The Rebellion

by Isobelle Carmody

  I thought it more likely such a meeting would simply confirm the rebels’ prejudices. People had a way of seeing what they wanted to. And in spite of all Brydda’s precautions and countermeasures, the big man had said there was a possibility of a traitor being in the rebels’ midst. Which meant a definite risk.

  On the other hand, if by some slim chance he was right and I did manage to change the rebels’ attitude toward us, the risk would be a small price to pay.

  “I will send word to Obernewtyn to see if the guildmerge will condone this meeting.”

  Brydda frowned. “I am not sure there will be enough time to send for approval. It is a great pity you have no birds here.”

  Idris smiled at my expression of bewilderment. “We have learned that if some birds are raised in a certain place, they will return to that place unerringly, no matter how far away they are released. Each of the rebel groups now raises birds, and we exchange them so that we always have the means to send messages swiftly. These are carried in tiny cylinders fastened to a bird’s leg. It was done this way in the Beforetime.”

  Brydda slapped his leg. “But wait! You would not need a homing bird, Elspeth. You could simply beastspeak your message to a bird and ask it to fly to Obernewtyn.”

  Before I could respond, the door burst open behind us.

  Brydda whirled, drawing his knife in one smooth-flowing movement and landing in a crouch. Idris had just as swiftly taken a sword from his belt.

  It was only the seaman, Reuvan, whom I had met before in Aborium. His handsome face was red from exertion, and he was so intent upon delivering his message that he did not notice me or Domick. “There is a drunk in an inn who claims Salamander is in Sutrium,” he panted.

  Idris was at the edge of my vision, and I was startled to see his pleasant features twist in a spasm of hatred.

  Brydda slid his knife home and turned to us. “I am sorry to cut short our supper, but I must go at once. I will come to you soon at the safe house, and we will talk again. But think on what I have said, Elspeth. The only hope of an alliance rests with your being able to alter the way rebels see Misfits. A meeting may be the only means of achieving that.”

  A moment later, we were outside in the dark, alone.

  “Who is Salamander?” I asked Domick.

  “It is the name of the man who runs the slave trade,” Domick said. His tone was stiff. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here to find out about the alliance? Doesn’t Rushton trust me now? Has he sent you to check up on me?”

  I shook my head helplessly.

  11

  I WOKE NEAR dawn to the muted sound of rain falling. The air felt clammy, and I wondered what had disturbed me.

  I let my thoughts drift and had the fleeting impression of an unfamiliar mind touching mine as lightly as the shadow of an intruder might fall on a sleeping form. I then realized Maruman’s mind was curled up around mine and gently extricated myself. I wondered if I’d simply mistaken Maruman’s presence for something else.

  The door opened and Kella peered in, holding a lantern high.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up.

  Maruman stirred on my pillow and opened his golden eye. I had the odd impression that he had been awake all along.

  “It’s the gypsy,” the healer said softly so as not to disturb Dragon. “She woke me screaming.”

  I jumped out of bed and pulled a thick shawl around my shoulders.

  We ran along the corridor and into the healing chamber. As I approached the gypsy’s bed, I saw that her eyes were open but unfocused, just as Maruman’s were when he was in the midst of his mad dreams. One eye was blue and the other a mottled brown. Kneeling by the mattress, I forced myself to be calm as her queer gaze swiveled to me.

  “Can she see me?” I asked.

  The healer shook her head. “She’s broken the sleepseal but isn’t really awake. She’s having some sort of nightmare, but her system won’t be able to take the strain for long.”

  “She’s going to die?”

  “If this goes on, yes. I need to get into her mind to relieve some of the pressure, but as a healer, I can’t work against her will, and her mind is refusing me access.” Kella’s eyes narrowed. “You could get into her mind through her subconscious.”

  I looked down at the gypsy and felt a ripple of unease at her steady regard. “And do what?”

  “Wake her,” Kella said. “I’ll do the rest.”

  I licked my lips. They felt dry and rough.

  The subconscious could not be shielded, so if I did as Kella wanted, the deepest thoughts and desires that formed the basis of the gypsy’s character would be laid bare to me in all their seething disorder. We had agreed unanimously in guildmerge that we could establish no system of dealing with the unTalented until they regarded us as equals. As long as they saw us as freaks, we could not afford to have any scruples about using our coercive abilities to plunder their minds and use what we found there against them. It was war, Rushton had said, and we must win before making terms.

  Yet this gypsy was not my enemy, and the thought of entering her undermind filled me with revulsion. My reaction was emotional and instinctive. When I had first been sent to Obernewtyn, Ariel and his masters had invaded my mind using a coercive machine. My only defense had been to enter into a partial mindbond with Rushton and use his latent abilities to strengthen me and shield my mind from their torture. Such a bond had meant a kind of mental nakedness, the thought of which even now made me tremble. Rushton had not abused the mindbond by blending entirely as bondmates might, but the affair had left us uncomfortable, intimate strangers, and me with an abiding dislike of mindbonds.

  “Elspeth,” the healer murmured, drawing me out of my thoughts. “I know this is hard for you, but healers enter unconscious minds all the time and do not regard it as a violation. It’s simply a matter of not absorbing while you are in there—of separating yourself mentally.”

  I ground my teeth together. She was making a good point. To enter for healing purposes was hardly a brutal invasion. And in doing so, I would be saving Obernewtyn—and myself, if the gypsy could help with Maryon’s second prediction.

  Steeling myself, I leaned closer to the gypsy.

  “Do you hear me?” I asked aloud, still reluctant to begin. She made no response, either by word or gesture, to indicate she heard what I was saying. I sighed. “All right. I’ll deep-probe her and bring her out if I can.”

  I closed my eyes and extended a probe delicately toward the gypsy. My mind butted gently against her shield, then slid down the outside of it, seeking the point at which it would dissolve in the maelstrom of the subconscious.

  I was astonished to find the shielding continued right down into the subconscious. I quested against it. It was definitely the sort of shield unTalented minds produced naturally, but it had been somehow displaced from the upper levels of the gypsy’s mind. It was scarred and buckled, and I began pushing coercively, testing until I found a weak place where I could enter.

  Almost immediately, I came upon a wall of forgetting. Again, this was not usually found at a subconscious level.

  The wall was eroded and had fused in places with the mindshield. This suggested the original forgetting established by the mind had begun to give way, allowing whatever had been repressed by it to rise to the conscious level. From what I could see, the gypsy’s mind had reacted instinctively to protect itself, collapsing its shield on top of the memory in an effort to bury it. Obviously, this had worked for a time, though it had left her unconscious. Now the memory had begun to erode the fused barrier made up of wall and shield, causing the fit that had so alarmed Kella.

  Curious, I pressed myself lightly against the fused barrier, wondering at its strength. It was paper-thin, and before I could stop myself, I had slipped through into …

  … a small room. I/we are alone. My/our hands and legs bound tightly. I/we cringe at the sound of Caldeko’s screams. What are they doing to you, my love?

  The
Herder and the boy are bringing me/us to him now. Showing him to me/us. The thing that was once Caldeko is barely recognizable as human. The mindless keening that rises from it fills me/us with horror/fear.

  Caldeko opens his eyes. His soul reaches out of them to me/us, begging for release.

  The Herder smiles coldly. “Tell me about the Twentyfamilies.”

  (How does he know?) I/we shake my/our head but I/we are afraid. (Block)

  He waves his hand at the boy, who has a brand.

  Caldeko’s shrieks fill my mind. Split me open.

  I/we scream and struggle to reach him.

  “Tell me his given name,” the Herder says.

  I/we dare not speak. Must not. But Caldeko is my/our soul’s joy! I must answer.

  Caldeko is suddenly silent.

  “Fool,” the Herder snarls at the boy, “you have killed him. If she will not speak to save her bondmate pain, she will never speak to save herself. Well, we will make her an example.…

  Caldeko/beloved is gone in terrible agony because I/we would not speak.

  The pain of the tearing/the guilt/the grief is unbearable. I/we push it down into the darkness, because I/we cannot exist with it burning at me.

  I/we make a wall of forgetting to bind it.

  Peace.

  Now I am at the stake. My arms are cut and bound. I am to die. I do not fear. I go to join my beloved. But, oh, the thought of Caldeko gives the memory/the monster life, and it rises to savage me. (I betrayed/I failed)

  I panic and reach. Again I have it trapped, but the new barrier is flimsy. It will not last long. No matter. Soon the flames will come, and it will be ended.

  But they do not come. I live. There is only one escape. Now I must go down and down into the deepest darkness. But something opposes … me.… Everything … slows … down.… I … am … weak.… But … I … fight them and now, now it is easier. Soon it will be over.

  The spiral begins. I go down. I want to go to escape the memories (I failed to speak/I betrayed/he died/I killed him).

  I fall. I dive.

  I hear the song. Death sings my name.

  I felt myself pulled down, dragged with the gypsy woman in her search for death. I fought against her, struggling frantically to disentangle our minds. We were too deep. I sensed the humming magnetism of the mindstream, which offered the oblivion she sought.

  Desperate, I drew on the dark strength of the violent power at the depth of my mind to tear us free from the pull of the mindstream.

  I wrenched us away into …

  … a pale shining room. She/we are looking at a man with skin as black and polished as an old tree root. He wears odd clothing. His eyes are frightened. He takes her/us by the shoulders and shakes her/us hard.

  “We have no choice, Emma,” he whispers. “We have to escape. Their actions have already set it all in motion.”

  “But if what Cassandra foresaw is to happen, we will give them what they seek,” she/we say.

  “She said one of our number will give in. One will reveal what we have kept hidden. But it need not be you or me. We can escape.”

  Emma/we opens her/our mouth. “But where can we go? There will be radiation sickness when it comes—better to die at once.”

  “There are places that won’t be hit so badly, where humanity will go on. We will join them. But Cassandra said we must make sure no one ever knows about us or what we can do.”

  “Oh God, why? Tell me why this has to happen?” Emma/we cry hysterically.

  The man squeezes her/our arm awkwardly, as if he is not used to such gestures. “I don’t know. Come with the rest of us. We’re going to the Reichler Clinic first. Hannah and Jacob believe the mountains will be safe.…

  … The mindstream tugged, dragging me/us free, pulling me/us down.…

  A familiar voice called to me, harsh and intrusive.

  “ElspethInnle! Remember your promise. You must live to come when the oldOne calls!”

  It was Maruman.

  “How are you here?” I asked dreamily, drifting downward, mesmerized by the shimmering siren call of the mindstream.

  “You must not go down any more. Stop!” he sent urgently. I felt a searing pain on my hand, and I suddenly realized that I was on the verge of sharing the gypsy’s suicide.

  I fought to free myself, but again Maruman spoke. “Bring the funaga. Bring her, for she is needed.”

  I reached back and dragged the gypsy up with me. She screamed in fury and fought me. I drew again on the murderous power hidden in my mind for the strength to reject the mindstream. I gripped her tighter still. I could not hold her so close and remain separate. Our minds merged again.…

  Something is holding/pulling. I am caught/something makes me live/stay/suffer.

  Let me go. Let me die. I cannot bear it.

  WHO ARE YOU?

  I screamed and opened my eyes.

  “Elspeth!” Kella was shaking me, white to the lips.

  “What?” I felt dazed, confused, shattered. My mind churned with grief and guilt. Disjointed, impossible memories seethed in me. And my hand! Blood welled from three savage slashes across my palm.

  “What happened?” the healer demanded. “One minute you were sitting there calmly, and the next you started to convulse. I thought …” She sank down on the edge of the gypsy’s bed. “Lud, but you scared me!”

  “I scared myself,” I said shakily, pushing the heaviness of my unbraided hair from my face. I felt hot and cold at the same time, and my hands were trembling uncontrollably. I dabbed at the blood.

  “Maruman scratched you,” Kella said. “He climbed onto your lap when you were in the gypsy’s mind, and when you started to shudder and groan, he scratched you. He must have been frightened. I … I slapped him, and he ran out.”

  “He saved my life,” I murmured. “I had gone too deep, but he brought me out of it.”

  “Oh no,” Kella said, aghast. “And I slapped him!”

  There was a small moan from the bed, and I turned to look at the gypsy. Her eyes were open still, but tears now coursed down her cheeks. Her expression was aware, anguished. “What have I done?” she whispered hoarsely.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said wearily. “Everything will be okay now.”

  The gypsy buried her face in her hands. “Doesn’t matter? You don’t know. You can’t imagine …”

  Her eyes glazed over, and her eyelids shut. I looked up to see Kella frowning in concentration. “I’ve put her back to sleep. It’s just a light sleepseal—not like the one Roland put on her whole body. She is out of immediate danger but still terribly weak. I have closed her wounds and hastened the healing, and her body is responding. What on earth happened?”

  I took a deep shuddering breath and looked down at the gypsy. There seemed no connection between the tempestuous, desperate will I had encountered inside her mind and this passive form.

  “She had locked a memory behind a wall of forgetting, but it was leaking all over the place. She was trying to die so as to escape it. Roland’s seal slowed her down, but she broke through. I was testing the wall, but I had neglected to erect a separating shield around myself. Our minds merged.” Kella’s eyes widened. “And?”

  “I relived the memory she was trying to escape. The Herder we rescued her from had tortured and killed her bondmate in front of her to make her tell him the name of some Twentyfamilies gypsy. She refused to speak. When her bondmate died, she was convinced she had betrayed him.” I felt a surge of sorrow for the loss of a man I had never known, a residue of the accidental joining. “She thinks if she had talked, he would have lived.” I shook my head sadly.

  “But the man was on the verge of death before they brought her in. I don’t think he even knew what was happening.”

  The healer was ashen. “Monsters,” she whispered. “They are monsters to be capable of such barbarism.” Kella bent to draw the covers up around the gypsy. Abruptly, I remembered the odd sideways shunt that had hurled me into the depths of the gypsy
’s mind and into one of the racial memories that Maryon said arose occasionally from the mindstream like bubbles. The memory was already blurred at the edges like a dream, and even as I groped for detail, it dissolved.

  But I did remember one thing. There had been something in the dream about the Reichler Clinic.

  I shook my head. The foray into the gypsy’s mind had drained me, and my wits drifted with weariness. The previous day and night seemed to have been going on for years.

  Kella washed the scratches Maruman had inflicted, worrying all the while about her treatment of him.

  “He will understand,” I said. We went into the kitchen, and I took a poker and stirred to life the embers of the previous night’s fire.

  “Domick told me you met with Brydda last night,” Kella said, hanging up a jug of mead to warm.

  I nodded. Domick had spoken little on the journey back to the safe house, furious at the lack of faith Rushton had demonstrated in sending me to speak with Brydda directly. And though Brydda had accepted the blame for the lack of news, I still felt uneasy with Domick since seeing how much he had changed.

  “Greetings, ElspethInnle.” Maruman was sitting under the table, his yellow eye glinting. “I am glad you did not take the longsleep.”

  “You saved me.”

  “Of course,” he sent complacently. “Maruman guards the dreamtrails.”

  “Elspeth?” Kella prompted, unaware of my exchange with the cat.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said surely there is no hurry to return the gypsy to her people, now that she has wakened. You will be able to wait until she recovers completely.”

  I sighed. “It is more complicated than that. I did not want to worry you, but Maryon has futuretold that we must return the gypsy to her people in a matter of days. Otherwise, Obernewtyn may be in great peril.”

  She was aghast. “But that is impossible!”