The Sending

by Isobelle Carmody

  When I rose, Maruman was sitting in the low sunlight licking his paw while Darga, having slaked his own thirst, had stretched out, panting, nearby. Gahltha was now cropping at a thick patch of grass beside the stream. I got out the remainder of the food package I had broken open earlier and offered some to Darga and Maruman. The dog accepted politely but Maruman merely sniffed contemptuously and went back to washing his paw. I shrugged and nibbled the rest, wondering not for the first time why so much of Javo’s travel food was unappealing in one way or another.

  The sun was setting behind the mountains when Maruman insisted we continue. To my surprise, instead of turning west as I had expected, we set off in the opposite direction, still following the stream. I tried to picture the eastern section of the valley but found it difficult because none of the paths or trails went that way. As far as I knew, there was nothing in that direction save a long upward slope of sparsely wooded ground broken by stone outcrops. Certainly we could not go into the mountains this way, for they were very steep. Glancing up at the flank of the peak on my left, I noted that there were flaws and faults enough cutting both horizontally and vertically across the stone, which I might have used to help me ascend, and I could have carried Maruman up and even hauled Darga using ropes. But there was no possibility that Gahltha could go that way.

  Reaching down to stroke his neck, I noticed belatedly that he was not just following the stream, he was being careful to walk only along the narrow stony bank closest to the mountains. This made me wonder if we were going this way to avoid being tracked. Certainly even Straaka would have had trouble finding a trail alongside a stream that ran through solid stone. Ahmedri’s dark, intense face rose in my mind and I had to resist the urge to farseek to see if the tribesman was already in pursuit. In truth, I did not want to even try, for what if I discovered that Ahmedri and Rushton were following us?

  The idea gave me pain and I clamped down on this train of thought, knowing I could not afford to strain the binding I had laid over my mind any further.

  By the time Maruman again called a halt, the ruddy glow of sunset in the west had long since faded and a scatter of stars now pierced the black sky overhead, casting a thin light. The moon had yet to rise but even when it did, it would not offer much illumination, being so close to darkmoon. I did not consider lighting a fire, however, for even if it was small it might be seen from afar. By my calculations, we were a good hour east of the hot springs. I longed to ask what we were doing here, but instead I wondered aloud if we were to make camp for the night.

  ‘You can sleep,’ Maruman said, which, typically, was not quite an answer. I was too weary to care. I undid the straps and ropes, freeing Gahltha of his burdens, and then I laid out my sleeping blanket. My body felt weary but my mind was jittery and I was aware that, very soon, I would have to release the binding on my mind. Putting off the moment, I brushed the mud and burrs from Gahltha’s coat and salved the places where the belts had chafed slightly, promising to fasten the straps differently on the morrow. He went off to eat some grass and again he was careful to walk only on stone. I washed my hands before filling a mug with water and drinking it. I was thirsty so I dippered up another mug and drank it more slowly. There was a soft, blurred feel to the air that made me wonder if there would not be another mist, though it might only be the proximity of the stream that made it feel damp.

  Finishing the water, I went to sit down on my blanket. It was becoming cold and I tugged off my boots, wrapping the blanket around me before I stretched out, using my pack as a pillow. For a time I lay listening to the stream chattering softly to itself as it rushed along its stony course and to the oddly reassuring sound of Gahltha cropping grass. Gradually my body relaxed, releasing all the tensions of the day until I felt limp and heavy.

  I thought about Obernewtyn. Maryon and her futuretellers would be in the long Futuretell hall laying out and carefully flattening the tapestry they had spent a good portion of the year sewing. I would never know what they had decided to depict this year, but the tapestry was always presented just before Rushton gave his traditional speech. Gevan and his guild would be exercising and readying themselves for their acrobatic displays and those who were to take part in the magi play, which had been scheduled for the second day of the moon fair, would have laid out their masks and costumes.

  Khuria and the other two chieftains would have arrived at Obernewtyn, or they would do so before dawn, and I wondered if Analivia had returned to her home to fulfil her promise to bring Bergold up to witness the longed-for magi performance. Or was she still somewhere in the lowlands seeking her father and brother? Knowing Analivia I could easily imagine that she had sniffed them out in Sawlney, in which case she might have been whisked aside by Dardelan’s spy. Once she understood the high chieftain’s intention, would she leave well enough alone or would she insist upon taking part in the ambush? The latter, I suspected, and prayed she would come to no harm.

  I could easily imagine Dardelan poring over his plans one final time, as he was wont to do, or maybe he and his armsmen and women were already abed, knowing they would ride out at dawn ostensibly for the mountains and Obernewtyn. Would Bruna ride with him? I wondered. Certainly among the tribesfolk she would have fought alongside her bondmate, and she had made it very clear that she would not be treated as if she was some precious object that was to be kept safe. And what of Brydda? Reuvan would have told him the young high chieftain’s plan, and I did not doubt he would want to ride down to take part in the sortie. Would he go with the coercers to meet Dardelan in Saithwold, or had the young high chieftain sent word to bid him remain at Obernewtyn?

  And Rushton? I had imagined him riding after me, but that had been wishful thinking as much as anything. By now, he would certainly know I had left Obernewtyn, and the most likely thing was that he would ride to the White Valley to see if I had visited Swallow. He could even now be sitting by a campfire with the gypsy discussing where I might have gone. I doubted he would tell Swallow he had offered me a handfasting wreath, but if Aras or Ceirwan had found it on my bed, they would understand its meaning at once, as I had done.

  Finally, I thought of the night I had spent with Rushton in Louis Larkin’s shack on the farms, merging mind and body. The weight of grief and longing this roused in me split the coercive net that held all the emotions that had accumulated since Maruman had come for me. I opened myself, unresisting, to the scouring torrent of pain and I wept for a very long time without restraint. Maruman did not come anywhere near me, of course, but to my surprise, Darga curled up close beside me and once, when I thought of Dameon who might even now be headed to Obernewtyn, and was unable to suppress a sob at the knowledge that I would never see him again, the dog reached out to lick my hand.

  My cheeks were still wet when I fell into an exhausted sleep, and no doubt grief shaped a dream of Obernewtyn, or maybe it was not a dream but a dreaming journey back to say farewell. I saw it all as if I were flying over it like a bird, the wagons and tents lining the roads leading to Obernewtyn and all the roads and paths within its walls, fires blooming here and there like hot flowers. I heard the strains of laughter and talk and music and occasionally the sound of a dog barking as I passed over, and then it seemed to me I flew up higher and higher until there was nothing but the sound of the wind that whistles in the darkness between the stars.

  I woke to the milky light of dawn filtering through one of the thick white mists that were common in this season. My eyes were swollen nearly to slits from weeping so I pulled on my boots and went to bathe my face in cold water from the stream. I moved quietly so as not to wake Darga or Maruman, who were sound asleep on opposite sides of my blanket. My buttocks were sore and my legs felt stiff, but it was my shoulder that hurt most. No doubt I had pulled a muscle while carrying the heavy sword. I went back and fetched my pack away from the blanket, opening it to get out a pot of liniment from my healing pack. I broke the wax seal on the pot and rubbed the ointment into the hurt places before pulling on
my clothes. It would only be needful for a few days, until I, and my skin, toughened up.

  I went back to the stream to wash the pungent liniment from my fingers and then turned to survey my surroundings. The ground rose up high enough in this upper corner that I ought to have been able to see the whole of the valley spread out beyond the sparse trees, but the fog was too thick. I could see only one or two of the closer trees and a part of the stream running past the feet of the mountain which rose up until it, too, vanished into the fog. Fighting a vague feeling of being closed in, I forced myself through a series of exercises to loosen my muscles, wondering what time it was.

  Then I reminded myself that I was leaving behind all the segments humans made of a day: firstmeal and morning and midday and afternoon and nightmeal and evening. All that mattered now was the rising and setting of the sun, and the weather. To some extent it had always been so on expeditions when everything fell into simpler, more primitive rhythms, but this time I was leaving everything in a way I had never done before; not just notions of human time, but human life itself. For what was I now besides the purpose that moved me?

  The thought reeked of self-pity, and yet I did not feel much in thinking it. I did not feel very much at all. The orgy of grief the night before had emptied me out and numbed me. I did not feel desolate or grief-stricken nor anythiny extreme. I felt only a weary calmness.

  Maruman and Darga were still asleep and there was no sign of Gahltha so I went and sat on a rock to brush my hair and replait it, half mesmerised by the slow mysterious coiling of the mist, which reminded me of the movement of the clouds on the dreamtrails. I thought about getting out some food but decided I was not hungry enough to bother.

  Where were we to go next, I wondered. Logically, we would have to make our way west in order to get up into the mountains, for even if we were not to take the route Gahltha had used to return to Obernewtyn after I had been healed at the ken, all of the other places where one might climb into the heights were west of the hot springs.

  The only reason I could think of for the beasts bringing me this way was to put off pursuers. Certainly no one would think to look for me here.

  Returning the comb to my pack, my fingers encountered Jacob’s cloth-wrapped journal. I had reckoned on sending it back by ship to Garth, when I had expected to be travelling to the Red Land. But when Maruman had made it clear that I was not to return to the Land or to take ship as I had believed, I had been too shattered to remember to take the journal out. That meant I would never now be able to fulfil my promise to return it safely to Garth.

  Yet was it truly by chance I had brought it along, when it described preparations for a journey into these very mountains? Especially since he who scribed it had come this way carrying with him Cassandra’s key, which I would need to complete my quest. Initially I had supposed that Atthis had the key, or that she would tell me where to find it, but she had never done that with any of the other clues or devices left for me. She had aided me only when my life was in danger, and she had always directed me obliquely. Indeed, perhaps she had not sent fliers to fetch me because she intended me to acquire Cassandra’s key before I reached the ken.

  After all, she had told me long ago that I would come to the ken after I had got all of the devices and messages Cassy had left for me in the Land and surely she would have known then that things had transpired differently from the way Hannah or Cassy had foreseen, that Hannah had not returned to Obernewtyn and that Jacob had taken the key with him when he left seeking his dream?

  If I was right, Atthis might have been contemplating how to ensure that I would find what must be found. The fact that Maruman had unexpectedly arrived with Darga to get me might very well be part of the Agyllian’s efforts to correct my course. I would not know until I could stand before Atthis and ask. Until then, if I was right and I was supposed to find Cassandra’s key, the only question that mattered was how far Jacob had got in his quest for his dream city.

  The old Beforetimer had never mentioned the route he meant to take into the mountains, but he had referred to various landmarks and even to some sort of Beforetime building where he had hoped to find instruments that he could use to see the place he believed to be the location of his dream city. I had skimmed these parts of the journal quickly, because at the time I had simply been looking for the location of his dream city. But I did remember that Jacob had admitted the possibility that much or all that he remembered or knew about the mountains and the land beyond it might have been altered by the Great White, which he had called the holocaust. Certainly he had known the mountains were tainted for he had described instruments and devices he meant to carry to enable him to read the level of taint, which he had called contamination, and to protect himself from it. He had also planned to wear a safesuit because, although the vehicle that he would ride in would protect him to begin with, it would only carry him so far, and then he must walk.

  I found it hard to imagine any sort of vessel being able to negotiate the mountains without foundering or coming to some impossible obstacle. If that had happened Jacob would have had to proceed on foot and it seemed all too likely that a lone, elderly man travelling across mountainous terrain would fall victim to accident or illness. Even a slight fall would have doomed him if he had torn a ligament, broken a bone or ripped his safesuit.

  It ought to have saddened me to think that the old man’s final quest, begun with such hope, might have ended soon after he set out, but I was too numb from the emotions I had endured the night before to feel anything. I did wonder if Atthis had told Maruman where Cassandra’s key lay. It would be just like the contrary feline to know and not tell me such vital information. On the other hand, she might simply have given the old cat a route to follow that would bring me to the place where I would find Jacob’s bones.

  I looked around, suddenly wondering if Jacob had even reached the mountains. The thought that Cassandra’s key and Jacob’s body might be close by woke a flicker of interest in me, but it was like a spark falling onto damp wood. If I was right, let Maruman bid me search. Certainly he was the leader of our small party of expeditioners, for all Darga’s claim that he had been sent to guide me.

  ‘It is time to go on,’ Maruman sent so dreamily that I turned and gave him a sharp, uneasy look, wondering if he had been listening to my thoughts.

  ‘Go where?’ I asked, before I could stop myself.

  ‘Into the mountains,’ he sent.

  As it transpired, Maruman meant exactly what he said. Once I had mounted up and he was perched on the pack at my back, Gahltha set off east, following the stream along the foot of the mountains. Knowing we could not go much further in that direction, I was on the verge of demanding to be told where we were going, when I noticed that the stream had vanished. I supposed we had reached the place where it emerged from the mountains, and sure enough, when we came closer, I saw that the stream was flowing along a narrow ravine just wide enough to admit a horse and a rider. It cut into the mountain at such a sharp angle that if I stepped back only a few paces the opening would have seemed no more than a long slightly shadowed fault in the cliff. Like Uttecove on Norseland, you had to be almost upon it before you could see it.

  I felt Gahltha’s surprise echo my own when Maruman impatiently bade him enter the ravine, and decided that the old cat was being almost as miserly with the information he gave the horse as with me. No doubt this was because he knew that Gahltha would answer any question I put to him. Unlike Maruman, the horse did not have a secretive nature, but neither did he have my hunger to know things. Maruman had bidden him follow the stream and he did so without feeling the need to ask why and where it would bring us.

  As he stepped into the stream and entered the rift, I felt the cold shadow of the mountain enfold me like a heavy, damp cloak.

  18

  We had not gone far along the rift before it began to narrow. Drawing up my legs to stop them being scraped against the edges, I bade Gahltha stop. I removed my boots and tucke
d my socks into them, pushing them under one of the straps around his belly, then I got the sandals out of my pack. The boots were waterproofed but that would not last long if I had to wade along a creek bed in them, and it would take a long time to dry them out. Clambering awkwardly over the pack, I slid down over Gahltha’s rump and landed with an impact that jarred my bones. The water was icy cold, but quite shallow. At first my feet ached, but when they grew accustomed to the water I welcomed the exertion of walking because it warmed me.

  After we had been moving along the rift for an hour, it suddenly switched back on itself, cutting sharply eastward, and then after a short time it turned west again. The turns were very tight and the last was so cramped that Gahltha was forced to rise up on his hind legs to manoeuvre himself around it. Maruman clung like a burr to the pack, reconfirming my certainty that the Agyllians had strengthened him. I marvelled that Gahltha was not emanating fear or even anxiety, given that it would be very difficult for him to turn around now, if the rift ended suddenly. Evidently his faith in Maruman, or in the oldOnes who had laid upon him the task of protecting me, remained steadfast.

  I wished I could feel as sanguine.

  To my surprise, Darga sent, ‘Elspethlnnle, the oldOnes saved your life so that you might do what no other can. They saved you, as they saved us, not for ourselves but that we may serve their purposes. What does it matter where they send us, for without them, we would all be dead now.’