened his pack and put it inside. Hazel had packed well-dried food, a tinderbox, a light blanket, a change of clothes, and a new waterskin for the Water of Life. He took out a piece of jerky and munched.

  With the wall firmly against his back, he could look out over the Rift and not feel dizzy, and surprisingly, not feel as scared of heights. The fear was still there, but he was learning to control the panic.

  Win had descended perhaps a fourth of the way, and the Rift bottom was taking on a new look as he got closer. The cliff face shimmered ocher and russet in the heart. The silvery blue river appeared larger as it meandered through the lush green forests. Birds soared below him, sometimes spiraling down to the treetops below. The air was brilliantly clear, and his spirits lifted.

  Win pulled the amulet out of his tunic and stroked the dark lustrous wood. It was carved to resemble a wolf’s head: pointed ears, narrow nose, and long, sharp teeth. In one eye was a red stone while the other was an empty socket. A third hole lay between the eyes. A three-eyed wolf. Where had it come from? He wondered about Hazel’s warnings. Who were the Wolf Clan, and who or what was Paz Naamit? Did the Wolf Clan live near the river below?

  Suddenly a pebble dropped onto the ledge beside him. Win jumped up and peered overhead. He couldn’t lean out very far, so he could see only the cliff directly above him. It was empty.

  “It was nothing,” he told himself. His voice sounded loud in the silence. He clamped his mouth shut and listened. Only a soughing wind answered him.

&n
bsp; Win shouldered the pack and followed the path again. There were still narrow spots, but mostly it stayed between two and three feet across. Win could walk forward instead of sideways and was able to make faster time. Several times during the morning he heard pebbles drop again, but he never saw anything above him. Win began to worry. Was someone following him? Eli? Only a Finder could Find and follow such an obscure path.

  I can’t let Eli stop me, he thought. I need to Find Zanna.

  He made steady progress throughout the morning. Finally he stopped to rest and eat a late lunch. The path had again broadened into a wide ledge. A large prickly pear grew there, defying the solid rock wall. Win picked the ripe cactus fruits and added another piece of jerky to the meal. He was drinking water when a miniature avalanche of small rocks pelted past him and fell silently into the Rift.

  I’ve got to talk to Eli, Win thought.

  The sun was almost directly overhead now, and the lip of the ledge was brightly lit, while a niche behind the prickly pear lay in deep shadow. He picked up his pack, backed into the cooler niche, and waited.

  For perhaps fifteen minutes the only sounds he heard were his own breathing and the wind whispering. Then there was a soft clink of rock on rock. Win stared at the path, waiting for Eli, wondering how he could convince his stepfather to let him continue the journey.

  THE FOLLOWER

  Above the rustling wind in the Rift came a soft scraping, a softer padding of feet on the bare rock path. Lady Kala appeared, her dark muzzle lifted as if sniffing for him.

  “Come out, Winchal Eldras,” she said telepathically.

  “You! Why are you following me? I thought you wouldn’t leave the Prince’s side.”

  “I heard the arguments. The Finding you have is true, this I know. But your fellow Finders trust you not. They think you will fail. My duty as the Prince’s Bodyguard is clear. I shall make sure you succeed.” Lady Kala said this haughtily, then sat back on her haunches and stared at him.

  “I won’t fail. I have a strong Finding. Go back to your Prince.”

  “Where is Zanna?”

  “Oh.” Win sat with his back against the wall again. His eyes watered, and he looked out into the canyon, focusing on the soaring birds. He was almost level with the birds now, and he was surprised by their large size.

  “Zanna was my sister. She was lost in the fog six weeks ago, and I Found her too late. She fell into the Rift.” He said this quietly, his words a recrimination that had echoed in his head for the last six weeks. Too late!

  Lady Kala watched the birds, too. “Have you lost your Finding skills or not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I must know why she fell.”

  “Go home. I don’t want to make a mistake again.”

  “What mistake?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  Lady Kala advanced on Win. Her fawn coat gleamed in the sunshine, and Win could smell the perfumed oils in which she had bathed.

  “This is no time for grieving, Winchal Eldras. The plague roams the Heartland and Death follows in its footsteps. Together we will Find the Well of Life and bring the cure to my Prince. This I swear by my mother, Lady Golnar, Queen of Jamila Kennels.”

  Win was speechless. Lady Kala, a royal Tazi, a beautiful and noble female, was demanding to make a dangerous journey with him. The thought was tempting—he dreaded the journey alone—but then he would be responsible for her safety.

  “I can’t let you come along.”

  “You can’t stop me. I will go into the Rift.”

  “No, I can’t take the responsibility!” Win said.

  He couldn’t take care of anyone else. He’d been Zanna’s guardian since the moment she had started toddling down the street after him and fell and skinned her knee. She had sat down, thumb in her mouth, her wide eyes staring after him. He’d gone back—how could he resist her?—and put her on his back. He had cared for her that day and many others. Hazel had trusted him to watch over Zanna until—

  “No, you must go back,” he insisted.

  “I do not fear the dangers of the trail.”

  “I won’t take the responsibility!” Win said.

  A dark blotch of shadow suddenly grew larger. Startled, Win turned. A flurry of feathers swooped over them. Win dropped flat and pulled Lady Kala beside him, just as ten-inch-long curved and dagger-sharp talons slashed mere inches above their heads. The bird turned away, and with a mighty flap of its wings, rose high on the winds.

  “An eagle! It’s going to dive at us again,” Win cried. “Hurry, hide in here.” He jerked his pack out of the niche.

  “No, it’s too small for both of us. We’ll face the danger together,” Lady Kala said. She led the way down the ledge. Win had no choice but to follow.

  THE ATTACK

  The path narrowed, forcing Win and Lady Kala to slow down. Wings, golden honey on top, mahogany on the underside, stretched nearly twenty feet from wing tip to wing tip until the eagle folded them and plummeted.

  Win shrank against the cliff.

  Sharp talons searched for soft flesh. With a rasping sound, the talons gouged rock beside Win’s face. He sucked in sharply. “Yow!”

  The eagle wheeled away and circled.

  Lady Kala scrambled down the trail, Win crowding behind her.

  Like a giant swatting at a gnat, the eagle assaulted them with powerful wing strokes. The vortex of winds knocked them off balance, but they clung to the wall and edged downward.

  The eagle broke off its attack.

  “She’ll be back,” Win cried.

  They raced down the path with Lady Kala in the lead. She called, “The ledge is widening.”

  “Can you see around the bend?”

  “Not yet.”

  Win watched the eagle which was still circling. “Maybe it’ll open up.”

  “We need to go faster.”

  “Here she comes again.”

  “Tread carefully.” Lady Kala tilted her head toward the eagle and bared her teeth.

  Win was amazed at her ferocity. He hadn’t known the gazehounds were fighters.

  The eagle dove again, silent and savage. Win tried to fend it off with upraised arms, but it swiped lower. The razor talons sliced his tunic and scratched his stomach. Win fell to his knees.

  Lady Kala leapt for the eagle’s neck and met the mighty wings, which swooped, and Lady Kala tumbled away. Win lunged for her. His fingers caught the fur on her back, just as her front legs slipped over the edge. They skidded toward open air.

  The eagle had to beat furiously to keep its own balance. It veered off.

  Win dug his toes against the rock. They slowed. The eagle had caught its balance and was circling into position to dive again. He had only seconds. Lady Kala’s head and legs dangled over the rim. Win felt as if his arms were being pulled out of the socket, but if he turned loose, she would fall. Like Zanna.

  She wiggled. “Get me up.”

  “Be still,” Win commanded as he hauled her toward him.

  When her feet were back on solid ground, Lady Kala shook him off with a cry: “The eagle comes.”

  They fled down the path, this time at breakneck speed, desperate to reach cover. They rounded the corner and stopped still. The ledge cut back into the cliff, so it was about thirty feet wide. A tangled mass of sticks, long grasses, and soft feathers blocked the ledge.

  “Her nest,” Lady Kala whispered. “She’s protecting her nest.”

  THE EAGLE

  The golden eagle spiraled toward them and landed awkwardly. Win was surprised she wasn’t more graceful, but he didn’t have time to do more than wonder about it. He shoved his way in front of Lady Kala and held up his pack as a shield. The great bird towered above him, her legs alone taller than Win.

  “Who daaares disturb the nest of Paz Naamit?” the eagle thundered. Her voice was magnified a hundred-fold by her size.

  Win clapped his hands over his ears. “You speak!”

  “I have learned your speech, oh
, lowly worm,” the eagle said a bit quieter. Her talons clicked menacingly on the rock, yet she moved with a certain elegance. Her legs were feathered all the way to her talons, giving her the strange appearance of wearing trousers. “Now, you speak. Why do you disturb my nest?”

  Win remembered Hazel’s cryptic advice. “Be polite to Paz Naamit.” How he wished she’d had more time to explain everything. He slowly took his hands off his ears, then bowed to the great bird. “O great and noble Paz Naamit, we meant you no harm.”

  Telepathically he told Lady Kala, “Hazel said to be polite; she must have been past here. What do we do?”

  “Then turn and leave the waaay you caaame,” Paz Naamit said. “No one crosses my nest.”

  “O Golden One, our journey is long and hard, and we must pass down this path to the bottom of the Rift.”

  “Tell her no more than you must,” Lady Kala warned.

  “I allow no one to pass here. Go back.”

  “I must find my sister, Zanna,” Win cried. He wouldn’t go back; he couldn’t.

  “Zaaanna? Do you know Haaazel?” Paz Naamit questioned. She bent to look closer at Win. Her eyes were golden with metallic flecks. The left iris was partially covered with a white film.

  “Hazel is my mother,” he said.

  “Haaazel’s hatchling. Then you come to honor your dead. You want to see the caaairn. It is a long journey for such a sad thing. Go home,” Paz Naamit said.

  A cold fear gripped Win. “The cairn? What do you mean?”

  “Over a moon ago Haaazel called to me from the land above. The days and nights both were full of mists, but for Haaazel—” The eagle’s voice softened to a mild squeal. “Haazel told me one of her hatchlings had fallen. Ah, I know this paaain too well.”

  A baby bird could easily fall from this ledge, Win thought. How many had the eagle lost?

  “I searched for three daaays before I found the broken body of the child. For Haaazel’s saaake, I brought stones and built a caaairn over the hatchling.”