The Rebellion

by Isobelle Carmody

  “Who knows? Some sort of scam maybe.”

  “It doesn’t make sense that they’d run a scam under the name of a discredited organization. And surely not all the people connected to the Reichler Clinic were charlatans. Even if the clinic was faking results to keep research money flowing in, there must have been some people who genuinely believed in what they were doing. What if they’re the ones who reestablished elsewhere in a modest fashion?”

  “Even if you’re right, so what?”

  Cassy pushed the book back in its place with unnecessary force. “What if the woman I’m meant to find is working there?”

  “Cassy, this is so far-fetched that you ought to write scripts for holodramas!” He put his arm around her. “Let go of this and come have some lunch with me. I have to go back into Chinon in two days.…”

  Cassy looked at him in dismay. “After what happened last time?”

  “They need hard evidence of what is happening in Tiba. Photos, holos, tapes …” He shrugged. “But I don’t want to talk about that right now. Come and eat with me, and let’s forget about everything but us for a few hours. Okay?”

  They dissolved into a dream in which I was swimming in the star-flecked night sea, waves breaking against me with enough force to slap the breath out of my lungs. Rushton was floating just out of reach. I tried catching hold of him, but I was always a fraction short of the distance. I called to him and gradually realized with horror that he was not swimming but was being dragged away from me.

  Hannay woke me, looking so worried that I guessed I had been thrashing about in my sleep. But he merely said tactfully that porridge had been made if I wanted some.

  Gevan toasted himself a chunk of bread and buttered it lavishly, explaining that since the magi would not be putting on a show until evening, Merret had walked into Sawlney with some of the other coercers to perform informally in the square.

  “It troubles me that we haven’t found a single sign of Rushton,” he admitted.

  My appetite vanished, for I knew what he must say next. “Gevan—”

  He cut me off gently but firmly. “I know you don’t want to talk about this, Elspeth, but I’m afraid we must. If and when we find no evidence that any of the rebels have taken Rushton tonight, what then? Do we agree to a forced alliance as the kidnapper demands, or not?”

  “We made an oath.” I swallowed hard.

  “If we stick to our oath, then we must pretend compliance to the kidnapper’s demand. The trouble is that I doubt there’s much time left to pretend, with the rebellion looming so close.”

  “Truespoken,” I sighed. “And how do we explain the reason we have changed our minds about joining them?”

  “We tell them we all discussed it after Rushton returned and overruled his unilateral refusal. We decided we could give the rebels limited help, if it was wanted. We will offer to find their traitors for them. It will give them a nasty surprise that we know about the traitors, I warrant. We will offer to facilitate their communications; we will help in direct battle only when there is a surety that our help will prevent bloodshed rather than cause it. That sounds finicky enough to have been hammered out over a few long sessions, and it even fits with our oath.”

  “I expect they would want our people dispersed among them almost at once.”

  “I think we must plan on actually sending people out,” Gevan said. “It will give us the chance to keep an eye on the rebels, and, more importantly, it will mean we can search for Rushton. We should send mostly coercers, as they can protect themselves if things become dangerous. It would mean some of our people going a long way from home.”

  “This sounds as if we are planning a real alliance. What if the rebellion breaks out while they are still away?”

  “I’m afraid that is very likely at this point, but if we stipulate very clearly what our people will and won’t do, we can keep our oath. In a way, we are offering an alliance, I suppose, albeit a limited one, but …” Gevan broke off and slapped his head so hard that the others looked up from what they were doing to stare at him. “Oh, curse me for a fool, Elspeth. I forgot to tell you that the Herders are selling a thing they call a demon band, which they claim will protect decent folk from demons and the black arts.”

  I shrugged. “What does it matter? It will only be another scheme aimed at parting the gullible from their coin.…”

  “But you don’t understand,” Gevan cried. “The blasted bands work on us! They must be impregnated with some slightly tainted material or some such. The Herders at the bonding ceremony handed them out to Alum and Jude, and when I attempted to probe them, it was like trying to read over tainted ground. Of course, the priests wore them as well, so I could get no information about the bands out of them.”

  “Are you saying the Faction has invented a way to block our powers?” I demanded, half shouting myself.

  “I’d like to believe it is an accident that it works on us, but we know the Faction are interested in Misfits and that they take those they can catch away to Herder Isle. The likelihood is that they have developed the bands specifically for use against us.”

  I felt shuddering cold all over. I could not doubt that the Herders knew as much about us as the Council did, and thanks to the rebel traitors, that meant they were aware that the rebels had asked us to join them. That had obviously been enough of a spur, on top of whatever else they knew, to send the Faction scurrying to invent a way to block us.

  Gevan went on. “Luckily, the demon bands don’t seem to work on empaths, whose Talents are much different than our own. And they are cursed expensive, so I doubt most folk could afford them. But I think we can expect the more powerful priests to be wearing them from now on, and maybe whichever Councilmen support the Faction. Maybe even all of them if the bands are given as gifts, though I don’t see the Herders giving away something when they can sell it.”

  I took a steadying breath before responding. “Even if these bands are distributed in limited ways, they will make things difficult for us.”

  “I agree. I think we need to keep a close eye on the Herders, though I don’t see them being a serious problem ultimately. If the Council loses its hold on the Land to the rebels, the Faction will have no standing at all.”

  I thought again of the figures Wila had outlined but decided against bringing that up now. “Does Brydda know of these demon bands?”

  “No doubt he has heard of them, but he’d have dismissed them as flimflam. How should he know any different? Of course we will tell him, but again it might be wise to keep it from the rest of the rebels lest they decide we are useless to them as a result. We haven’t had much trouble with natural mindshields here, though they seem cursed common among the gypsies.”

  “You’ve had no trouble passing?” I asked.

  “Not since you learned so much about their culture during your time in Sutrium. I even took a stroll over to a nearby camp when we first arrived, to exchange useful gossip. I told them about Bergold and Moss up in the highlands. The other leader was courteous enough, and he was a touch curious when I told him about our show. Seems he’d heard of it. He asked if it was a good coin spinner. I told him the truth, and when I left, he was looking very thoughtful.”

  “Maybe your troupe won’t be the last magi show on the road.”

  “I hope we’re not,” Gevan said with surprising earnestness. “I’d like to think I had done something to improve the prospects of halfbreeds, for they have a lousy time of it. And unlike us with our dyes, they can’t wash their skins when they’re weary of being spat on and starved and told to go where decent folk won’t be contaminated. If they can come up with some acts and sell their skills, good for them. It makes my blood boil to think of the Twentyfamilies hoarding their pureblood and skills to save their own necks and letting kin go begging.”

  “I don’t think it’s as simple as that.…”

  “Maybe not,” he conceded. “I suppose not all the Twentyfamilies feel so sanguine about the division anyway.
That Swallow you met at least tried to help.”

  There was the sound of hoofbeats, and we stepped clear of the wagons to see Brydda riding over the grass to us. Sallah pranced a bit and waved her hooves in a showy fashion before settling to let the big rebel dismount; then she galloped off, farsending for Gahltha and the other horses to run with her. We watched them race off, their hooves sounding like distant thunder. Brydda laughed with sheer pleasure at the sight of them streaking along with their tails and manes flying like flags behind them.

  “She loves being away from the city,” he murmured fondly, coming over to us.

  We exchanged greetings, and the rebel explained the meeting would take place in a grain barn owned by Brocade. “It is early yet, but you may as well come with me now.”

  “Who is coming?” Gevan asked.

  “As usual, Malik does not see fit to let anyone know if he will appear or not,” Brydda sighed. “It is a favorite tactic of his, but I think in this case he will come, because it is the last meeting we will have before the rebellion begins. He will not want anything to be decided without him. He distrusts his own people almost as much as he distrusts his enemies.

  “Lydi of Darthnor and Vos of Saithwold are here already. They’re cronies of Brocade’s, and the three of them are thick with Malik, of course. Also Elii of Kinraide is on his way with Zamadi, who was one of Malik’s too, but they had a falling out. Cassell and Serba have come from Halfmoon Bay and Port Oran, but both Radek and Yavok sent seconds, as did Tardis. You’ve met Gwynedd before, of course. It was he who swayed the White Lady in your favor.”

  “White Lady?” Gevan echoed.

  Brydda smiled. “Well, groups tend to give their leaders informal titles. So, as I am the Black Dog, Tardis is the White Lady.”

  I gaped. “Tardis is a woman?”

  Brydda smiled. “Until the Battlegames, we all thought Tardis a man, which was as she wanted. But you saw her in Sador. She was the very beautiful, severe-looking woman with long fair hair.”

  “What is Malik’s title?” I asked softly.

  The big rebel’s smile faded. “Generally, titles are bestowed as a sign of affection and respect. Malik’s people fear him, so none would dare risk angering him by giving him a title that suits him. But I saw you frown when I named those rebel leaders who would not be coming to the meeting. I would not regard that as reason to suspect them of being kidnappers. Especially in the case of the west coast rebels. They often do not come to meetings this side of the Suggredoon. They claim with some justice that it’s unfair that most meetings are held here, though they can see it makes more sense to have them where fewer need to travel far.”

  “I take it you don’t object to our probing the rebels who are here,” Gevan said.

  “We have no desire to pry into rebel business, private or otherwise, nor to work against your people in any way,” I said quickly. “We will only be looking for thoughts connected to Rushton.”

  “I don’t object because I trust you, but I’d not let the others know you would enter their minds for your purposes, if you take my meaning.”

  Gevan explained our decision to offer limited aid to the rebellion.

  “A sound ruse to test how close an eye these kidnappers are keeping on you. If they dislike this limitation, I’m sure they will let you know, and how long that communication takes and what form it comes in might give us a lead on where they are holding Rushton. But I haven’t had a whisper of anything that would suggest any of the rebels had aught to do with the kidnapping. The only unusual occurrence is that Domick seems to have disappeared as well. No one has seen him since Rushton came to Sutrium.”

  I stared at him. “Are you saying Domick had something to do with Rushton’s kidnapping?”

  He looked taken aback. “Of course not. I am saying only that when two men vanish about the same time, it is curious. I don’t imagine the lad crept after him on the road, but … Well, it nags my mind that maybe somehow there’s a link.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, and then closed it again, for I had long suspected that Brydda had latent Talents that he drew on unconsciously, calling them a “knack.” And it was odd that Domick had vanished around the same time as Rushton. Or before, in fact, since he hadn’t responded to Rushton’s note.

  “Brydda, you made a good point about using the offer of limited alliance to force the kidnapper to show his hand again,” Gevan cut in, “but you should understand that when we talk of limited help, we mean it. We are prepared to help with communication between rebels, and in finding your traitors as well as with healing, but we will not fight.”

  Brydda looked from the coercer to me. “You mean to offer us aid in reality?”

  “Limited aid, unless we manage to flush out Rushton’s kidnapper today, and somehow I doubt that will happen,” I said. “What is the rebel purpose of this meeting anyway?”

  “Not a lot. To clarify a few aspects of the first part of our plan. The meeting is more an expression of final solidarity than anything else.”

  “The first part of your plan?” Gevan asked curiously.

  “That’s right. There are three distinct phases. The first deals with this side of the Suggredoon. That’s another reason you should not worry too much about west coast rebels not coming to the meeting in person.”

  “Why three phases?”

  “We do not have the numbers to attack everywhere simultaneously, so our plan will be like a snowball rolled down a hill. It will gather mass and force as it moves. But tell me one thing—if you do join us and then find Rushton, will you immediately withdraw your help?”

  Gevan and I exchanged a glance and a brief mental dialogue.

  “No,” I said at last. “If we commit ourselves, we will remain until we are not needed.”

  Brydda nodded his approval.

  The rebel meeting took place late in the afternoon when the sun was as fat and golden red as a ripe peach suspended above the horizon. The barn was old enough that the daubing had crumbled away between the horizontal boards, leaving gaps that allowed a multitude of crisscrossing beams of sunlight to stripe flesh and bales of hay and illuminate the dust rotating slowly in the air. The gaps meant that although no one glancing at the barn would realize it was full of people, we would see anyone long before they came close enough to hear us.

  As Brydda had predicted, Malik attended the meeting. When we entered, he was deep in conversation with the silk-clad Brocade. Tardis’s representative, Gwynedd, sat a little apart from the rest, his muscular arms crossed and his long fair hair loose except for a plait on either side of his austere face, in the Norseland fashion. Dardelan smiled and lifted his hand in greeting, looking subtly older than the year before, and I wondered idly where Jakoby’s daughter Bruna was. Beside Dardelan was Elii, and I let my eyes rest for a time on the stern face of the young Kinraide rebel leader, wondering if he truly had no memory of me as one of the orphans he had led in search of the deadly whitestick.

  Gevan and I seated ourselves near Brydda just as the prematurely white-haired Cassell came in looking frailer than ever beside a handsome, heavy-browed woman with a mass of crisp black hair: Serba.

  Before the meeting began, several more unfamiliar men and women arrived and seated themselves on hay bales or stood lounging against the thick frame beams that supported the roof. The barn was near to full when Brocade rose to give a flowery speech of welcome. He then invited Gevan and me to speak on behalf of the Misfits.

  My mouth dried instantly, for I had not expected to be named at once. Since Gevan had suggested I do the talking while he coerced and probed those assembled, I stood and took a deep breath, then explained that we were representing Rushton, who was ill. I was trying to be alert to anything untoward in people’s faces, but I saw only what one might expect if they had known nothing of the kidnapping. Surprise, interest, disinterest, but no furtive guilt or glee. No half smiles. Malik and his cohorts sneered of course, but that was as much a reflection of innocence as anything else. />
  “Is Rushton mortally ill?” Elii asked with a bluntness I remembered from childhood.

  “No,” I said, thinking, Not mortally ill, but maybe in mortal danger.

  “Would you have us heal him?” Malik sneered.

  “I do not think you would have more skill than our healers,” I said. “In fact, I come to make an offer. You met with Rushton and proposed an alliance, which he had to refuse given our oath of pacifism. But we are prepared now to offer limited aid.”

  “Limited aid,” Malik mimicked. “I think any help your people could offer would be limited.”

  “I do not think the limitations we impose on our offer will trouble any but you, sirrah,” I said coolly, “since they are designed to prevent mindless slaughter.”

  “What exactly are you offering?” Elii demanded impatiently.

  “We will not kill or fight. We will nurse and help to heal your wounded. We will aid in capturing enemies where this can be done without bloodshed. We will pass messages between your groups so that you can remain in constant contact. And, last but not least, we will seek out the traitors in your midst.”

  There was a stir at this, which I had anticipated. I let them mutter and mumble until Gwynedd asked how we knew about the traitors.

  “Brydda told them, of course,” Malik snapped. “He tells his pet freaks everything.”

  “We learned about the traitors by chance in the course of our own activities,” I said.

  Elii called immediately for a show of hands as to whether our offer could be accepted. Predictably enough, Malik and his allies voted against us, while the rest voted aye. Vos cursed Zamadi, who growled an insult back at him, and as a babble of argument and recrimination rose, I took the chance to farsend to Gevan to see if he had found anything.

  “Not yet,” he sent.

  Serba rose, demanding silence in a contemptuous voice. “We did not come to squabble. Surely, on the eve of war, we are beyond that. The show of hands means we accept the Misfits’ offer. Of course, any rebel leader may refuse the offer of aid if they wish. I, for one, will be glad of help in flushing the traitors out of Port Oran. My only question is how soon before one of your people can arrive?”