Ashling

by Isobelle Carmody

  At least, the gypsy in the safe house did not bear any such markings.

  "You did not let me finish before you rushed in to tell me how your arm paintings washed off. This is a mark worn only by those of the Twentyfamilies and entitles us to pass through the gates of any city unsearched and untouched. No mongrel halfbreed would wear it." There was a note of bitter self-mockery in his tone as if these words were not his, but someone else's, and this robbed them of offense.

  He lifted the same sleeve higher to show me a metal band around his upper arm. "This is what I meant to show you. All gypsies, full and halfbreed, wear these; yet, when I held you in the lane, I felt nothing. It tells anyone who might wish to know, if you are bonded or promised or no."

  I flushed, at the same time remembering the gypsy woman's metal band.

  "And what of this?" He showed me a woven band on his thumb. "All gypsies wear these too; weaved into the ring are signs telling the line of their descent. We bear these and other such things about us so that we may exchange knowledge about one another without the Land-folk hearing it. Do you still claim to be a gypsy?"

  "Believe what you will," I told him stubbornly. "That is what my father told my mother, and he left in such a hurry he did not have time to teach my mother the finer points of gypsy culture. Her family threw her out when it was learned she carried a halfbreed child, and so she brought me up alone in Rangorn. Then she died," I snarled, so carried away by the part I had imagined for myself that I felt bitter for the sake of my poor mother.

  "The Twentyfamilies left without leaving his name, I take it," Maire asked, her eyes inscrutable.

  I felt I had misspoken, but it was too late to change my story. "So my mother said."

  She nodded and gathered up her box. "I will give you a shirt to wear in place of that." She hobbled back to the wagon.

  "Well," said the gypsy man, "that is quite a story."

  I did not know what to make of this, so I said nothing.

  "Do you know that a girl fitting your description rescued a gypsy halfbreed from the Herder flames in the highlands?" he asked casually.

  "That is nothing to do with me," I said.

  "No?" He squatted down to poke at the fire, and the flames lit his face.

  Only then did I register that the sun had fallen below the city skyline. The gypsy's sleek dark hair and hollowed cheeks gave him a devilish look as he fed the fire until it blazed high, sending showers of sparks into the sky. I stood awkwardly watching him and wishing the old woman would hurry up With the shirt. The sooner I got away the better, but still I felt weak—my mind was taking longer than usual to recover.

  "They say there is a rich reward for the wanted girl."

  My heart began to bump.

  "It is my guess that the girl who caused the ruckus in the market today and this Guanette gypsy are one and the same. What do you think?"

  I shrugged, not trusting my voice to remain steady.

  It was no great surprise he should have heard the rumor about the affair in Guanette before it was common knowledge. Gypsies probably kept their ears to the ground in the same way Misfits did, listening for the approach of trouble. No surprise, either, that he should put two and two together and guess that the girl wanted from the market fracas was the same one who had rescued the gypsy. But he could not know that I was the same girl, whatever he suspected.

  "Tell me, was it you, or the boy you were traveling with, who stuck a knife in the Herder in Guanette?" he asked casually.

  "It wasn't us.... "

  I stopped, aghast that I had fallen into such a simple trap. I took a step backward, but at the same moment the old woman stepped out of the dark and thrust a shirt into my hands.

  "This is the girl from Guanette?" she asked the man.

  He nodded and said lightly, "She rode a black horse then, though not the magnificent creature she outrode me on yesterday. The lad with her traveled in a false gypsy wagon."

  The old woman turned to me, and I did not know whether to run or stay before the anguished intensity of her expression.

  "Is she alive?" she whispered. "The woman you cut from the stake?"

  I opened my mouth to say I didn't know what she was talking about, but the glint of tears in her old eyes stopped the lie.

  "She lives," I said impulsively, softly.

  "Praise be." She grasped my hand.

  "You ... you know her?" I asked, to give myself time.

  The crone nodded, mopping her eyes with the end of her bed dress. "Her name is Iriny and she is... is very dear to me. I had feared her dead. Where is she? Is she in the city with your companion?"

  Instantly, I regretted the impulse of pity that had made me tell the truth without thinking it through first. Yet, this surely was the solution to my problem of what to do with the gypsy woman, for clearly these people knew who she was and cared for her.

  "She is in Sutrium," I conceded, trying to decide how best to proceed. "She is very weak."

  "Dying?" the man asked abruptly.

  "Not now. But she almost did. She seemed to want to die."

  "Ahh," the old woman moaned, and rocked herself back and forward. "My poor girl." She fixed me with a sudden fierce stare. "Where is she? I must see her."

  "She is in good and healing hands."

  "You will take me to her now," the man said, advancing with a threatening air.

  "No!" Maire said. She looked back to me with frank entreaty.

  "I will bring her to you," I promised, ignoring the man and his threats.

  "When?" he demanded.

  "As soon as it is safe to bring her across the city," I told him coldly. "The soldierguards are looking for me and her. Tomorrow it will be worse because of the business in the market today."

  "That is so," he said darkly, his eyes troubled. "Yet we Twentyfamilies are to leave Sutrium in three days."

  I blinked in wonder at him, for the Twentyfamilies departure from Sutrium coincided exactly with the end of the sevenday deadline. Was this, then, the reason for the deadline Maryon had set?

  The gypsy took my silence for a question. "On the reckoning of our history, we began our journey to the Land on that very day eons past. It is our custom to leave Sutrium always in the final hours of that day in remembrance, and as a sign of good faith to the Council. You see, it was also on that day that we made me agreement of safe passage. We regard it as an auspicious day for journeys."

  "Yet I will remain until Iriny comes," Maire said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

  He nodded. "And so shall I, if there is need. But the sooner we can get her out of the city the better, and it will be a simpler matter to get her out in a group than as a lone Twentyfamilies wagon leaving later than it should." He gave me a sharp look. "I will organize a rumor to say that you and your companion have left the city with Iriny. It will not take too long for the soldierguards to run after the scent and leave the city free. When this happens, bring her swiftly and safe to us and I will reward you in good coin."

  "I'm not interested in your coin," I snapped indignantly. "I did not save her life for coin and I wouldn't bring her to you if I thought you meant her harm, no matter what you offered."

  He looked genuinely taken aback and, indeed, I was surprised at the extent of my anger.

  "He is a fool as all men are," Maire said dismissively. "Put on the shirt."

  I did as she bid, turning my back to strip off the ripped shirt and don the other. When I was finished, she looked at me, then went to the wagon and brought back a bundle of clothing.

  "What are these?" I asked, as she put them into my arms.

  "They are Twentyfamilies skirts and gee gaws. Wear them when you return and no one will trouble you. But make sure it is night when you come. A dark night, if you can. And speak to no one, unless you cannot avoid it; especially avoid Twentyfamilies gypsies." The old woman gave me an imperious little push. "Go now," she said. "Walk safe and bring her with you when you come again to us."

  A thought occ
urred to me like a burst of lightning on a dark night. "I don't want coin as a reward, but there is something I would ask.... "

  "Of course," the gypsy said, his eyes flashing with triumphant cynicism.

  "I want you to tell me all about Twentyfamilies gypsies and halfbreeds," I said. "I want you to tell me how you came to the Land and everything you can remember about where you came from before that. And I want you to paint that mark you wear on my arm and tell me what it means and how you came to use it."

  The man looked at me in blank astonishment, "Only Twentyfamilies bear that mark.... "

  Maire prodded his arm. "She knows that, fool. Can't you see she means to pass herself off as a Twentyfamilies gypsy?"

  The man's eyes widened in disbelief. Then he gave me a narrow stare. "You would play a dangerous game, girl. Do you know that Twentyfamilies are by lore permitted to kill impostors?"

  "How should anyone know me for an impostor with such marks and these clothes?"

  He smiled. "I would know."

  I ignored that. "There is another thing. I also want to know about swallow."

  His brows shot up. "Who told you of Swallow? Did Iriny speak his name in her delirium?"

  His name! So Swallow was a person. I had not expected that. I ignored the question, because answering it would reveal the extent of my ignorance. Instead, I gave them both a challenging look. "Do you agree with my conditions?"

  After a long tense moment, the man gave an unsmiling nod.

  The old woman touched my hand. "Bring her safe to us and you shall have what you want. Better still, you shall meet Swallow if you wish it."

  The man made a negating gesture, then shrugged. "So be it. But do not bring Iriny here when you come."

  "Where then?"

  He frowned in thought. "Sometimes the best way to hide a leaf is in a forest. Do you know the main gypsy green?"

  I nodded.

  "Bring her there, then. That is where we will wait for you."

  I nodded and walked away down a lane without a backward glance. As soon as I was out of their sight I threw a full coercive cloak about me, and set a probe to detect anyone who followed, but no one came.

  Only then did I dare to relax and allow myself to feel relieved at having all but completed my appointed task.

  With some effort, for I was not yet much recovered, I farsent Matthew using an attuned probe. It located him at the safe house and I felt a surge of relief that they had returned there safely. Perhaps the streak of bad luck that had dogged us since leaving Obernewtyn was over.

  "I guessed you'd sent Gahltha, of course, but I had no idea why. What happened to you?" Matthew sent, his thoughts tingling with curiosity.

  "I will explain when I get back."

  The farseeker offered to ride out with Jaygar and Gahltha to get me, but I refused, reminding him that it was on dusk, and horses ridden after dark would only call unwanted attention. Despite the long, frightening day, and the dangers of being abroad as a halfbreed, I did not mind the walk. In truth, tired as I felt, I was glad of the time to think and to be alone. So much had happened in a single day and, to crown it all, after searching fruitlessly for the gypsy woman's people, I had been rescued by them. I could not imagine how the gypsy man had guessed that I was the gypsy from Guanette. Nor how he knew so much of what had happened there—unless he knew the older gypsy who had shot the arrows.

  But why would a Twentyfamilies gypsy, who was supposed never to break lore, be prepared to receive and harbor a halfbreed condemned to death? And how could she, Iriny, be precious to Maire when the two breeds were supposed to be estranged?

  And then there was the triple-bird painting on the gypsy's arm—an exact replica of the one exposed under Tor only a sevenday or so past.

  Well, all questions would be answered when I brought Iriny to them. I was puzzled about the man, Swallow, trying to see how knowing him would stop my death.

  My mind drifted wearily and I felt depressed. In spite of all my efforts, Maryon's vision had come to pass without much help from me. I wondered suddenly how much foreknowledge of the future really altered anything. Seeing where a path led did not enable you to alter its destination. On the other hand, without the futuretelling, I would not have come to Sutrium.

  Garth and Fian would be amazed when I showed them the triple-bird mark they had unearthed in a dead Before-time city. My demand that the gypsies set their mark on my arm had been an impulse, because it was a guarantee of safe passage anywhere in the Land. With luck, Katlyn and Garth might come up with a suitable duplicate so that any of us could disguise ourselves as Twentyfamilies and take advantage of the safe-passage agreement they had negotiated with the Council. With such a mark, one would need only the smallest trickle of coercive energy to reinforce a taboo that was already established. Who knew what we might achieve under its protections?

  Given the lethal penalty for pretending to be a Twentyfamilies gypsy, I would also have to find out more about the signs gypsies used, so that the disguise would be perfect. We would have to use it sparingly, though, and with great care, lest our own activities reduce the protection it offered.

  My mind shifted away from gypsies to the incident at the market with Dragon and the Herders. Despite the potential for disaster, it had come to nothing, and yet for some reason, the mere thought of it filled me with a premonition of danger.

  I concentrated on what had happened, trying to pinpoint exactly what had made me so uneasy. It had something to do with the way the soldierguard captain had stared at Dragon. His eyes had been covetous, yet it seemed to me that there had been more than lust in his face.

  I pictured the man's long nose, the jutting cheekbones and narrow gray eyes. Gradually, the face assumed the expression I had seen at the market and the blood ran like a glacier in my veins.

  Dragon had never been to Sutrium or indeed to any city. She had spent her whole childhood in a deserted Before-time ruin, and had not left Obernewtyn since I brought her there.

  Yet the soldierguard Captain had looked at her as though he recognized her

  XVIII

  I arrived back at the safe house in time to see the rebel, Reuvan, mounting a tan mare. I recognized the horse as one which had come to Obernewtyn for refuge the previous wintertime, and this drove all thoughts of the soldier-guard captain and the gypsies from my mind.

  "Greetings, Elspethlnnle," the mare sent, its dark-flecked eyes solemn.

  "Greetings, Halda," I responded, concealing my surprise.

  Ever since Brydda's beloved mount, Sallah, had chosen to remain with him after he freed her, the Beasting guild-master, Alad, believed the Beast guild had been supplying mounts to the rebel network so that beasts could organize their own rescues or sabotage. Animals would often come to Obernewtyn claiming that Sallah had sent them, and asking for Avra. Most would remain only a little time, supposedly to be trained to live in the wild, before going out into the vast mountain wilderness.

  Alad was convinced that some were trained in a different sort of survival and sent back to Sallah. He believed she was the leader of a lowland arm of the Beast guild and a sort of animal network of spies.

  I had thought this unlikely, but seeing Halda made me wonder, for she had been one of the equines who was supposed to have gone into the wild. Reuvan had not noticed my approach, so I coughed to get his attention. When he turned, the flesh was bloodless beneath his tan.

  "What is it?" I demanded, wondering if there was ever to be a moment in Sutrium unmarred by disaster.

  "Idris is missing," he answered in a hoarse voice.

  "Brydda sent me to see if he had come here."

  "Was he sent to the safe house?"

  The seaman shook his head and took up the rein. "I must go. There are other places he might have gone if he were injured. Brydda asked me to try them all."

  "Can I help?" I asked.

  Reuvan appeared not to hear me. He lifted his hand in a distracted farewell gesture and urged Halda on.

  I hurr
ied upstairs and into the kitchen.

  "Where have you been?" Kella cried, jumping to her feet.

  Matthew rose too, his face pale and set. "Idris ..."

  I nodded wearily. "I know. I've just spoken to Reuvan. Did he ask you to farseek Idris while he was here?"

  "It would ha' done no good fer him to ask me to farseek anyone here. Too many minds an' too much holocaust tainting."

  "But he would not realize that," I said impatiently. "I suppose he was too distracted. I'll try."

  I shaped a probe to Idris' mindset, but since I had never farsought him before, I did not know his exact mind signature, which meant it was not a strongly defined probe. Forced to compete with the miasmic static rising from the sea and river, and from various areas of the city, I had no great hopes of locating him.

  I opened my eyes and shook my head. "I didn't find him, but I'm still weak from the business this afternoon."

  In fact, though I did not say it, I felt as if all of my energy were being siphoned away through some secret channel. I forced myself to concentrate.

  "Did Reuvan say how Idris disappeared?"

  "Apparently he dinna come back last night from some errand he had been sent upon," Matthew said.

  This puzzled me. Reuvan had seemed dreadfully upset considering Idris had been missing only a single night. Any one of a dozen harmless things might have delayed his return.

  "Greetings, Elspethlnnle," Maruman sent.

  The old cat was curled on a blanket beside the hearth. I went to kneel beside him and to warm my hands at the fire.

  "I am tired," I sent.

  He turned one flaring yellow eye to me and, for a fleeting moment, there was a mindless emptiness in it. Then his gaze sharpened. "You are tired because yourbody heals its hurts. This is a place/barud where there is much hurting. Nomatter. Soon we will leave."

  I stared at him. "What?"

  "Soon we/you will go far away. Very far..." His eye was cloudy again. I felt a surge of alarm at the thought mat the old cat was on the verge of another of his fits of madness. Yet he had not long ago returned from a period of wandering madness, and the attacks did not usually happen so close together. Perhaps he was simply tired. Lud knew that could make you a little mad.