The Rebellion

by Isobelle Carmody

  “Your mother does not want you there and neither do I. Especially not in the border region.”

  “The only thing you two manage to agree on is repressing me as much as possible.”

  “After the devastation of Raq and Turka, I don’t think anyone could be blamed for worrying about the state of the world.”

  “It’s all right for you to worry, but when I worry, I’m being childish.”

  The flying machine now hovered over a collection of flat, square buildings, and it began to drop toward a pale circle drawn onto the grass among them.

  “This place is a prison,” the girl said sullenly.

  The older man gave her a strange look.

  I felt a pain in my head so sharp it made me cry out, and the dream faded as I rose quickly through the levels of my mind to consciousness.

  6

  I OPENED MY eyes to find Maruman staring balefully into my face. At once the mental pain lessened.

  “What is the matter with you?” I sent, sitting up with a groan and rubbing my temples. “You’ve given me a terrible headache jabbing at my mind like that.”

  “You desired/wished to wake early,” Maruman sent. He began to wash his ears industriously.

  I looked out the window. It was still dark but more blue than black, which meant it was nearly dawn. I thought with a shudder of the creature that had flown at me in my dreams. It had seemed so real.

  “Beast is real,” Maruman sent, ceasing his ablutions to stare at me. “It can kill/wound, but last night it sought only to vent rage.”

  “On me? Why?”

  The cat gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. “Marumanyelloweyes does not know. Dreambeast screeches/is mad with pain from some old injury/hurt. Lives in fortress with no door.”

  With a sudden fear, I wondered if it was possibly a form assumed by the H’rayka, but Maruman heard the thought and sent that it was not the Destroyer.

  That was some relief, at least. “I dreamed that Rushton was injured by it.…”

  “He/Rushton-mate was not real. Your memory Rushton only. He cannot be killed/harmed.”

  Relieved, I climbed out of bed. The flagstones were cold under my bare feet, but the air felt warm and smelled sweet with new growth and blossoms. Suddenly I was eager to be outside when the sun rose. I poured some water into a bowl and washed myself, toweled briskly, and dressed. Maruman leaped onto the windowsill and gazed out.

  Brushing my hair, I became aware that Ceirwan was trying to farseek me and hastened to open the door.

  “I brought ye a bit of somethin’ to eat,” he said, maneuvering a small tray past me. “I meant to wake ye on my way up, but yer mind was closed to me.”

  “Maruman saw to my waking,” I said, casting the old cat a wry look.

  There was a roll with some cheese, as well as a bowl of egg and milk for Maruman. I took up a steaming mug and sniffed appreciatively.

  “Choca. Th’ Sadorians brought sacks of it as a gift, an’ everyone is to have it with firstmeal this morning. Hopefully it will make them feel better about Dameon not comin’,” the guilden said. He sighed. “Well, I had better go back to th’ kitchen. The Sadorians might get up early after all, an’ I ought to be there to fend off questions so they can eat in peace.”

  I nodded. “I want you to take them to the farms after they have eaten. Alad can give them a tour and arrange for them to spend time with the beastspeakers, learning more of the fingerspeech. I’m off to Tor soon, but tell Jakoby I will be back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

  Ceirwan opened the door, then turned back. “Did ye dream? Ye should write it in th’ book afore ye go.…”

  “I’ll start tomorrow,” I said, knowing already that I would have to leave out a good deal of my dreams. “But ask Sarn to make sure everyone else starts filling it in today.” I hesitated. “Did you dream last night?”

  To my surprise, Ceirwan blushed. “I did, but it is nowt that would need to gan in any dream journal.”

  I realized then that Maryon might have asked more than she guessed in wanting a record of dreams. After all, many were no more than expressions of private desires.

  When he was gone, I farsought Gahltha to ask if it would trouble him to leave Avra when she was so near to foal. He responded wryly that Avra would be glad to see the back of him for a while.

  I put Maruman’s bowl on the sill, but he stared pointedly at my roll until I took out a slice of cheese and offered it to him. I took up my mug of choca and sipped at the rich, sweet brew. It was hot and burned my lip, so I set it aside to cool. I chafed at the delay, but choca was too rare a pleasure to leave.

  I laced my boots and gave more thought to dreams, remembering Maryon saying our maze had been reconstructed from the remnants of an older version. Could that original maze be what I’d seen in my dream? Yet it had been surrounded by unfamiliar mountains.

  “Were the people I heard talking in the maze real?” I sent to Maruman, but he did not respond. I puzzled a moment before remembering that I had bluntly shushed him in my dream. I sighed. “I’m sorry I told you to be quiet, Maruman, but tell me, was I remembering something that really happened from the Beforetime, or was it just a dream?”

  He lapped at his milk, and I resisted the urge to shake him. “Well, did you mean what you said about being able to show me the doors of Obernewtyn on the dreamtrails?”

  Still he did not answer.

  “Maruman!” I said aloud and with my mind. He yawned rudely in my direction and began to lick his paw and wash his face with it.

  I became sly. “Well, you probably can’t do what you boasted, and that’s why you are silent,” I sent with the faintest suggestion of condescension.

  He regarded me coldly. “Maruman knows dreamtrails. Knows where doors are/were.”

  “You mean your memory of the doors,” I sent.

  “All that is/was/could be can be reached by dreamtrails. Real are things on them,” he sent haughtily. But at once his manner changed, and he gave me a long grave look. “Maruman could take/bring/show ElspethInnle. But flying beast may scent/see/seek you.”

  I frowned. I wanted to have the chance to study the doors again, but my memory of the beast plunging from the sky and savaging Rushton was shudderingly fresh.

  I drank some choca pensively. “Could it really hurt me?”

  “In dreams/memories, you can be hurt/pained/bruised, but dreamhurts do not become reality. On the dreamtrails, spirit and flesh of dreamer are one. Flying beast is not the only danger. Maybe H’rayka watches for chance to hurt/harm Innle. Watches for moment when Maruman is not watchful/wary.”

  “But you could show me the doors?” I persisted.

  The old cat merely coiled himself into a ball, and I knew there was no use in going on at him. He would raise the matter if he decided to show me the doors, or he would refuse to discuss it again. I did not know whether to be sorry or not. I was certainly in no hurry to risk the dreamtrails. But the likeness between the doors and Kasanda’s panels in Sador haunted me.

  With a sigh, I finished my choca in a few greedy mouthfuls and sent to Gahltha that I was on my way.

  Fian met me in the courtyard that led to the maze path. He confessed he had been lurking in wait. “I saw Ceirwan in th’ kitchen, an’ he said ye were goin’ down to Tor to see Garth,” the teknoguilder explained. “Would ye mind if I ride wi’ ye? I’m curious to see what they’ve bin doin’.”

  Me too, I thought. “Come if you like. I wanted to ask more about your time in Sador anyway. Dameon was well when you left him?”

  Fian slipped on the melting crust of snow at the maze’s threshold and righted himself before answering. “I have never seen him look better nor be more fit. He spent much more time than I ridin’ about on those foul-tempered kamuli. ’Tis a funny thing about Sador. To start with, th’ sun is oppressive an’ ye can hardly bear it loomin’ over ye. But after a time, ye learn to move slow an’ to savor th’ lovely cool evenin’s, an’ ye discover th’ flowin’ robes wor
n by the Temple guardians are cool and soft. Ye learn to like the way they lick an’ flap at ye heels, an’ in th’ evenin’s, the dunes go from bone white to violet an’ rosy pink an’ deepest blue, an’ the tribesfolk’s fireside chant songs seem to fly over them.…” He fell silent.

  “You sound as if you miss it.”

  He gave me a quick look. “Ye know, I guess I do at that, though if ye’d predicted it when I was there, I’d have denied it. But th’ desert gans into yer blood.” He laughed. “But still th’ mountains are rooted deeper, an’ it’s glad I am to see them. I am even glad to see a bit of snow, for it dinna fall once in Sador during all th’ long wintertime.”

  Fian’s words summoned up my own time in the desert lands, and I could see them clearly in my mind’s eye.

  “I’ve been hearin’ all about Miryum’s coercer-knights,” Fian said.

  I groaned. “This Sadorian who claims to be betrothed to Miryum …”

  “Straaka,” Fian said.

  “Straaka,” I tried. The highlander corrected my pronunciation, rolling the r and lengthening the a sound. “I just can’t believe he would regard the few words he said to Miryum as a serious proposal. They had only just met, and she had hit him.”

  Fian grinned. “No doubt that is why he proposed, for there is a streak of wild in th’ tribesfolk that makes them as volatile an’ sometimes violent in love as in hate.” The highlander sobered. “But Miryum ought to ken that Straaka regards th’ proposal as a serious bond. By Sadorian lore, she accepted him. But it’s more complicated than that.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Straaka would ordinarily be here to bring Miryum back to bond with him. But his betrothal gift is now morally repugnant to him.”

  “The horses?”

  “Aye, them. Now th’ Sadorians are committed to fair an’ equal dealin’s between human folk an’ beasts, Straaka feels th’ giving of them as not only a shame on him but a grievous insult to Miryum. He has brought th’ horses here personally—escorted them, he says—because he wants to explain to her why th’ gift is withdrawn an’ ask what she will have in their place.”

  “You mean …”

  “That he expects her to name another gift he can gan to replace th’ first, an’ it has to be a difficult enough thing to obtain to restore his honor. If she simply spurns him, he will take it that his shame is too great to be wiped away, no matter how she puts it, an’ he will have no choice but to kill himself.”

  I was appalled.

  “I’m afraid Miryum is goin’ to have to say no in some very clever, tactful way or have th’ life of th’ fellow on her hands,” Fian went on.

  I felt like throwing my hands up at that. Miryum was famous for her lack of tact, and the devising of her code of chivalry had made her as absurd on the subject of honor as her suitor was. Straaka would certainly seek Miryum out before I returned from Tor, so the only solution was to take her with me.

  I farsent to Ceirwan, who said that he would put it to her that I ought to be guarded.

  “Don’t encourage her!” I sent, exasperated.

  We came to the end of the maze path just as the sun slid free of the mountains. All of the extensive farmlands enclosed by the walls of Obernewtyn were bathed in glistening morning light, and here and there, remaining drifts of snow glowed against the grass.

  Fian stopped and drank in the vista with a sigh of appreciation. His eyes traveled lovingly from the orchards on our left to the rich brown fields on our right. Everywhere pale green shoots had pushed through the ground, and leaves on the trees were beginning to unfurl. I had been to the farms only a few days past, yet, all at once, spring seemed to have arrived.

  Alad emerged from one of the farm sheds to greet us.

  “Greetings, Guildmaster,” Fian said. “I am pleased that ye acknowledge my importance by comin’ in person to welcome me home.”

  “Don’t get too excited, lad,” Alad laughed. “I was keeping an eye out for you, Elspeth. One of Rushton’s birds just flew in, and I thought you’d want to know about it at once.”

  Alad was smiling, so it could not be bad news, yet my heart constricted with anxiety. “What does it say?”

  Alad held out a tiny soiled scroll, and I unrolled it and read: “A request made by a friend was gently refused. Leaving today after meeting with Domick. Home by moon fair. R”

  I blinked, cursing Maryon for frightening me. “It seems we were right about the rebels wanting us to join them. It will be interesting to hear why when Rushton gets back.”

  We made our way along the orchard path toward the buildings that both Beast and Beastspeaking guilds used for their merges—four barns built around a paved, open courtyard. Alad brought us into this area, where the fire pit now gaped empty and smoke-streaked. Up one end of the courtyard, a vine-covered trellis formed a natural roof, and I saw that there were trestle tables set up under it, laid with cloths and what were clearly the remnants of a substantial meal. Katlyn and a couple of beastspeakers were collecting mugs and plates on trays.

  “What has been going on?” I asked.

  Alad grinned. “It’s been too long since you worked on the farms, Elspeth. It is seeding time, and today we begin to plant the far fields. The Beastspeaking guild and everyone assigned to us ate a hearty firstmeal before dawn, and they’ve been hard at work for an hour now. But I daresay there is a morsel of one of Katlyn’s pies and some choca left, if you fancied a bite or three.”

  Fian gazed wistfully at the food. I left him to it and went to collect Gahltha.

  Avra whinnied a greeting as I approached. She made a pretty picture of impending motherhood, framed in trees laden with blossom. Gahltha was by her, nuzzling her neck. Someone must have brushed him, for his winter shagginess had given way to the sleek gleam of his summer coat.

  Avra nuzzled my hand affectionately, and I stroked her swollen flank and asked how she felt. She seemed very big to me, but I supposed it was because she was a small horse, as free mountain horses tended to be.

  “I feel I carry a galloping herd inside me rather than one foal,” she sent wearily. “I would that it were done, but the oldmares say it is longer with the first foal.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind me taking Gahltha?”

  “Rasial will protect me should I need it, but I have nothing more dangerous to do than eat. But you will ride into the lands of the funaga-li. Take care, ElspethInnle.”

  “We will not go far into them nor be gone long,” I assured her. “I doubt any funaga-li will even see us.”

  She whickered softly in approval and sent that she had found Zidon and Faraf illuminating. “Many beasts say perhaps desert lands are the true freerunning barud. Some equines talk of joining that wild herd.”

  “Some should go and report back to the rest,” I sent. “But we will talk later of this.” I gave her a final pat and turned to find Faraf, who had trotted up in the soft grass.

  “Greetings, ElspethInnle,” she sent softly, her great, dark eyes reverent.

  I smiled and reached out to run my fingers through her mane. “I am glad to see you here at last, little sistermind,” I sent. “It has been a long journey since first we spoke. I wonder that you left the desert lands, though.”

  “The funaga there seek/desire fair dealing, but I longed for the greenlands and steephills of my youngdays. It is fair/beautiful here, as you promised/told.”

  “It is,” I sent. “And I am glad you’ve come.” She looked well, though somewhat thin from the ride. That could be healed by a few good days of grazing. But her flanks were savagely scarred from Malik’s attacks during the Battlegames, and those marks would never fade. Faraf did not blame me for her injuries, but that only made me blame myself the more.

  “Alad beastspeaking guildmaster says you ride this day?”

  “We can talk when I return,” I promised.

  “If you permit, I would ride/go with you.”

  I thought she probably needed rest more than another ride, but it
was not so strenuous a journey to Tor, and I did not have the heart to say no to her.

  “Let us begin, then,” Gahltha sent.

  7

  BY THE TIME we left Obernewtyn, it was far later than I liked, and we were seven riders and eight horses. A number of Miryum’s coercer-knights had decided to accompany her, and Ceirwan had farsent to Alad for more horses. The knights had been waiting at the gates, clad nominally as gypsies but also wearing their black scarves. Rather than delay us further, I made no protest.

  Miryum knew nothing of Jakoby’s arrival, because she had eaten a hasty firstmeal in her chamber when Ceirwan had sent that I wanted her to ride with me. I let Fian explain Dameon’s delay and was interested to see that she showed no reaction at learning of the Sadorians’ arrival. She had apparently forgotten the strange proposal of the year before, and Fian had tact enough not to blurt it out.

  I had hoped to discuss Straaka with the coercer during the ride to Tor, but with her four followers hanging on her every word, it was impossible.

  We traversed the stretch of tainted earth just beyond the pass; then the track widened to become the main road, which wended its way right through the Land and down the coast, broke at the Suggredoon, and recommenced on the other side, running all the way to distant Murmroth. In that sense, the road we now rode along was the road to all the Land. I would have preferred to diverge immediately and enter the White Valley, but the road traversed a high stone spine, which fell away so steeply on the Valley side that we had no choice but to keep to it until there was a safe descent.

  Soon we passed the smaller road leading off to Darthnor and its mines. My anxiety increased, for there was now the danger of running into other travelers.

  We increased our pace, and I noted with consternation that several of the places where it had once been possible to enter the Valley were now almost cliffs, with crumbling edges. It occurred to me that we might be wise to somehow improve access to the Valley closer to the pass.

  Faraf had fallen behind, and glancing back, I noticed she was favoring a leg.