The Rebellion

by Isobelle Carmody

  I felt hope stir in me. “But if Matthew is drugged, as soon as it wears off, I’ll be able to farseek him.”

  Domick sighed heavily. “I am sorry to be a doomcrow, but whoever has them might not let the drug wear off. And even if they give it a break, which they would be wise to do if they do not want to damage their slaves, then you would need to be farseeking at the right moment to reach Matthew. Even you cannot farseek indefinitely.”

  “It will not hurt to try. How soon before a single dose of this Sadorian drug wears off?” Brydda asked him.

  “Several hours, more or less,” the coercer said after some thought. “It might have worn off already. The drugs react differently with each person. Weight and how much has been eaten and drunk need to be taken into account for even an approximation. But the other thing we have to consider is that the soldierguard may have got a good look at Matthew—his dark skin would stand out in the daylight—and if he did not recognize him before, he might have done so now.”

  Brydda thumped the table in excitement. “But don’t you see, that will work for us! If this soldierguard recognized him from the market, he would definitely let the drug wear off so that he can be questioned.”

  For the first time, Domick looked convinced. “You are right. They would be fools not to interrogate him.” A darkness flickered in his eyes.

  “How frequently can you farseek in a day?” Brydda demanded, looking at me.

  “If I was fresh, every hour or so.” I turned to Kella. “Can you drain the fatigue from me?”

  The healer stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Are you mad?”

  “I am not planning to scan the whole of Sutrium,” I snapped. “I will be using an attuned probe, and it will only take a few minutes to send it out. Either it will find Matthew or it won’t. It may be our only chance to save him.”

  Kella’s ire faded. “I can only drain your fatigue the once. You have not eaten all night, and it would be better if you slept a little. Later—”

  “Later may be too late,” I interrupted her grimly.

  The healer sighed and held out her hand. I gave her mine and relaxed completely as her Talent hummed through my body. Gradually, the night’s tensions drained from me into the healer, and with them the chilly stiffness from all the hours of waiting motionless on the roof and the queer light-headedness I had begun to feel.

  When I opened my eyes, I felt as if I had just woken from a sound night’s slumber. Kella’s eyes were closed as she dissipated the fatigue poisons she had drained from me.

  I closed my own eyes again and concentrated on shaping a probe tuned to Matthew’s mental signature. Sending it out, I kept my fingers crossed, but before long it was obvious I would not locate him that way.

  On impulse, I sent out a farsense searcher probe. Starting at the place where I had lost touch with Matthew, I let my mind fly out in ever-widening circles, dipping fleetingly into every mind I encountered just in case I happened upon a mind or group of minds that were oddly distorted. If that happened, Brydda could check to see if it was Matthew and the four slaves.

  I moved gracefully in a spiraling mental dance, because awkwardness would waste energy. I kept fanning out until I felt my little store of energy fading; then I withdrew into my own mind and opened my eyes.

  The others were all staring at me hopefully. I shook my head, not trusting the steadiness of my voice. Brydda began to pluck agitatedly and absently at the beard hairs beneath his jutting chin as I described the many tainted areas in Sutrium.

  “That is only your first try,” Reuvan said. “It is quite likely this drug has not even had a chance to wear off yet. And we can search the areas you can’t farseek in.”

  “That is true,” Domick said, getting to his feet and pulling on his coat. “I must go back to the Councilcourt,” he added, in answer to our questioning glances.

  “But you’ve been there all night,” Kella protested. “And you have eaten nothing.”

  He glanced about and took up one of the loaves Matthew and Kella had baked together. “This will do. I have no time for more.”

  The healer stared at the loaf as if she wanted to cry.

  “Is something happening at the Councilcourt?” Brydda asked. “Surely you do not always work such long hours.”

  Domick shrugged on his sodden cloak. “The Council is shifting us about at random to see who moves easily and who resists. It is a thing they do occasionally. A security measure. In fact, I have been thinking I might stay at an inn for the next few nights, just in case I am under investigation. That is what I came to tell you.”

  He did not look at Kella when he spoke, and her expression told me this was the first she had heard of it.

  Reuvan rose, saying he must leave, too. Kella stood up swiftly, saying she would walk them both out. Her face was pale and set.

  26

  “HE IS SO cold,” I said to Brydda when we were alone.

  The rebel gave me a stern look. “Do not blame Domick for being good at what you and your people have asked him to do, Elspeth.”

  I shook my head. “Does being good at spying mean he has to be so cold and remote? So hard?”

  “Of course it does,” Brydda said sharply. “Spying requires a person to turn themselves inside out in their efforts to pretend to be what they are not. In a sense, Domick has had to become the enemy, and that means he must work against the very things he believes in most passionately. He must do and witness things that are abhorrent to him, and yet pretend to approve. And he is in constant peril. Of course it has changed him. How could it not? If he had not hardened, what he does would have destroyed him.”

  Chilled, I thought of Domick’s knowledge of torture methods and his certainty that anyone exposed to them would talk, and I remembered the rumor of his presence in the torture chamber. “Sometimes you have to endure a lesser evil in dealing with a greater one,” he had said.

  Oh, Domick, I thought. He had said he was not a torturer. But of course he must have seen terrible things—torture and death and executions, experimentation with new drugs. He was spying in the Councilcourt, for Lud’s sake. What sort of naive idiot had I been to think he would simply sweep floors and gather up the odd secret?

  Brydda rose and threw a knot of wood on the fire. “I have received replies from almost all the rebels as to whether or no they will attend your meeting.”

  I nodded without enthusiasm. A meeting with the rebel leaders was just one more possible disaster in the making.

  Brydda gave me a level look. “You are going to meet with them still, I trust?”

  I nodded again. “I’ll go, but I just don’t see that it will change anything.”

  “Not if you go with that attitude,” he said shortly. “It will be held in Rangorn. I will not tell the others the location until the day of the meeting. Less chance of a leaking mouth.”

  I was startled out of my dejection. “But Rangorn is thick with soldierguards scouring the place for me!”

  “Exactly why it will be the safest place to hold a meeting. By the time we get there, they will have given up searching and left.” He smiled disarmingly. “There are plenty of good reasons for choosing Rangorn, but in truth, I have an urge to see the trees I climbed as a boy.”

  “What am I supposed to do at this meeting?”

  “Answer their questions as best you can and remember that the aim is to make them see you as a Talented human rather than a Misfit,” Brydda said. “When the question of your abilities arises, I would speak of farseeking as the power to communicate over long distances with others who possess the same power. Say nothing of mind reading or coercing unTalents. You might explain beastspeaking since that is unlikely to frighten them, and they have already heard mention of it. And empathy since it is fairly harmless. But I would not mention futuretelling at all. Also don’t let yourself be pressured into demonstrations.”

  “You want me to impress them without scaring them.”

  “In a sense,” Brydda agreed with a
ll seriousness. “The main thing is that you establish yourself as normal and human in their eyes. And I think it would be best for now to let the rebels believe you are truly gypsies. If they knew the truth, they would want to know the whereabouts of your stronghold. It would not occur to them to ask about a gypsy stronghold because of the safe-passage agreement.”

  “But you’ll be there, won’t you?” I asked, puzzled at the advance instructions.

  “Of course,” Brydda said. “But if I appear too much on your side, they will feel threatened. It would cause them to see me as a rival, and ultimately that would endanger the rebellion. Certainly, it would not serve you. That is why I chose to have the meeting in Rangorn—it is neutral territory, because no rebel leader controls it.”

  I frowned. “Why would your rebels need neutral territory when they are allies?”

  “An ally is not a friend. At best, these are reluctant allies. You must remember that these rebel chiefs are working toward smashing the established order.”

  “Yes?” I said blankly.

  “Well, think about it. What happens when the current power structure of Herder Faction, Council, and soldierguards is obliterated? Who will run things?”

  “You mean they’re worried about which of them will be in charge when it’s all over?” I asked incredulously.

  “It is something that must be considered,” Brydda said. “This is not a fairy tale where everyone lives happily ever after. Following the rebellion, there will be chaos and, in the midst of it, a struggle to decide who will have power over whom in the Land. Many of those who rule the various rebel groups are prepared for that and are determined to come out on top. For that reason, there is great rivalry between the most powerful groups. Indeed, some of the leaders hate one another more than they hate the Council or the soldierguards!”

  “But that is stupid,” I said.

  He smiled sadly. “Stupid, yes, but it seems it is the nature of humankind to want control over one another. Why do you think I prefer the company of horses? Of course, in some ways, the rivalry is my fault. Before I brought them all together with the notion of revolution, there was no competition, because no one imagined it would be possible to get rid of the Council. No one thought further than simple survival. Now, of course, they think of afterward.…”

  “Is that what the man you have joined wants? The Sutrium leader?”

  “Bodera? No. There would be no point. And his son, Dardelan, is too young to be regarded by the rest as any sort of competition. That is what gives Bodera his neutrality and his best advantage.” Brydda fixed me with a hard look. “It is because of this that I have been able to set the rebellion in motion. As to this meeting with you, make no mistake, they come more to keep an eye on one another than to give you a hearing. But they will hear you.”

  With a faint chill of apprehension, I wondered if the future of Talented Misfits lay only in changing one set of oppressors for another. What if someone like Tardis or Malik came out on top?

  As if he had read my thoughts, Brydda said, “I have not heard yet from Malik. Bodera predicts he will send his refusal at the last moment to be difficult.”

  “Your Bodera sounds like a wise man,” I said. “I would like to meet him.”

  The big rebel smiled with affection. “Truly he is worth meeting, but the rotting sickness has distorted his features dreadfully, and he dislikes being looked at. You will meet his son, Dardelan, though, and he is very like his father. He will attend the meeting in Bodera’s stead.”

  “To remind the other rebels that he, and not you, is his father’s chosen successor?”

  Brydda nodded. “The rebel leaders are a suspicious lot, and it will not hurt to reassure them.”

  “Who else will come?”

  “Tardis will send an emissary. That is not good, but it is better than nothing at all. There are few responses from the upper lowlands seditioner groups, because Malik has a strong following in the region and he has yet to respond. They will vote as he does, and only after he does.

  “Malik sees Tardis as his most serious rival, because the Murmroth group is the largest next to his own. The west-coast bloc has the numbers to rival them, but they have been unable to amalgamate. The bloc is made up of rebel groups from Port Oran, Halfmoon Bay, and Morganna, each with its own leader. The trouble is that none of the three wants to step down. They have promised to send representation, but if one comes, I daresay all will come. None will want the others to gain an advantage.

  “Naturally, the other major groups encourage the discord, for they have a vested interest in keeping the situation as it is, though for the sake of the rebellion it would be best if one leader took control of the bloc.”

  On one level, I listened with fascination to the internal machinery of the rebel network, but on another I was conscious that Brydda was talking as much to take my mind away from thinking of Matthew as anything else. “Elii of Kinraide is a strong leader, but his numbers are small …,” Brydda was saying.

  I stared at him, wondering if this could possibly be the same Elii who had guided me and other orphans from the Kinraide orphan home to harvest whitestick. Then again, Elii was not an uncommon name.

  “… as well as Bram and Jakoby of Sador.”

  “Sadorians!” I was startled out of my lethargic drift. “I don’t understand. What do the Sadorians care about our struggles? The Council has no jurisdiction over them.”

  “Not yet it doesn’t,” Brydda said darkly.

  Abruptly, all the gossip I had heard of the distant region coalesced in my mind. “They support the rebellion because they don’t want to be absorbed by the Land and ruled by the Council!”

  “Exactly. It is inevitable that this will happen if the Council’s might is not curtailed, and the Sadorians are too intelligent not to see it. I approached them, but—”

  “You went to Sador?” I interrupted.

  The rebel nodded, smiling reminiscently. “It is a strange place—nothing at all like the Land. There they worship the earth, and human life is seen as short and unimportant. Ever since the road opened to Sador, the Sadorians have had to endure Faction missionaries. Interestingly, like the gypsies, Sadorians are nomadic.

  “Bram and Jakoby are simply two of the wisest of the tribal leaders. There is little strife among the tribes mainly, or so it seems to me, because they do not own the desert they call Sador. They shift about constantly, so there are no boundary disputes or territorial struggles. And when there are disputes, I believe they have devised some sort of ritual to mediate.”

  “How did you get them into the rebel alliance?”

  “I simply pointed out to them that overthrowing the Council would ensure their autonomy.” He shrugged. “But I think they had already worked that out. They are a very practical people.”

  “I wonder what they will make of me?”

  Brydda’s expression was unexpectedly wry. “I doubt they will come. I have asked them more out of courtesy than anything else. At present, we are allies only in principle—not in practice. But we will see.”

  For a moment, his eyes were distant and distracted. Then he sighed and suggested I try farseeking Matthew again.

  The probe returned without locating him.

  Three times before midmeal, and then three more times in the afternoon that long, gray day, I farsought Matthew, each time to no avail. Rain fell intermittently, and Reuvan came with progressive reports as the rebels scoured the tainted areas I had named. They found no trace of Matthew or the others. Brydda remained with me, talking when I was not trying to farseek. By dark, I felt exhausted and strangely hot.

  Drawing up a mental probe for the eighth time, I shaped it to fit Matthew’s mind with difficulty. When I sent it out, the probe felt heavy and unwieldy. It did not surprise me that such an uninspired search did not find him.

  Opening my eyes, I seemed to see the flames on the hearth through a gray haze, and even shaking my head required a tremendous effort of will. I felt dizzy, and it seemed
that I must be too close to the fire, but I had no energy to pull myself away.

  “Elspeth?” Brydda said from a long way off.

  The room began to sway and dim, and there was the sound of voices, but it was too hard to understand what they were saying. I closed my eyes, and it seemed the flames were inside my skin. For a terrifying moment, I thought I was burning at the stake.

  “Damn you! Where is it?” cried a disembodied voice.

  “Elspeth!”

  I dragged my eyes open and looked up to see Brydda’s bearded face hovering above me. The world rocked. It took a moment for me to understand that the rebel was carrying me down the hall in his massive arms.

  “Must … keep trying …,” I said, struggling feebly, though I could not for the life of me recall what was so urgent.

  “Sleep,” Brydda said with gentle insistence. “Sleep …”

  I dreamed again of the dark tunnel. This time I was being pursued. Something huge and savage was pounding along the tunnel after me, closing the gap between us with impossible speed.

  “Be gone!” Gahltha sent, leaping out of the darkness behind me. I whirled as he reared in the tunnel, blocking the way. But in the dream, there was something different about him. Before I could understand what it was, I found myself again on the threshold of the flaming doors. Incredibly, the Teknoguildmaster was beside me.

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it,” Garth demanded, “what can be concealed when it is right in the open?” He looked at me. “Of course, you realize what it means?”

  I shook my head.

  “It means that you are really a gypsy.”

  His words seemed to come from a long way off.

  “The gypsies keep the signs,” someone whispered.

  I knew the voice and tried to sit up. “Atthis! Why don’t you speak to me?”

  Hands pushed at me, and I fought against them.