The Rebellion

by Isobelle Carmody

  On my way out, I passed people carrying stretchers inside. The men and women on them were injured but looked too healthy to be prisoners from the cells. I realized they were probably bringing in rebels wounded during the various skirmishes.

  The streets were still virtually deserted, though there were more faces at windows now, and they did not draw back so quickly as before. I guessed that suspicions were growing that there was no plague. The burned ships and funeral pyres were probably the only reason there were so few people out. The smoke would have reminded them of the Herder fires once lit to cleanse plague-ridden houses.

  There was a great deal of coming and going and general bustle around Bodera’s dwelling. A rebel at the gate directed me through the building and into the central gardens, where a small path wound among the trees and bushes to a timber folly, open on all sides and furnished with a square table and several chairs. Dardelan was seated at one of these, surrounded by papers and squinting in the late afternoon light at what looked to be various maps. He stared at me blankly, then jumped to his feet.

  “Ye gods, Elspeth. You look near to fainting. Sit down and eat!” He burrowed beneath the mountain of papers to unearth a platter of sliced fruit. “I suppose you haven’t had a bite all day?”

  “I haven’t,” I admitted, sinking into the seat beside him. “But I could not eat right now if you paid me in gold to do it.”

  Dardelan’s expression became grim. “Of course. You’ve been helping clear out the cloister?”

  I nodded, and tears blurred my vision. “I think you would need only let people see what we saw last night, and they would vote for all priests to be weighted and thrown into the sea.”

  “They will not see, and, unfortunately, people have a way of doubting the veracity of anything they do not witness with their own eyes. Especially something like this. But we will have as many of those prisoners as can stomach it talking of their ordeals, and I daresay their stories will be harrowing enough.”

  I nodded again, weariness sweeping over me.

  “You must be exhausted. Why don’t you go in and bathe, then sleep if you cannot eat,” Dardelan suggested.

  I went inside. There in the kitchen, seated in the late afternoon sun, was Dameon. I felt a rush of simple joy at the sight of the empath, and he turned to face me as if I had shouted his name.

  “Elspeth. I have just been thinking of you. You are tired.”

  “Less tired now that I see you,” I said, and it was true. Just being in his presence sloughed away some of the darkness that clung to my mind. I crossed the long room to sit beside him. “What a mean welcome this is for you.”

  He took my hand, and I gasped to feel the full strength of his gladness, more vivid and lovely than any words.

  “Ah, Dameon, I missed you so. We all did. Obernewtyn was not the same without you.”

  “I missed you, too,” he responded softly, his voice sounding oddly sad.

  “You did not wish to leave Sador?” I asked.

  He smiled. “I belong at Obernewtyn, if I belong anywhere, though I came to love the desert—the strange fierceness of the Sadorians and their love of song and poetry. The peace of their land steals into your blood and heart.”

  “I wish you could have come home to us in a better time.”

  “I know that terrible things have happened, but some things have also been gained. The rebels have won the right to live without Council tyranny this side of the Suggredoon, and I believe in time they will claim the west coast as well.”

  “The cost of their win was very high,” I said bleakly. “Not just here, but on the west coast. So many of our people are trapped there now. And I have just been speaking to Dardelan and realizing how difficult it is going to be for the rebels to set change in motion.”

  “Difficult, yes, but not impossible, and Dardelan is young and idealistic enough to go on trying when others might give up.”

  “If anyone can establish a new order, I think it is he. But there are still those like Malik who will have to be restrained.”

  “I think Dardelan may well give them the task of guarding the borders and planning war against the west coast Councilmen, and they will not demur. Such men who are violent and warlike to their very marrow lose their sense of purpose in a time of peace.”

  The empath smiled a little, and I asked why.

  “I was thinking how strange it feels to be here. My senses are still too full of Sador, and the Land seems cramped and chilly and damp to me.” He sighed. “The overguardian died.” He spoke so mildly, it took me several heartbeats to absorb his words.

  “You were there?”

  He nodded, and I saw a shadow of pain cross his face. “I did what I could, but he suffered dreadfully. He had a vision in which he named his successor; I do not know if it was a true vision or a hallucination. But it was a good choice. At the very end, he was lucid, and he told me what lay behind the Temple guardian deformities. Sadorian women immerse themselves in the isis pools one year after their first child is born. The water carries a particular taint that causes no harm to the woman, but if they are with a second child, as some are, those children are deformed in the womb.”

  Horrified, I thought of the strange, lovely rifts in the barren desert where flowing water allowed a subterranean oasis to flourish. I even remembered being warned by one of the Sadorians neither to drink from the pools nor taste any fruit growing near them.

  “But who makes them do that?”

  “There is no force involved. Indeed, some women do refuse, and some men beg their partners not to go to the pools. But the majority of Sadorians concur with the practice. It is their repentance. Their sacrifice, if you like.”

  “Repentance for what?”

  “I wrote to you, I think, of a Beforetime device either found or brought by the Sadorians from Gadfia, which they used in their internal wars. The poisoning of the isis pools is one of the effects, and their immersion is the way the Sadorians share the harm they dealt to the Earth. The overguardian told me the practice would end only when they had the power to actively heal the Earth rather than simply to exist peacefully and lightly on it. He said he had seen that one would soon come to bring that means to Sador.”

  I shivered. “What did Kasanda think of the practice?”

  “I did not ask,” he said. “There were many questions in my mind, but the boy was dying and it seemed more important to care for him than to sate my curiosity.”

  We were silent, perhaps both thinking of the glittering isis pools and of the tiny Temple overguardian. At length, Dameon asked when I thought to return to Obernewtyn.

  “I want to know what the rebels plan to do about the west coast before I can make any decision about the future. I can’t just go back to Obernewtyn and forget about Merret and Blyss and all the others trapped behind soldierguard lines.”

  “Perhaps they are safe in this Teknoguild shelter that Zarak spoke of.”

  “I hope so with all my heart. Maybe Merret and the others got there. It is even possible that some of the rebels evaded the traps and are in hiding with them. The worst thing is not knowing.”

  “We know they are smart and resourceful, and they have their Talents to aid them. We know the hideout is beneath the ground in ruins where people seldom go. We know that the rebels were unaware of the shelter, so we can assume that the Council is as well. And our people will be aware that we are doing our best to get to them.”

  “If only we had not agreed to be part of the rebellion,” I muttered. “If I had not sent anyone to the rebel groups, we would all even now be safe at Obernewtyn.”

  “And perhaps Rushton would be dead,” Dameon said with uncharacteristic bluntness. He shook me a little. “Dear one, don’t crush yourself between impossible burdens. It is a conceit of yours, I fear, to see yourself as the center of things, but it is not true. You were not alone in making the decision to send our people to work with the rebels. Indeed, from what Zarak said, you had more than enough volunteering to go.
”

  I laughed shakily, for he was right in saying I saw myself too often at the center of things. That was my secret fate, of course, distorting my thinking.

  “I only wish I had not been Master of Obernewtyn when all of this happened. I wish Rushton had not disappeared. I … I miss him so,” I said, and realized I was weeping.

  Dameon gathered me into his arms. “My dear girl … Elspeth … I know. I am humbled by your courage in taking charge of all this when he is so mysteriously vanished.”

  “Who took him, and why? We still haven’t figured that out. It doesn’t make sense, but if the note was real, then where is he? We did what it bade us.”

  “If the note was real, it is possible that whoever holds him is also trapped on the west coast. Or maybe they don’t consider the rebellion over yet.”

  “Or maybe they never meant to release him at all!” I was crying so hard now I was almost incoherent.

  “Elspeth, you are beside yourself with grief and exhaustion. I heard a little of what has been found in the cloister—I am going over there this evening to see if I can help—but you need to rest. Come.”

  He stood and took my hand and led me carefully into a nearby chamber. “This is where I have been sleeping. I do not know where other bedrooms are. But sleep here. Later I will bring you some food.”

  I let him pull off my coat and shoes and bundle me into bed. He smoothed the covers over me and kissed me on the cheek. Dimly, I was aware that he retained his shield between us, and I realized my grief and guilt were probably hurting him. I made an effort to gather myself and thanked him.

  “Sleep,” he said, and withdrew from the room, closing the door behind him.

  I did not need Kella’s potion after all. One moment Dameon was closing the door, and the next I was sinking into unconsciousness.

  I fell into a dream in which Dameon was leading me through the labyrinthine Earthtemple in Sador.

  “This is the way,” he said, leading me as if he were sighted.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Kasanda is here. She has something to tell you.”

  I tried to stop, but Dameon held my hand tightly and was drawing me inexorably after him. “Dameon, I can’t come now. I have to find Rushton.”

  “It is too late,” Dameon said, only now he was Domick.

  “Where have you been?” I asked him.

  He gave me a strange, darkling look. “You want to find Rushton, don’t you?”

  “But … he can’t be here.”

  He did not answer, and I pulled my hand free. “Domick, where are you taking me?” I demanded, for now I was realizing that we were not in the Earthtemple at all.

  He turned to face me, and though there was no visible source of light, his face seemed to glow with its own livid, greenish hue. “I am not a torturer,” he whispered.

  “Where is Rushton?” I asked, but my voice came out as a frayed thread of sound. And then I was alone in a dark tunnel. I heard a sound and realized with a dreamy sense of familiarity that it was water falling into water. Then I saw a yellowish flash of light far away in the distance and understood that I was where I had been many times before.

  But this time, instead of going forward, I hesitated.

  “Why do you hesitate?” Atthis’s voice asked, deep in my mind.

  “I … I’m not ready,” I said, and there was a pleading note in my tone.

  “If you hesitate, all will be lost.”

  All at once, I felt a grip again. But not Domick’s. It was Ariel.

  He laughed when I tried to pull my hand away from his.

  “You are not strong enough to resist me,” he said, and began to pull me toward him. I struggled, repelled and frightened.

  “Maruman!” I screamed.

  Ariel’s smile faded, and his hand squeezed mine painfully. “That creature that protects you will not be here forever. His aura weakens no matter what form he takes on these dreamtrails. And he is too far away to help you now.”

  Furious for Maruman’s sake, I tore my hand free. “He will never let you get me,” I cried.

  “Not on the dreamtrails, perhaps, but eventually you will have to face me in reality. Then who will save you?” Ariel hissed.

  I gaped at him, suddenly realizing what he was saying.

  A look of fury passed over his beautiful face. He held up his hand, and a torch appeared in it, the flames leaping high. “Let me give you a token of my regard,” he snarled.

  I backed away as he advanced; then I heard the sound of a horse neighing.

  Ariel’s eyes went past me, and his face was transformed by terror. He vanished.

  I turned to find a half-man, half-horse towering over me.

  “You are safe now, ElspethInnle.”

  “Gahltha! That … that was Ariel. He …” I swallowed, scarcely able to say what I knew must be true. I had been a fool not to have seen it before.

  “Ariel is the Destroyer.”

  “Ariel-li is H’rayka,” Gahltha agreed. “He hunts ElspethInnle, but nothing will be decided on dreamtrails. The glarsh wait in the land of realthings. You must wake now. I/Gahltha am not strong on dreamtrails. Not as Marumanyelloweyes.”

  “He asked you to look after me, didn’t he?”

  “That is so. Marumanyelloweyes is seliga, so Gahltha watches. But Gahltha is Daywatcher. If Ariel had attacked, I/Gahltha might have been unable to defend us/you.”

  “You are the Daywatcher, and Maruman is the Moonwatcher,” I murmured, remembering what the Earthtemple overguardian had told me: I would return for the fifth sign accompanied by one of Kasanda blood, with the Daywatcher and the Moonwatcher. Swallow, Gahltha, and Maruman … But where was Maruman? I had not recognized the beast-word Gahltha had used: seliga. I thought it meant something like “behind” or “back.”

  “Wake,” Gahltha prompted urgently, and I saw that he was fading.

  “Ariel is the Destroyer,” I told myself bitterly, and willed myself to wake.

  It was dark in the room, and my instincts told me it was deep night. My tongue felt swollen with thirst, and as I pulled the blankets aside, I grimaced at the smell rising from my clothes and body. How had I slept with the foul reek of the cells all over me? Nauseated, I groped about for a lantern and then for a washing bowl and a jug of water. Stripping off my befouled clothes, I cleaned myself thoroughly, longing for a deep barrel full of hot water. When I had dried myself, I found Dameon’s clothing in a bag and borrowed loose Sadorian trousers and a woven tunic.

  All the while, I thought about my nightmare. Except it had not been a nightmare. I had been on the dreamtrails. Somehow, Ariel had drawn me there. Ariel. The Destroyer, and a defective Misfit. I should have guessed. And I had no doubt he was mixed up in whatever the Herders were doing.

  Gahltha had said nothing would be decided on the dreamtrails. So why did Ariel keep seeking me out on them? Why was he haunting me? The answer came immediately, and it was chilling. He had said it himself: He needed me. Needed what I knew and what I would learn from Kasanda’s signs. Without them, he could not reach the weaponmachines.

  A terrible thought occurred to me. What if Ariel had Rushton? And what if he offered me a choice: Rushton’s life for the knowledge that would let him activate the weaponmachines …?

  Unable to bear my thoughts, I dragged a blanket from the bed and flung it round my shoulders as a shawl and left the bedchamber.

  I expected to be met by the silence of night, but instead I could hear the sound of voices. I made my way to the kitchen and found Ceirwan, Brydda, Dardelan, Reuvan, Jakoby, Bruna, and a number of rebels seated about the table, talking in low, intense voices.

  They looked up as I entered, and Brydda bade me join them.

  “The clothes of the desert suit you,” Jakoby said.

  “I had to borrow some of Dameon’s things,” I mumbled, forcing myself to set aside thoughts of Kasanda and Ariel.

  “Tomorrow we will find something more appropriate,” Dardelan prom
ised. “Sadorian clothes are not heavy enough for the Land. In the meantime, you must be starving.”

  The rebels bustled about producing bread and honey and cheese, a bottle of milk, and a skin of sweet mead. As I ate, the conversation I had interrupted resumed, and I gradually learned what had been decided at the rebel meeting.

  On the morrow, at a public meeting, the citizens of Sutrium would be informed that the rebels had taken charge of the Land and would administer it for one year. During that time, a charter of laws, based on the ones Dardelan had devised, would be formulated with the input of all people in the Land, and trials would be held in which the crimes of soldierguards, Councilmen, and Council collaborators would be addressed. In the meantime, a set of interim laws would be publicized and enforced by the rebels. The people would be told that the west coast was still in dispute, but they would not be given specific details just yet.

  After a year, there would be a people’s vote to decide who would lead each community, and these elections would be held every year in the same way at the same time throughout the Land.

  I gathered there had been some dissent on this point.

  Some of the rebels had wanted leave to rule for longer periods before their community could vote. Still others had opposed the notion of a year limit on the tenure of the chosen leaders. But in the end, Dardelan had argued successfully that to give any man or woman prolonged power over other people was to introduce a system where injustices would be bound to occur. Those who would rule must be accountable to the people they ruled, he had insisted. They must only rule by the will of the people rather than by their own arrogant desires.

  It was fascinating to see how the young rebel’s words permeated the conversation ebbing and flowing around the table. He had a powerful ability to wind words together persuasively, and I envied him, for it seemed akin to the empath’s ability to sway people, and in that sense it, too, was a Talent. Dardelan was anything but proud or conceited, and that made him all the more appealing. I was interested to see how many of the rebel leaders deferred to him despite his age.