The Seeker

  “I hope you’re right,” Domick said. “But that’s not all the bad news. Just ahead, there are great patches of swamp and wetlands. The wagons won’t have a hope of going through, and it will take days to go round.”

  There seemed no point in pushing on in the darkness. We decided to make camp on a high, grassy knoll beside the Suggredoon.

  Louis, Jik, and Matthew went to forage for dry wood while Kella organized nightmeal. Domick unharnessed the horses and checked the wooden wheels for stress cracks. Pavo sat near the wagons and pored over his maps.

  I went to bathe in the river, but just as I reached the edge of the clearing, I heard Kella and Domick begin a heated argument. Sighing, I turned back. The last thing we needed was guild rivalry.

  Before I could intervene, Pavo broke into a violent fit of coughing. Kella stared at him for a moment, then went over and commanded him to open his mouth.

  “I swallowed a fly.” He laughed and waved her away. But Kella’s face was deadly serious.

  “What is it?” Domick asked her.

  The healer ignored him and laid a hand over Pavo’s thin chest. The smile faded from his face, and suddenly I felt frightened.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Kella asked in a subdued voice.

  Pavo smiled sadly. “What good would it have done, eh? I don’t need a healer to tell me what the matter is.”

  “Rushton would never have let you come if he had known,” Kella said.

  Pavo turned away abruptly. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “What is it?” I asked, coming back into the clearing.

  Kella looked at me bleakly. “The rotting sickness. It’s in his breathing.”

  “Are you sure?” Domick asked.

  “It’s not hard to feel, once you know. And the coughing is always a sign. There’s nothing I can do for him. Nothing,” she said flatly.

  Pavo still had his back to us, rigidly unmoving.

  “You’ll have to …,” I began.

  “No!” The usually mild teknoguilder whirled, eyes ablaze. “I won’t go back.” He turned to Kella. “You said yourself there’s nothing to be done. I accept that, but I’ll go the way I want. I won’t be a problem. Tell them.”

  She nodded. “He’ll cough, and there will be bouts of pain. He won’t be affected badly until near the end—three or four months, maybe less …”

  I gaped. Pavo stared back, his eyes pleading and determined at the same time. “You will need me to get to the library.”

  I wished Rushton were there to decide. After a long moment, I nodded, and Pavo’s shoulders slumped visibly as if he had been holding his breath.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I felt tears in my eyes and was relieved to see Matthew and Jik arrive, laden with dry wood. Jik froze and looked about, sensing the tangle of emotions. I sent a quick shielded instruction to Matthew, and he began to make a fire, diverting Jik’s attention.

  We slept inside the caravans again because of the sodden ground but left the flaps open for fresh air. Obernewtyn seemed very far away.

  Near dawn, I was jolted awake by Domick poking his head into the wagon.

  “Quick, there are people coming. Men,” he hissed urgently.

  I farsensed the area and almost fainted with horror. There were at least a dozen men approaching the clearing. “It’s too late to escape,” I told him. “You get away. I’ll send the horses away and contact you once I find out what this is all about. Quickly,” I whispered.

  He nodded, then melted silently into the gray predawn shadows.

  My heart thundering, I farsent the group, warning them to let me do any talking. Then I urged the horses away.

  Our only hope, I knew, was to be taken for the gypsies we appeared to be. I cursed my stupidity at not taking better precautions after Avra had found the tracks.

  “Ho. What have we here?” called a gruff voice. I leaned out of the caravan. Three men stood in the open, illuminated by the dying embers of our fire. Behind them, the dark sky showed pink and gray traces of the dawn. I sensed the other men waiting in the bushes.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” I shouted.

  “Gypsies,” sneered one, a fat, bristle-bearded man with a great pouting stomach and pale, glistening eyes.

  “Perhaps,” said the voice that had first hailed us. It belonged to a muscular young giant with ginger hair.

  The third man appeared frail and was clad in a long, fine woolen gown much like the garb worn by Herder priests. I was terrified that we might have fallen into Herder hands. I prayed the priest would not recognize Jik and hurriedly warned him not to draw attention to himself. With his dark skin, dyed hair, and gypsy clothing, he did not look much like the Herder boy we had rescued.

  “Who are you to be waking us in the middle of the night?” I demanded. Gypsies were not known for their manners.

  “Get out of those wagons, all of you!” snarled the black-bearded man.

  “This is a funny time to want your palm read,” I grumbled. “If you mean to rob us, you’ll be disappointed.” I climbed out and put my hands on my hips as the others gathered behind me. I watched the man in the robe closely, but he did not seem to recognize Jik. “Well, you have us all out. Now what?” I asked.

  The ginger-haired woodsman quirked his brow speculatively. “Is this all of you?”

  “Enough for you,” I said cheekily.

  “Are you the leader of these people?” asked the man in the robe. He had a curiously colorless voice and very cold eyes.

  “For now,” I answered after swift thought. “My father is the leader of our troupe. We are to meet up with him in Arandelft.” I nodded at Pavo. “My cousin here fell sick, and our party split in two. Though I don’t know what business it is of yours,” I added rudely.

  “What are you doing here if you are headed for Arandelft?” asked the white-robed man.

  My heart jumped. “We heard there was an Olden way through the mountains,” I said. The best lies are the ones that are mostly true, Louis always told us. He was glaring belligerently at the men, and I hoped he would keep his mouth shut.

  “There is no such pass.” The robed man stepped forward, and I resisted the urge to step away. “Enough of this. We will bring them back to camp.”

  More men stepped out of the trees. I pretended to look surprised. “Find the horses and bring these vans.”

  “Where are you taking us?” I demanded.

  The robed man did not answer, but the ginger-bearded woodsman grinned over his shoulder. “You are to meet the great man himself. The Druid.”

  8

  THROUGH THE TREES, I could see a settlement. I realized we were headed for the blank area I had been unable to penetrate the night before. This and the knowledge that we had been captured by Henry Druid filled me with apprehension. We could hardly have gotten into a worse mess deliberately.

  But more disturbing, as soon as we entered the area of blankness, my powers were useless. I could not even reach Matthew, who was directly behind me.

  Mindbound for the first time in my life, I was nearly overcome with panic and the feeling of being trapped. Glancing over one shoulder, the look of rigid terror on Jik’s face acted like a bucket of cold water on my own fear. I made myself smile reassuringly, and the stark tension in his movements subsided. Then I concentrated on calming myself. I had to find a way to free us, and that would only be possible with a cool head. Methodically, I tried reaching all the others, including Darga, who padded along quietly beside Jik. I could not sense a single thought. Then I tried to farseek outside the area—Domick, then Gahltha.

  Nothing.

  No wonder the Druids had seemed to disappear so completely. The block had to be a machine, modified like the Zebkrahn. There was something mindless about the static.

  I was deeply concerned by what such a block must mean. We had long heard rumors of Council and Herder interest in Misfits with special abilities, but to most of the Land we were thought to be harmless defe
ctives who might occasionally have a meaningful dream. The Druid must know otherwise.

  Somehow, Rushton had to be warned that he had mind weapons. What would happen if the rogue Herder discovered we were Misfits?

  Or did he already know that, too?

  Behind, Louis grunted in astonishment at the size of the walled encampment visible through the trees. The wall itself was no more than a barrier of thin, dark-stained striplings set upright in the ground, reaching high enough to obscure all but the tops of thatch-roofed buildings and a number of gently smoking chimneys.

  Rounding the outer wall, we came to a wide gateway that was firmly bolted. A ruddy face appeared at an opening in answer to the red-haired woodsman’s call. “Who is that wi’ ye, Gilbert? I diven’t know them faces.”

  Gilbert gestured impatiently at the door. “Open up, Relward.”

  “Bain’t he a gypsy?” Relward inquired, staring doltishly into my face. He chewed his lip ponderously, then, unlatching the gate, planted himself firmly in the gap.

  “Step aside, fool! You try my patience,” Gilbert snapped.

  Relward shook his head. “I canna let strangers in. Take him”—he nodded at me—“an’ them others to th’ compound. Her can come in,” he added, nodding at Kella. Despite the seriousness of our situation, I felt indignant at being taken for a boy.

  “I’ll decide where they will be taken, Relward,” Gilbert said through gritted teeth. “I’m not sure we should have a gatekeeper too blind to know the difference between man and maid.”

  The bumpkin’s eyes widened. He stared at me accusingly, as if I had deliberately transformed myself to confound him. Then he gaped, seeing the robed man. “Master,” he bleated. “I dinna know ye was there.” He tripped over his feet in an effort to get out of the way. The robed man ignored him and swept into the camp.

  Gilbert grinned covertly over his shoulder at me. “Do not think we are all such fools as that—or so blind,” he murmured in a low voice.

  There was nothing makeshift about what lay within the walls. It was a complete and settled village with graveled streets and stores. There was even a blacksmith and extensive holding yards and stables for horses.

  People came out into the street to watch us pass, their eyes curious. Almost everyone seemed to wear arms, including the women and older children. The prospect of escape seemed dim.

  At the very center of the settlement was a wide green expanse and garden beds. I was oddly reassured to see children playing on a swing, though they stopped their game to watch us pass.

  Only one building edged on the square, a big stone house that reminded me vaguely of the main Councilcourt in Sutrium. Broad stone steps led up to the entrance, and double wooden doors like those at Obernewtyn stood open, revealing a long hall with a shining timber floor and a high sloped ceiling. Two young men emerged from one of the many doors leading off the hall. They smiled at Gilbert, but their good humor faded when they saw the rest of us.

  “Gypsies,” one spat. Gilbert frowned but made no comment, shepherding us through a door into an unadorned room.

  The other men continued farther into the building, leaving us alone except for Gilbert. I tried again to breach the block but with no success. It was incredible to think such mental blindness was considered normal.

  “Gypsies, eh?” Gilbert said, leaning against the door. “Where were you really headed? The main road would be much quicker than any so-called Olden way.”

  I stepped up to him boldly. “I told you already, or are you as deaf as that gatewarden was blind? We are to meet my father in Arandelft.”

  Instead of becoming angry, Gilbert threw back his head and laughed with real amusement. “I wondered why a scrap of a girl was the leader over grown men, but now I see you carry the sharpest weapon in your wicked tongue.”

  “Why have you brought us here?” I demanded.

  Gilbert smiled. “I am the one asking the questions. Tell me, where have you come from, if you insist you are going to Arandelft?”

  I hesitated. “We have been in the high mountain country.”

  I heard a smothered gasp from Kella, but fortunately Gilbert was too intent on my answer to register it.

  “Then … you must have seen Obernewtyn?” he said.

  I shrugged carelessly. “Of course.” From the corner of my eye, I could see Matthew looking at me as if I had gone mad.

  “Why did you go up there?” Gilbert asked guardedly.

  “Why does a gypsy travel anywhere? For silver. My father said there would be winter lodgings there and work to trade for it. He wanted to try trapping a snow bear. One sold in Sutrium last moon fair for a Councilman’s ransom.” I smiled as if the thought of such wealth excited me, then I let my face fall.

  “But everything went wrong. There was a curse on that place, and we laid another in leaving. A firestorm had all but laid it to waste. There was nothing left but a few rough huts made of the ruins. The people remaining had no room or food to spare. Then my cousin fell sick, and I had to wait for him while the rest went on without us. And now this,” I snorted petulantly.

  “So, there was a firestorm,” Gilbert murmured.

  “We were supposed to meet the troupe at Arandelft in time for the harvest of eben berries,” Matthew said.

  Gilbert looked at him and grinned. “So, you can speak. I thought you were all mute, having this grubby wench speak for you.”

  I held my breath, hoping Matthew would have the sense to see he was being deliberately needled. He only shrugged sullenly and fell silent.

  The robed man returned, and Gilbert spoke to him in a low voice. His pale eyes rested thoughtfully on me.

  “Take the men to the compound, the boy to the other children, and the girl to Rilla,” the robed man told Gilbert. “You will come with me,” he instructed me coldly.

  He led me down the hall to another door.

  “… but how can we have missed it …” A deep voice floated out as we entered. I blinked, dazzled by the sunlight streaming from a huge window. The room was an enclosed fern garden. There was a long table covered in books and papers and surrounded by chairs. A number of robed men and several dressed like Gilbert clustered around the head of the table.

  “Forgive me, lord,” said the man who had brought me there.

  Those bending over the table drew back to reveal a white-bearded man seated in their midst. He wore a plain cream-colored robe like the others, yet there was an aura of authority about him. He had the thin face and body of an ascetic, but his features were curiously mismatched—a beaky nose, a jutting chin, and beetling silver brows. His eyes were his sole visible beauty, dark and strangely compelling. Such eyes might easily see into a person’s mind. I met his penetrating gaze uneasily.

  “Who is this?” he asked in a low, sweet voice.

  “This is the gypsy girl I mentioned a moment ago. But I had not realized then that she and her family have been in the high mountains,” he added pointedly.

  The old man’s eyes glittered. “You have been to Obernewtyn?”

  I nodded, wondering if I had made a mistake in mentioning Obernewtyn. I told them what I had told Gilbert. “Why have you brought us here?” I asked at last. I wanted to impress on them that I was a gypsy, interested in nothing but my own skin.

  “Tell me what you saw at Obernewtyn,” the old man invited.

  “I’ve told you everything. They wouldn’t let us stay because there was no room. Some of them were sick.” I let distaste show in my eyes.

  “My acolyte told me you were looking for a Beforetime pass.”

  I nodded.

  “There is no pass,” the old man said. “Now, what is the truth for your avoiding the main road? I suspect you were trying to leave the highlands without being seen. Gypsies are known for being light-fingered.” I hung my head to hide my relief. He thought we were thieves trying to reach the lowlands without being arrested!

  “What are you going to do with us?” I asked, hoping to encourage his assumptions.
>
  “What was the name of the Master of Obernewtyn?” the old man asked.

  A chill ran down my spine. “There was a youth in charge, if you would call him master. He seemed half out of his wits if you ask me. Kept raving about Obernewtyn belonging to him and wanting to restore it. Who would want to bother with such a ruin?” I chewed my lip as if trying to recall. “Rafe … Rushton, I think his name was.”

  An unreadable look flickered over the old man’s face.

  For a long moment, there was silence in the room, and I heard the muted sounds of children at play. The old man rose slowly and came round to stand in front of me.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  My heart sank. If he would tell that openly, he had no intention of letting us go. “Are you … the Druid from the old stories?” I asked shyly.

  The old man gave me a quick, rather beautiful smile. “I am,” he said. “It pleases me to know my name has not been forgotten. And what do gypsies know of Henry Druid?”

  “My father told me the Council and the Herder Faction forced you into exile. He said you were not dead no matter what was said and that you would one day return.”

  A fanatic gleam flashed in the old man’s eyes. “Your father is wise, for I do mean to return.”

  The door opened suddenly, and a pretty blond girl entered. She scanned the room lazily, her eyes stopping on the Druid. “Father, you promised to come to midmeal. We are all waiting.” She pouted.

  The Druid smiled indulgently. “I will be there very soon, Erin. In the meantime, take this girl to Rilla for me.”

  “Another gypsy?” she inquired disparagingly. Without waiting for an answer, she gestured languidly for me to follow.

  The Druid’s voice followed us into the hall. “And, Erin, tell Rilla the two girls will attend nightmeal with us tonight. See that they have some suitable clothes.”

  Erin nodded and closed the door behind us. She led me wordlessly out of the building, across the green, and down a number of streets to a square building near the edge of the settlement. A delicious smell of cooking food flowed out the door. My mouth watered, but we bypassed the door, going round a narrow path to another building at the rear. The less appetizing smell of soapsuds met my nostrils. I cast a regretful look over my shoulder.