The Rebellion

by Isobelle Carmody

  “May I ask you a question, lady?” he asked.

  I decided to slice straight to the heart of things, for subtlety was no gift of mine. “You wish to speak of the Coercer guilden, Miryum.”

  He nodded gravely. “She was well when you parted?”

  “She was, but I must tell you that she is troubled about the oath between you, because it crosses another oath she made.”

  Straaka frowned. “She had promised herself to another man?”

  “Not to a man, but to Obernewtyn.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Miryum leads the coercer-knights, and they are vital to our safety here. She fears that leaving would constitute a betrayal of her oath to Obernewtyn.”

  “In accepting my gift, she agreed to wive with me.”

  “In our Land, such a gift is only a step toward bonding. When she took your betrothal gift, Miryum did not realize that things were done differently in Sador. She did not imagine that her promise to you would take anything from her oath to Obernewtyn. She assumed one oath would be fulfilled and then, in time, another.”

  Straaka nodded. “I see. What was the nature of her oath to Obernewtyn?”

  “You must ask that of her,” I said gently, deciding I had said enough to lay the groundwork for my plan.

  Fian brought us from the tunnel into a newly excavated part of the cave network, and I looked about with interest as he pointed out a section of Beforetime wall that had been exposed. Amass of twisted, silver metal poles and wires poking up from a heap of dirt and rubble drew all of us near, and Fian explained that this had been a moving stair. Harad asked incredulously where such steps could have led and was told that the caves, and indeed the whole untidy tumble of granite about us had once been an imposing Beforetime building that had climbed twelve levels above us into the air, as well as many levels below. During the upheavals of the Great White, the building had collapsed. I gazed around the enormous half cave with its rocky walls and earthen floor sprouting mushrooms in the damp crannies and corners. The remnant of the wall and stair looked utterly misplaced in the midst of it, yet the entire network was a combination of rough present and lost past.

  Fian ushered us all through a short hall into the main cavern, and the Sadorians gaped at the immortal glowing sphere that lit the entire cavern, with its silvery floor and walls and row upon row of laden bookshelves. There were also numerous mismatched tables and chairs piled high with notes and scholarly paraphernalia. Above hung thick stalactites, dry now, for the cavern was kept heated to preserve the precious Beforetime books. Several teknoguilders were seated at the tables, while others pored over the bookshelves, but Fian made no attempt to interrupt them.

  Bruna appeared with one of the lads who had tended the horses, and stared at the globe of light in fright. “That is not natural,” she hissed at her mother.

  “It is not, indeed,” Jak said, coming out from between two high bookshelves to introduce himself. “In my master’s absence I welcome you to our hall.”

  Bruna eyed him suspiciously. “I do not like the earth around me and over my head. It is like being buried.”

  “Having heard Fian talk of your deserts, I do not wonder that you would feel that way,” he said.

  “I like the mountains and the trees and the streams of this Land. Even the stone dwelling you call Obernewtyn has its beauty,” Jakoby observed. “But I must say I agree with my daughter that there is something about this place that creeps the flesh.”

  “If you think it gloomy now, you should have seen it in the beginning,” Jak said cheerfully. “Slime running down the walls, stinking mold everywhere, and any time we dug, we had to carry out by hand twisted metals and masses of rotten stuff. It is a good deal more pleasant now, and I hope that by the time you have taken a meal with us, you will feel less oppressed.” He glanced at Fian. “Why don’t you have the meal laid out, and I’ll take our visitors on a tour of my museum.”

  Fian hastened away, leaving Jak to lead us through another door. I was astounded at how much the teknoguilders had extended their network and asked how they had managed to shift such masses of earth as must have filled the new caverns.

  “Oh, the rooms that were intact were not packed full of earth. Only their entrances were blocked. The hardest work has been in constructing the tunnels to link the rooms, but again some of them were passageways in the Beforetime, so the earth was not hard packed in them either.”

  We entered a small cavern. Rock walls were hung with tapestries at regular intervals, depicting simple mountain scenes. Window-like, they made the cave less claustrophobic than the other parts of the network, and the Sadorians visibly relaxed.

  Tables had been placed around the walls of the cavern, their surfaces slanted down slightly at the front so you could better see what was on them: stone pillars and metal poles, a figurine of a woman, half-melted flat square plates stamped with numbers and letters; and all manner of unknown gadgets. Jak took up one of the plates and explained that it had been taken from a Beforetimers’ metal vessel on the submerged roads of Tor.

  On another table, a number of badly damaged books lay under a glass plate. I recognized one as the diary of the man who had built our Obernewtyn, Lukas Seraphim.

  Beside me, Jakoby took up a small brown tube with a bowl at one end and studied it with interest.

  “We think that was a device to encourage a new-lit fire,” Jak said, coming to join us. “There are traces of smoke in the bowl and in the pipe.”

  Jakoby looked amused. “We have a similar implement that is used during certain vision dances. We press a sort of spice into the end and then light it, inhaling the smoke through this end of the tube. The smoke enhances the ability to meditate before ritual battles.”

  Jak looked intrigued and began to question her while the rest of the group drifted away. I had seen much of the display before, though not laid out so accessibly. I complimented Jak on his museum, but he shrugged off my praise, saying that what lay in the room was in a sense the Teknoguild’s least important discoveries. “This is a collection of mere curiosities and incomprehensible gadgets. It sometimes even depresses me. The more we learn of the Beforetime, the more I can see that it is a lost civilization and we will never regain it. To me, this place is a graveyard as much as anything else.”

  “We of the desert believe humans worry too much about remembering their past,” Jakoby said equably. “What does it matter that many of these things are unknown to you now?”

  “If all that we learn is forgotten, each generation must relearn the same things over,” Jak said. “You must build upon what is known in order to reach up to what is unknown.”

  “I do not say things ought not to be remembered. Some things. Some knowledge. In Sador, our remembering lies in music and poetry. What is not remembered in these ways ceases to exist. In our experience, people remember what they need and forget that which is no doubt better forgotten.”

  Jak looked inclined to argue, but I caught his eye and shook my head firmly. He shrugged and said he would like to hear one of the tribal memory songs. Jakoby grinned and said she could manage it if they had a bit of Grufyyd’s ale to wet her tongue.

  Jak smiled, too. “We do at that.” He suggested we move on to the guild’s dining room, and we made our way back through the main cavern and along an older tunnel to a small, dry cave. To my surprise, the room was full and the tables covered in snowy cloths upon which lay a veritable feast—flat vegetable pies and dishes of runny cheese sauce and spicy chutney to accompany them, fragrant baskets of fresh baked bread, pots of butter and honey, and platters of dried fruits and slabs of cheese. At the center of each table, a cream pie concocted with choca had a place of honor. Teknoguilders usually subsisted on bread and cheese and apples between visits to the big house, so the food must have been brought in for the occasion.

  We took our seats, and Fian poured mugs of ale or cordial, then made a speech welcoming the Sadorians. We drank a toast to them; then we ate.
<
br />   In between mouthfuls, the teknoguilders questioned one another about their projects. Harad and Bruna asked Fian many questions about Teknoguild expeditions and about the guild’s slow work in trying to gain access to the older chambers upon which the caves rested. Jakoby and Jak talked to one another, their voices raised in argument from time to time as they disagreed over the concept of remembering and the importance of knowledge, but there was no open row, because the Teknoguilden sat beside me, and I prodded him with a hard toe whenever things became too fiery. Straaka sat between Bruna and me and was chiefly silent. I did not need to read his mind to know that he was thinking of Miryum.

  After we consumed the last sweet crumbs of pie, Jak requested the promised song from Jakoby. The tribeswoman laughed and withdrew a small flat rectangle of very pale finegrained wood from her shirt pocket. Three taut strings ran from end to end, passing over a raised ridge. Jakoby plucked three surprisingly somber notes before settling herself and beginning to sing. I had heard the tribes sing in Sador, but that had been a far more formal rendering of music. Now, her strong deep voice swelled in a less lofty way.

  When she was finished, I asked her if she had sung in gadi. She nodded, explaining the song told of a man sitting in the desert night and pondering the battle he must fight the following day. I asked if she could read something written in gadi for me, but she gave me a peculiar look and said that she could not read the language.

  Fian leaned across and asked if I had the piece of writing I had wanted him to translate. After a slight hesitation, I produced my copy of the rubbing. He leaned close to a candle to study it.

  Jakoby bent over his shoulder. “What does it say?” she asked the teknoguilder.

  “The lettering is not very well scribed,” Fian complained. “There’s something about a way, and that word means ‘need’ or ‘must.’ I think that is a name. Ka … Karada?”

  Alarmed, I said quickly that a feast was no place to begin a translation and that I’d thank him to put the paper away until he was sober.

  “I haven’t had any ale,” Fian said, giving me an injured look, but to my relief, he returned the copy to its wax pouch and slipped it into his pocket. I had probably overreacted, but I had feared he would translate aloud the name Kasanda.

  “Where did you see these words?” Jakoby asked.

  “I dreamed them,” I said lightly.

  “What was the dream?”

  “I was looking at … at a carving,” I said, deciding to stay as close to the truth as I dared. “That’s where these were scribed. When I woke, I wrote down what I remembered. I don’t suppose it will make much sense, but it irks my curiosity.”

  “Maybe you saw words in the Earthtemple when you were there and remembered them in your dream,” Bruna said.

  “I believe the overguardian would not have shown me anything I should not have seen,” I said, responding to her somewhat accusatory tone.

  “That is so,” Jakoby said. “The Temple is very protective of its secrets.”

  Bruna tossed her shapely head, making the beads and clips in her hair clank together, and I pitied Dardelan if he did care for the moody little hellcat. A strong longing for Rushton smote me.

  Jakoby gracefully declined requests for another song, volunteering Bruna instead. The girl acquiesced with bad grace, but her voice turned out to be surprisingly sweet. Her manner might be brusque and arrogant, but her voice was pure sunlight and honey.

  Rising sometime later, I asked Jak if we could see his workshop before we returned to Obernewytn. Harad and Bruna immediately protested that they were too full to move, and after some discussion, it was decided that the Sadorians would stay the night. I took my leave and followed the Teknoguilden back down the short hall to his museum room. On the other side of it, behind a long tapestry, there was a doorway.

  “The tapestry keeps the dampish air I need in my workroom from getting into the museum,” Jak explained. His workroom proved to be a small, dank cavern with one flat wall against which his workbench and a host of shelves were built. Clusters of bottles hung on hooks, filled with coruscating masses of glows. Their combined light was dazzling. “I am trying to breed them,” Jak said. He indicated a series of tanks, where more glowing insects crawled over several lumps of metal.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Feeding,” Jak said. “That is mildly tainted metal.”

  “Tainted!” I drew back in alarm.

  “Mildly tainted,” Jak stressed. “You would have to handle it a great deal before the skin would absorb enough to do any harm. And it is a lot less tainted now than when I brought the stuff in.”

  “Where did you get it?” I asked disapprovingly.

  “Ah, well. I got it from the ruins on the edge of the Blacklands, but they are not dangerous unless you spend a lot of time there. I am not so in love with the idea of my death to lie about that. I’ve too much work to do to waste time even being sick.”

  “All right, let’s say for the moment that it’s true the ruins are not very dangerous. You should still not be there, because guildmerge forbade it.”

  “I know,” Jak said, but he did not look contrite. “I wanted to see what would happen if I bred some of the insects to tolerate a drier climate—hardier insects that could live out in the open if need be. We could set them to cleaning up the Blacklands. The problem is that any sun is quite deadly to them, so we would have to breed them to be nocturnal feeders.” He gave me a penetrating look. “Years ago, I dreamed of the Great White destroying the land, spilling its poisons. It has haunted me since, and if I can help heal what has been done, I would count my life well spent.”

  I nodded, understanding even better than he how much harm had been done. “You ought to put in a formal request to spend some time in the ruins.”

  I asked then if I could look at the plasts his guild had unearthed that had any mention of flamebirds. He rummaged obligingly in a trunk under the bench and handed me a slippery pile.

  “There are only a few mentions, and they’re scattered. Why don’t you just take the plasts back to Obernewtyn with you? Someone can collect them later.”

  I said good night and, donning my cloak, farsent Gahltha. Outside, mist swirled along the ground, wet and heavy, and my breath came out in white puffs.

  Gahltha appeared like a dark ghost.

  “I am sorry I was so long,” I sent once we were on our way. “You must be worried about Avra.”

  He tossed his head. “Avra had no fear/worry for the foaling. Maybe it is the mother/nature to feel so, but I am no dam calmed by nature.” I sensed he did not wish to speak of Avra anymore, and I looked up at the sky. We had come high enough on the winding forest trail to rise above the cloying mist, and I was pleased to see the spine of stars running across a cloudless night sky.

  Gahltha interrupted my meandering thoughts to ask if I would mind if he galloped. When I agreed, he leapt forward, and for a time the pace was too great for any thought other than those connected with riding. I flattened myself against his back, my cheek pressed to his hot neck, and concentrated on becoming a part of his flowing movement. Time seemed to blur and ceased to have any meaning as we sped over the ground. We might have ridden hours or minutes before we broke out of the trees, but still Gahltha did not slow. We galloped along the open path and plunged through the farm gate at a speed that would have been dangerous at any reasonable hour.

  Outside the barns, Gahltha reared up and pawed the mist with a whinny of exaltation before stopping.

  I slid from his back, laughing. “That was a wild ride!”

  “There is no better way to chase fears away,” Gahltha sent, nudging me affectionately before trotting off to find his mate.

  13

  I WOKE THE next morning with Maruman patting a velveted paw against my cheek. My first thought was that Angina had succeeded in constraining Dragon’s mind, for my sleep had been undisturbed.

  “You must not go back to sleep. Mornirdragon grows restless as feelmusic w
eakens,” Maruman advised.

  I rolled over to stare at the old cat. He was curled into my pillow, his single yellow eye gleaming in the dimness of the shuttered chamber. “I’m glad to see you awake. I was worried.”

  “Mornirdragon did not mean harm/hurt to Marumanyelloweyes,” he sent.

  “But she did hurt you,” I sent. “You saved me and I thank you for it.”

  Maruman made a sniffing sound. “ElspethInnle came late last night. I wakened.…” He sent a picture of Ceirwan and Freya, whom I’d asked to watch him in my absence. They were sitting side by side before the fire, their heads close together. The image shimmered with his irritation, but I smiled to see Freya’s head droop into the curve of the young guilden’s neck.

  The picture vanished in another flash of irritation.

  “Human mating,” Maruman jeered. “So longwinding.”

  I lay watching him until I remembered what day it was. Not only moon-fair day, but also the day Rushton would come home! Suddenly wide awake, I slipped out of bed and hurried across the room to open the shutters. The day was as fair as we could have wished, the sky blue and cloudless. I grinned and hugged myself.

  Traditionally, on moon-fair mornings, Ceirwan sent some of the younger farseekers up with a special firstmeal for me, a mark of honor to the sender, even though it was truly my pleasure. But it was much too early to worry about disappointing them with an empty room. I slipped on my robe and padded in woolen slippers down the stairs and along the halls. The bathing room was empty, which pleased me, and although it usually meant I had to stoke the furnace and wait for the water to heat before bathing, it had already been done. No doubt Javo and Katlyn had been up since dawn and had sent one of their kitchen helpers to tend to it.

  I turned a spout and undressed as the end barrel nearest the window filled up. Closing the valve, I threw in a handful of sweet-scented bathing spices and climbed in with a sigh of pleasure. I thought blissfully that any worry that could not be eased by a gallop with Gahltha or a hot bath must be truly grim.