The Rebellion

by Isobelle Carmody

  The empath-coercer could not have chosen a more perilous time to come to the market; late afternoons were traditionally the busiest part of the day. Hoping for a bargain, men and women shopped as late as possible, for it was well known that traders believed that a day without a sale offended Lud and that they would be punished by another poor day to follow.

  I never ceased to be amazed by their paltry image of a Lud who would care for the sale of a bit of fish or a stretch of cloth. The horse-holding yard was filled to capacity, which meant I would have to tie Gahltha to the less secure bars along the outer edge of the corral. Gritting my teeth at the delay, I led him into a side lane and scooped some mud from the bottom of a drain. I had almost finished smearing it over him when I heard footsteps.

  I knelt and pretended to examine his fetlock. Peering covertly behind, I nearly fainted at the sight of a troop of soldierguards marching along the lane.

  There was nothing to be done but to concentrate fiercely and produce a general coercive cloak that would stop them noticing me.

  “Seems as if we ought to have more to do than play nursemaid to some Herders,” grumbled one of the soldierguards at the front of the column.

  “Council wants to keep them happy because of them financin’ th’ Sador business,” another muttered.

  The Herders were financing the invasion of Sador? Could it be so? Where would they come by such coin?

  “More like they don’t dare move against them, for fear they’ll get Lud to send another plague.”

  “It was nothing more than coincidence that they predicted pestilence and the plague came,” snapped another soldierguard. “Council’ll put them in their place before long, and that’ll be an end to our nursemaiding them.”

  “Will it? Herders have coin aplenty, so I’ve heard, and they ain’t averse to greasin’ soldierguard palms. I ain’t fussy as to where coin comes from, long as I get some.”

  “Shut up and get a move on,” called a lean, surly-looking captain at the back of the column.

  Their voices faded as they passed out of the lane, and I leaned against Gahltha’s noisome flank, weak-kneed with relief.

  Gathering my wits, I farsought Matthew to warn him that soldierguards were in the market and possibly Herders as well. As my probe touched him, a panicky burst of images and words surged painfully into my unprepared mind.

  I blocked the chaos and requested the use of his eyes. Instantly, Matthew made himself passive so that I could literally see through his eyes. It was a difficult maneuver but one we had perfected.

  He was standing in the midst of a crowd of people facing one of the market speaking stones, onto which people climbed to advertise wares or make announcements. Standing atop it was a Herder, his red armband marking him as one of the more important priests in the Faction hierarchy. Two brownband Herders stood on either side of the speaking stone like guards.

  But none of this explained Matthew’s panic.

  “Look!” His voice rose in my mind. His head turned, and I saw Dragon. Standing out in the open between the crowd and the speaking stone, her blue eyes ablaze with fury, the flame-haired empath-coercer was standing protectively in front of two small children. She resembled some avenging goddess out of a Beforetime story, the sun burnishing her red-gold curls and her face glowing with unearthly loveliness.

  Her mouth moved, and only then did I realize that she was shouting at the Herder priests!

  15

  SICK AT THE magnitude of the disaster unfolding, I flung myself onto Gahltha’s back, bidding him to carry me to the other side of the square. Passing through the center of a trade market on horseback was forbidden, but I used my coercive power recklessly, forcing people not to notice us and clearing a path.

  I saw that the group of soldierguards had taken the easier and longer route around the perimeter of the market, and I prayed for something to delay them.

  “What in Lud’s name has happened?” I demanded of Matthew.

  Rather than explaining, he sent a vision of a woman and the two children being manhandled by the Herders. The woman had shouted something at the redband priest and had been struck to the ground. One of the brownband Herders had grabbed at the little boy, who had screamed in terror and clung to his sister.

  Dragon had flown from the crowd of watchers like a spitting fangcat defending its young, and the beleaguered Herder had retreated with alarm.

  “I arrived just as it began,” Matthew sent. “The priests were collecting boys to be taken and trained as acolytes on Herder Isle, and the mother refused to let them take her son.” There was a pause before he continued. “The senior Herder has just told the brownbands to take both children. I’m afraid Dragon will … uh-oh!” Matthew sent frantically.

  By now, I was close enough to hear the empath-coercer’s childish voice, and I craned my neck in order to see her over the heads of the crowd. She had her arms around the two cringing children and was glaring at the approaching Herders purposefully.

  “Don’t,” she cried in a warning voice that froze my blood. “Don’t dare!”

  Then she dropped into a fighting crouch she must have learned from watching the coercers train and bared her teeth at the priests.

  They fell back again in astonishment, and there was a murmur of amazement from the crowd.

  I could not repress a groan. Dragon would vision. I was amazed she had not done so already. I had to stop her from unleashing her incredible powers in front of so many witnesses.

  “Lud preserve us,” Matthew sent despairingly along the probelink between us. “Th’ soldierguards are here!”

  I turned. Sure enough, the troops had reached the speaking stone. Their captain was looking around, taking in the fracas at a glance.

  “What is going on?” he demanded, marching up to the senior Herder. But before the Herder could answer, the captain’s eyes fell on Dragon. He gaped, thunderstruck.

  For a moment, I thought I saw recognition in that look, but then I realized that was impossible. Dragon had led a solitary, feral existence before coming to Obernewtyn, and she’d not left our sight since. Still, something in that look filled me with fear, and I directed a savage coercive bolt at Dragon, augmenting it with the destructive power at the depth of my mind—a power I had once used to kill but had since been able to keep in check, swearing never again to take a life. Still, I had no time to fashion a subtle arrow of it, and my probe clubbed through her shield, obliterating it and knocking her instantly unconscious.

  She slumped to the ground, and the two children screamed in fright.

  Their mother leapt to her feet and pulled them away from Dragon, just as the soldierguard captain stepped toward her.

  Without hesitation, I stamped coercively on his will. The rough nerve control I imposed would fade swiftly, so I had little time. I sent a swift instruction to Matthew and another to Gahltha.

  Immediately, the black horse reared up with an ear-shattering scream. People on all sides scattered wildly to escape the flailing hooves.

  “Someone has fed my horse prickleberries!” I cried, pretending to have no control.

  Gahltha rolled his eyes and bucked, lashing out with razor-sharp hooves, and the three priests dived away from the speaking stone with cries of terror, apparently convinced he was on the verge of the hysterical rage caused by ingesting the poisonous weed.

  “Captain?” One of the rank-and-file soldierguards tapped his superior, and the captain stirred, for this was enough to break the trance I had imposed. He looked around; then his eyes widened in fury, and he cracked his fist into the other man’s face. “Fool!” he raged. “The red-haired girl. Where is she?”

  Time had run out.

  “Go!” I sent, and Gahltha bolted out of the square and down a feeder lane.

  “A gypsy youth took her!” someone cried out.

  I cursed, for I had hoped no one would notice Matthew scoop up the unconscious Dragon in all the fuss.

  He sent that they had taken refuge in a burned-out
house. I took the location from him. They were still close to the market.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “Safer than on the street,” Matthew sent fervently. “Besides, they’ll never think I’d hide so close.”

  I hoped he was right. “Is Dragon all right?”

  “She’s unconscious,” Matthew said. “How in Lud’s name did you—?”

  “You stay put, and I’ll bring Gahltha,” I interrupted.

  I used the last of my reserve to drop a complete coercive cloak over Gahltha and myself, wishing I had time to rest. My diversionary tactics had obliterated my coercive suggestion that I was a boy. Even thickheaded soldierguards would work out that Matthew and I were the same gypsies wanted for the murders and sedition in Guanette.

  By morning, the streets would be crawling with squads combing the city for us as the gate search surged inward.

  The clouds cleared from the sky, and the sun shone properly for the first time in days. Everything in the sodden city steamed as we made our way in a wide arc around the market where Dragon had confronted the Herders, and into the next district.

  Coming around a blind corner, I found my way blocked by yet another of the small markets dotted throughout the city.

  My first instinct was to circle it. I had had enough of markets. But it was not long until dusk, and I did not want to waste any more time. Dismounting, I took Gahltha’s rein, leading him behind me.

  Brushing along the aisles, my eye was caught by a table laden with swatches of colorful cloth. I stared, for I had never seen cloth dyed so brightly before.

  “Sador dyes,” I heard a stallholder tell a customer.

  One of the pieces on the stall table was deep green, with a sheen as soft and yielding as the coat of a newborn pup. I ran a thumb over it, fascinated by the alien texture.

  “Get yer dirty paws off it, ye halfbreed slattern.”

  I dropped the material in shock, feeling as if I had wakened from a drugged sleep. What in Lud’s name had I been thinking of to stand about admiring a piece of cloth with half the city out looking for me? But I knew what was wrong: I was almost dazed with fatigue. It always happened when I used the strange power at the depth of my mind.

  Now that the wretched trader had identified me as a girl, I could not make myself into a boy in his eyes, but I could stop anyone else from seeing me.

  I began to back away, weaving a general coercive net, but the burly stallholder lumbered from behind his stand with unexpected speed and pushed me hard, sending me stumbling back against Gahltha’s warm flank. Anger filled me, as hot and unreasoning as fire.

  I choked it back, realizing too late that I had let my coercive cloak fall again. Since it worked by heightening and enhancing disinterest and inattention, there was no way I could reinstitute it with so many people goggling at me. Especially not with my energy so depleted.

  “If you won’t let a customer feel the cloth she might buy, I’ll move on,” I said pacifically, and backed away.

  “Since when did halfbreeds buy when they could steal?” sneered another man, blocking the way from behind.

  His skinny companion leered and stepped in my path when I tried to sidle by them. “And since when was a gypsy civil and honest at the same time?” he asked in a sinuous, high-pitched voice. “If you ask me, this one speaks too soft to be trusted. And why does a girl wear trousers, except for ease to run when she has stolen something?” He looked around at the gathering little crowd, seeking their support.

  Several nodded, and I began to feel truly uneasy.

  I let Gahltha’s rein slip from my fingers.

  “Shall I/Gahltha bolt/rear, ElspethInnle?”

  “No!” Using the black horse as a diversion yet again would be as good as posting a sign saying the gypsies wanted for the market fracas were still close by. I dared not risk it with Matthew and Dragon in hiding so near.

  “Find Matthew and Dragon and take them back to the safe house,” I sent, giving Gahltha a mental map of their location.

  “Gahltha must protect Innle,” he protested.

  “No! There are people here with knives and arrows, and they would think nothing of killing an equine. Obey me,” I commanded. “I can take care of myself in this.”

  Reluctantly, Gahltha withdrew. Fortunately, no one noticed he was riderless and apparently ownerless, because all attention was riveted on me. “I think we ought to give her a good whipping just to teach her what we think of gypsy thieves,” said the thin man who had stopped me from leaving. He unlaced a long whip from his belt with a practiced flick of his fingers.

  Two louts cheered and offered to lay on the first stripes to show how it was done, and other people crowded nearer. I looked around and my skin broke into gooseflesh, for I had no alternative but to let myself be manhandled and whipped.

  I clenched my teeth and steeled myself, invoking a coercive suggestion that the thin man should use the whip lightly. At the same time, I cursed and struggled as anyone would when the two louts grabbed me and ripped the gypsy shirt, baring my back.

  “Now we’ll see ye dance.” The thin man laughed and flicked the whip. It whistled viciously through the air, and I screamed when it struck, though I felt nothing, for I had erected a mental barrier to postpone the pain.

  I would experience the sting later, when there was no need to keep my wits about me.

  The whip struck again.

  “A weak blow,” cried the cloth trader, and he strode out to commandeer the whip. I reached out a coercive probe to soften his blows, too, but, to my horror, he was naturally shielded.

  I could not reach his mind without his knowing it—and maybe not at all in my weakened state.

  “I’ll show you how she dances to my music,” he promised, and swung his arm as hard as he could.

  The whip hissed, tearing into my skin. I felt no pain, but I screamed, writhing inwardly at the thought of the agony I would have to endure when the barrier was dissolved.

  He struck again and again, with no sign of stopping. Perhaps this was the death I had been promised. Maybe Maryon had misjudged the number of days or misread her vision. Maybe my time was already up.

  “Dance, gypsy! Give us a show!” cried the trader as he lifted his arm again. His lips and eyes shone with lascivious pleasure. “I thought gypsies loved to dance.”

  “That is so,” said a caressing masculine voice, and suddenly I was free, falling forward and grazing my knees on the cobbles.

  Clutching my shredded clothing, I turned to see the dark-haired gypsy who had ridden after me the day before. This time he was on foot, and the two louts who had held me were sitting at his feet with dazed looks.

  The trader gave a roar of anger and rushed forward. With lightning swiftness, the gypsy stepped aside and plucked him up by the scruff of the neck. The oaf must have weighed as much as Gahltha, yet the gypsy held him dangling in midair as if it were no effort at all.

  “You have made a mistake, Littleman,” he was saying to the dangling trader in a lecturing voice. “A gypsy dances as an expression of pleasure in movement or song, or for a lover. Not for moronish illbreds who would not know beauty nor grace if it bit them on the bum.”

  I was astounded that a lone gypsy would speak that way to Landfolk. Yet no one made a move to intervene. In fact, people began to edge away.

  The stallholder was by now purple in the face and in imminent danger of suffocating, his jerkin screwed tight around his neck.

  “What is that you say, Littleman?” the gypsy asked with exaggerated politeness.

  “Erk!” the man squeaked, clawing at his collar.

  I stifled an incredulous giggle as the gypsy put his ear to the trader’s mouth. “Your pardon? You say you want to apologize to this girl? Do I hear you aright?”

  The trader shook his head, then changed his mind and tried to nod.

  “What was that?” The gypsy hauled him closer, drawing the cloth around the trader’s neck even tighter.

  “Ahhk,” he gasp
ed, batting his arms as if he were a bird about to fly away.

  “You’d best put him down before you kill him,” I said. The trader’s eyes were rolling about in an alarming way, and his lips were blue.

  The gypsy ignored me. “Ahh! Now I understand. You wish to apologize by gifting a piece of cloth to her.”

  “Ug,” the trader said dully.

  “A fine gesture,” the gypsy said, opening his hand and letting the man fall in a gasping heap at his elegantly black-booted feet. “Now, what cloth was it that you wanted?”

  I stared up into his bold, laughing eyes. “Uh. I don’t think …”

  “The green?” he said. “A good choice. It will suit you.” He took up the cloth I had touched and held it up to my face. His knuckles brushed my cheek, and I flinched.

  “You startle like an unbroken pony,” he murmured.

  The blood rushed to my cheeks, and he laughed, turning back to the trader, who had risen unsteadily to his feet. “The green it is. Now wrap it up, Littleman, and I will consider amends made and say nothing to the Councilmen.”

  The trader took the cloth in trembling fingers, rolled it up, and slid it into a paper sleeve. The gypsy took it and threw a few coins on the ground.

  I was stunned at his audacity and thought the Twentyfamilies’ tithe to the Council must be magnificent indeed to let him get away with such high-handedness.

  Suddenly he reached forward, grasped my arm in a powerful grip, and propelled me behind the stall and down a side street. A few paces down the street, he thrust me into a shadowy doorway and pressed himself against me; I panicked and struggled.

  “For Lud’s sake and mine, girl, be still,” he said in a hard urgent voice.

  “Let me go!” I cried.

  “Shut up,” he hissed.

  “Shut up, yourself!” I flared, temper overcoming fear. He pulled me against his chest and closed a hard hand over my mouth. “Shhh,” he said quietly and distinctly into my ear.

  Then I heard the sound of running feet on the cobbles and I froze.

  “I tell you it was the girl from the other market. The one on the black horse that caused all that fuss,” panted a man nearby. “The captain said there is a big reward for her or one of them other two who was with her.”