The Seeker

  I tried to ignore the roof drawing steadily nearer and more dim, as if the glowing insects disliked the closeness as much as we did. Gradually, it became so low that Domick could not stand. I needed no empathy to sense Avra’s fear. If the cavern became much more cramped, she would not fit. And we all knew there was no turning back.

  But the way began to widen again, and I shivered with reaction. In my wildest fancies, I had never imagined the trip to the coast would be such a road of trials. I had worried only about soldierguards, yet in all that had befallen us, we had not even laid eyes on one.

  Hearing a roar ahead, I prepared myself for another battering, but instead the raft flowed round a bend and through a natural stone arch into a vast, dark cavern. If not for the stalactites and stalagmites and the rock columns rising from the water to the roof where some had met and fused, I would have thought we had somehow got out onto the sea at night. The cave was lit by millions of the tiny insects.

  The raft slowed but was still drawn along by a deeper current.

  Our wonder at this great lake under the mountain dissolved into greater amazement as we drew near to what at first appeared to be strangely symmetrical rows of rocky mounds rising from the water.

  Pavo realized first what we were seeing and gasped. I was struck by the wonder in his gaunt face. “This is a Beforetime city,” he whispered reverently.

  Squinting, I saw that he was right. The shapes were too square to be natural, but the height of them astounded me. These, then, were the skyscrapers of the legends.

  I stared about me as the current carried us between two of the monstrous constructions, along what must once have been a street. There was no way of telling how far below the surface of the water lay the floor of the dead city. Out of the distant past, I seemed to hear Louis Larkin telling me there were certain to be rare niches in the world where bits of the Beforetime were preserved.

  And what wonders lay inside these buildings with their thousands of dark windows?

  Up close, the surfaces were badly eroded, especially at the water line. One day the currents’ ebb and flow would eat the foundations, and the remnants of the ancient city would topple. Gaps in the rows of buildings suggested this had happened already in some cases.

  Many of the smooth façades were crumbled, revealing the great black steel frames inside them, like the bones of some moldering animal. Much of the remaining walls were covered in a livid yellow fungus. The glowing insects either lived or fed on it, for wherever the fungus grew, they were clustered thickly, and their collective light was brighter.

  I wondered if the city had somehow sunk into the mountain during the Great White or if the earth had spat the mountains on top of it like a gravestone.

  I found myself wishing Matthew could see it. He had long worshipped the Oldtimers with a glib surety that had always troubled me, but the city told a story of people who were certainly great—but people just the same, with flaws that all their brilliance had not helped.

  It was a somber and sobering experience. It was not hard to think of the people who had built such cities as capable of any wonder—or terror. Looking around me, I had no doubt that such a people could create a weapon that would live far beyond their span. The stark reality of the brilliance and insanity of the Oldtimers struck me then as never before.

  “This is a bad place,” Avra sent uneasily.

  As much to distract myself as the mare, I asked her about Gahltha’s strange behavior.

  She whinnied forlornly. “The funaga who owned him almost drowned him when he was first brought to them. It is a funaga way of breaking the spirit of an equine, to use water and fear. They did not break him, for he took refuge in a savage hidden hatred, but since that time he has a dread of water that goes beyond reason.”

  “I’m sure he’s safely on his way back to Obernewtyn,” I sent reassuringly.

  “He is proud,” she sent. “Too proud to bear such shame easily.”

  I stared at her, puzzled. “There is no shame in what happened. No one will blame him.”

  Avra sighed in a very human way. “He will blame himself. I do not think he will return to Obernewtyn.”

  Hours later, we were still gliding through the ancient city. The immediate wonder having worn off, we lapsed into silence for a time. I watched from the corner of my eye as Kella helped Domick to steer, thinking that the stresses and perils that had beset us since leaving Obernewtyn had eroded the old enmity between coercer and healer. I was imagining what effect their unexpected friendship would have on their guilds, when we suddenly passed out of the big cavern into a tunnel. Immediately, the raft picked up speed, and in seconds we were in rapids again.

  Another hour passed with little respite from the ferocious white water, which seemed more frequent on this side of the underground sea. Domick was swaying on his feet with exhaustion.

  Then we heard a noise. At first we checked our binding ropes, thinking there was another bout of rapids ahead, but as we came nearer to the source, the roaring became louder, taking on a curious vibrating quality.

  I noticed that Pavo was listening intently. There was no fear on his face, only fierce concentration.

  “What is it?” I shouted. “More rapids?”

  “Let’s hope that is all it is,” Pavo answered.

  I opened my mouth to ask what he meant when the raft tilted abruptly sideways. Being tied on was all that kept us together. I heard Kella scream, and then we were falling as the Suggredoon became a giant waterfall, plummeting us into a black void.

  My face felt hot and damp at the memory of that fall.

  I tried to open my eyes but saw nothing. I lifted my hand to feel if my eyes were open, wondering if I had gone blind.

  “Shh, lie still,” Kella said softly.

  “My eyes,” I croaked. My throat felt as dry as old paper.

  “Your eyes are fine. They’re stuck shut by blood from a cut on your forehead. Wait …”

  I heard footsteps on a stone floor and the murmur of voices. It was strange to hear and not see; that was how it was for Dameon. Two sets of footsteps approached, and there was the sound of curtains being drawn. I felt a warm cloth on my face and gasped at the unexpected sting.

  “There are lots of small cuts from the rocks,” Kella explained gently. “Some of them reopened in the night. There now.”

  I opened my eyes. I was in bed in a small whitewashed bedroom with sun streaming through a window and birds chirping outside. Kella was sitting beside me on a stool, a bowl of bloodied water on her knees. Her cheek was badly bruised and her arm was bandaged. Behind her was a plump matronly woman I had never seen before.

  “I am Katlyn,” she said with a warm smile.

  I did not know what to say and looked helplessly at Kella. “Katlyn and her bondmate, Grufyyd, found us washed up on the banks of the Suggredoon. They know we escaped from a Councilfarm,” she said pointedly.

  “Dinna worry about that now. Ye need to rest,” Katlyn said, her highland accent strong. “That is the best healer of all, but first I will bring ye some food.”

  She went out, taking the stained water with her, and returned in a moment with a bowl of soup.

  “That smells wonderful,” I rasped.

  She smiled. “It is an old recipe, a special healing mixture. Eat an’ then sleep. Ye can talk later.”

  “Where are the others?” I asked Kella as soon as the woman had gone.

  “Everyone is fine,” Kella said, and pointed firmly to the soup. “Now eat. If Katlyn says it will heal, it will. She knows so much about healing and medicines. I’ve never seen such an herb garden.”

  “Herb?” I asked sharply.

  “Katlyn is an herb lorist. She learned it from her grandmother. Apparently people came to the woman’s village from all over the Land, and they used to come see Katlyn before herb lore was banned. Many still come. I wish Roland could meet her.

  “Does she not fear the Herders?”

  Kella smiled. “She talks about the Coun
cil and the Herders as if they were a collection of naughty boys. She knows what she does is dangerous, but she says it’s her job.”

  “How long have we been here?” I asked, anxious that we had stayed too long in the house of a woman who cared so little for her safety.

  “Only a day, but without her help, we would have taken much longer to heal,” Kella said sternly, seeing my disapproval.

  “I’m grateful for her help,” I said. “But it’s my job to keep us safe and finish this expedition without getting caught by the Council or the Faction—who are a lot more dangerous than bad boys. Now, tell me, where are we?”

  Kella shrugged. “We’re not far from Rangorn and the Ford. It’s only the two of them here. There’s a son, but he’s a seaman. They seemed to think we might have heard of him when I’d told them we were runaways. I thought it best not to pry.”

  “Good. How did you come to tell them we had escaped from a Councilfarm?”

  “We had to tell them something. There was no way of hiding that we had been in a boating accident, but no one would have crossed the Suggredoon this far north unless they were trying to avoid being seen. Gypsies would hardly travel by water, and besides, our coloring has all but faded now. The Councilfarm runaway story seemed most plausible.”

  “It’s risky,” I said. “You are certain they didn’t send word to the Council? There is a reward for information leading to the capture of runaways.”

  Kella shook her head emphatically. “I don’t think it occurred to them.”

  I frowned. “I suppose if Katlyn is an herb lorist, she wouldn’t want soldierguards here. So we’re probably safe enough for now.”

  A flicker of anger crossed Kella’s face. “You’re too cynical, Elspeth. It makes you blind to things right under your nose,” she added obliquely.

  “What about the others?”

  “Everyone’s fine except for a few bruises and bumps. Pavo is not too good, but that has nothing to do with the accident.”

  “Jik?” I asked.

  She smiled. “A cracked rib. He’s milking the goats with Grufyyd. Domick has gone off to scout the area. Once a coercer …” I was astounded to see her eyes soften and wondered if friendship was all that had developed between them.

  Kella stood, taking the empty bowl from my fingers. I could not even remember drinking the soup.

  “Sleep and get better. The world will wait,” the healer said.

  Weary as I was, I could not rest easy. The expedition seemed to be in tatters, without disguise or papers, two all but unfit to travel. I wondered if we would ever get home again.

  Domick returned late that night.

  “Elspeth?” he whispered outside the window.

  “I’m awake,” I answered softly, sitting up. “Come in.”

  He climbed through the window. “I am sleeping in the stables with Jik and Darga, but I wanted to talk to you while it was quiet. Katlyn and Grufyyd are good people,” Domick said. “Kella believes it, and so do I. I don’t like lying to them.”

  I hid my amazement at these uncoercer-like sentiments. Domick went on. “They seem … accustomed to people like us—people on the run, scared, and without anything but a flimsy cover story. The medicines, the food, the lack of questions … it makes me think they have done this before—sheltered runaways.”

  “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  He shrugged. “Instinct as much as anything. But Jik can sense their sincerity. If we were forced to leave him or Pavo behind, I think it would be safe for them here.”

  I did not respond to the question in his voice, knowing that Jik must accompany us however dangerous the expedition had become. “You’re right to think of leaving soon, or we’ll waste the time we gained coming through the mountain. You scouted ahead?”

  Domick’s face was impassive. “Yes. We’re above Rangorn, but we can easily get to the ford without passing through the town. The ford is unguarded, though Grufyyd says there are guards at the ferry terminal. You will need papers to cross.”

  “We’ll have to manage without them until we reach Sutrium. We need to try to get hold of another cart. That way we should be able to leave together—all of us.” I touched his hand. “Go to bed now.”

  He slipped out as soundlessly as he had entered.

  The next morning, Katlyn came in to change the bandages on my feet. “Poor ill-treated feet,” she said gently, unwrapping them. “I put on a salve to numb them so you could sleep. The scars are deep and have not healed well, though they are old.”

  “I have to be able to walk,” I said.

  Katlyn nodded. “If you must, these will carry you. But walking will increase the hurt. If they are ever to heal properly, you must rest them completely for many months, perhaps even longer.”

  Katlyn looked up at me, her expression serious. “Child, there is something I want to say to you. Kella told me you are making for the west coast, in search of sanctuary. But I dinna think you will find any safe place on the coast. I want ye to think of staying here with us.”

  “Here?” I echoed, astounded by the offer.

  Katlyn reached out and touched my hand. “This is a safe house, a refuge for runaways … and for others. You could help us in our work. Help others like yourself …”

  I stared at Katlyn, my heart beating fast, for her eyes told me clearly that she knew we had not told her the truth about ourselves.

  “Think on it,” she said softly. “Talk with the others. Let us know tonight what you decide.”

  14

  “WHAT WILL YOU tell her? Won’t she find it odd that runaways refuse refuge?” Pavo asked when I told the others of Katlyn’s offer.

  “I will tell them the truth,” I said. “As much of it as we can. I think we owe them that.”

  Grufyyd turned out to be a big, silent man with a brown beard and somber, smoke-gray eyes. After we had eaten nightmeal, my first out of bed, I asked the couple if I could retell our story.

  “We have so often had to lie that it’s hard to see where the truth can be told,” I began. “It is true we are escapees, in one sense, but that was a long time ago. Now we, and others, have a secret … place in the highlands. There are a lot of us there now, mostly no more than children and many runaways. Some came to us, more we helped get away.

  “Until recently, we thought our existence a secret. Then we started to hear rumors that the Council meant to investigate the highlands, so our leader decided to send down a delegation to see what we could find out. And at the same time, we came to find a … a friend who is hiding somewhere near Murmroth and Aborium.”

  Katlyn and Grufyyd exchanged an odd, tense look.

  “How did you come to be half-drowned on the banks of the Suggredoon?” Grufyyd asked in his rumbling voice.

  “We were in the White Valley looking for an Oldtime pass through the mountains. We didn’t want to use the main roads. But we stumbled on a secret camp run by Henry Druid. He takes prisoner anyone who gets too near. He uses the men for labor or else makes them join his armsmen.”

  Katlyn cast an appalled glance at Grufyyd. “Armsmen. Then he still means to get revenge?”

  Grufyyd shook his head sorrowfully.

  “We escaped, but the Olden way proved impassable. We were desperate with the Druid’s armsmen close behind us, so we rafted the Suggredoon through the mountain.”

  Katlyn gasped. “But is it possible?” No one answered, since we were the living proof of our story.

  “Looked overmuch damage for an overturned boat,” Grufyyd observed dispassionately.

  I continued. “Now … all I have told you is true, but I have not told everything, mostly to protect the ones we left behind. But I would not have said this much unless I trusted you and because we want you to understand why we can’t stay here.”

  “We are no strangers to necessary secrets,” Katlyn said gently. “But since you will not stay, then we would like to offer you further help, in return for a favor.”

  “What favor?” Domic
k asked.

  Grufyyd rose suddenly and decisively. “Our son, Brydda, does not live strictly according to Council lore. In short, he is a seditioner. He helps people who are to be burned—helps them to get away an’ start afresh. Our problem is that we have lost contact with him. Brydda has neither visited us nor sent people to be hidden for two moons. We are afraid something has happened to him. We are too old for intrigue, and we ask that you will go into Aborium to give Brydda a message from us.”

  “Aborium,” Jik said and paled.

  Domick looked at me. “No,” he said decisively. I was startled at his brusqueness after his words the previous night. “If I was coming with you, it might be different, but …”

  “We mean to part before Morganna, you see,” I explained. “Domick will remain in Sutrium. The rest of us will cross the Suggredoon, and on the other side we meant to stay away from the towns. Especially Aborium, for it does not have a good reputation, even in the highlands.”

  Grufyyd nodded. “It is a bad place. Yet all west coast cities are the same. Ye will have to enter one for food and fodder. And it may be that we can help.”

  “I do not see how asking us to deliver a message to your son can help us,” Domick said belligerently. He stole a glance at Kella, and suddenly I understood his agitation.

  Grufyyd nodded with a grave courtesy that made Domick seem rude and brash. “I meant to offer you the use of a cart. Ye will travel more swiftly and safely that way. And I can provide you with some false Normalcy Certificates.”

  “We will be happy to deliver a message to your son,” I said. “It is the least we can do.”

  Grufyyd’s face broke into a beguiling smile. He crossed abruptly to the door, gathering up his coat. On the threshold, he turned. “It will be best for you to go soon. I will ready the cart for tomorrow morning.” Without waiting for a response, he went out, leaving a startled silence behind him.