I turned to watch the fire racing across the countryside. Black smoke rose above the trees, blotting out the sun. The youth pressed me into a depression in the deepest section of the cave and forced himself in beside me. Our breathing sounded unnaturally loud.
The wall of fire came to less than a span from the hill before sweeping to the left and away. I found myself trembling from head to foot at the thought of how close I had come to following my parents into the purifying flame.
“That was hellish close,” the youth said shakily, wiping sweat from his face. Though we were no longer in immediate danger, the heat was intense, since the firestorm still raged all around us. “If we’d been caught in that, we’d be charcoal now.”
“Dragon!” I gasped, starting for the entrance. “Jik and Darga!” My rescuer dragged me back into the cave.
“Are you mad? The girl came this way. There are many caves she might have taken refuge in,” he said.
“You don’t understand. There were others—a boy and a dog,” I cried.
He shook his head. “Either they found shelter and are safe, or …” He looked at the fierce orange glow of the flames, still uncomfortably close.
I sank to my knees, realizing there was nothing I could do until the firestorm ended. Abruptly, the youth leaned down and twisted my face to the firelight.
“You are not from the camp. Who are you?” he demanded in a queer tone. Through a haze of smoke, brown eyes surveyed me from a craggy, tan face. His hair was brown, too, and worn longer than lowland fashion dictated. He was about Rushton’s age and wore the unmistakable garb of a Druid armsman.
Recapture by the Druid meant trouble. But that was overshadowed by my fear for Jik, Dragon, and Darga. I tried to farseek them, but the air was filled with static generated by the firestorm.
The young armsman dropped to his knees beside me. “Look at me!” he commanded. “Don’t you know me, Elspeth?”
I looked at him properly for the first time and, incredibly, realized I did know his face.
“Daffyd?” I whispered.
He sat back on his heels. “Lud save us, it is you, grown into near womanhood. I met you only that once, yet I never forgot your face.”
I sat up too quickly, and the world tilted crazily out of focus. I leaned forward and vomited on the ground, heaving until my stomach ached. Gently, Daffyd wiped my mouth with a piece of cloth. I felt no pain, and the nausea was swallowed up immediately by the suppressing barrier.
“I think you’d better stay still,” Daffyd said. “You must have breathed in too much smoke. You’re lucky I came along when I did.”
I looked at Daffyd searchingly. “You may call it lucky … unless you mean to turn us over to the Druid.”
He smiled. “Gilaine spoke to me of you and your friends. This is one Druid armsman you need not fear. I was surprised when she called you a gypsy; then I realized you must have escaped from Obernewtyn when it changed hands and had somehow ended up traveling with gypsies.”
Daffyd screwed up his eyes, and I was astonished to feel a clumsy probe seeking entrance to my mind. The weakest shield would have held him off. It was like watching a baby trying to walk. He sighed. “I’m not very good at it. Gilaine showed me how to think outside Lidgebaby’s net, the way you showed her. It is odd to think we were both Misfits when we met in the Councilcourt that day, though I did not know it then.”
He coughed as a thick cloud of smoke blew directly into the cave. “Gilaine and the rest of us thought you were dead. Gilbert saw your raft go into the mountain, but all the same, the Druid had everyone out searching for you when I arrived. He was convinced it was a trick and you too crafty to raft to your deaths.” He frowned. “Was it a trick, then? Have you been hidden in the valley all this time?”
“The raft carried us through the mountain and down to the lowlands, though I would not want to take such a passage again. I came back through the Olden way,” I said. “It’s less poisonous than the Druid thinks. We were trying to cut through the compound when the storm struck. I saw everyone taking cover, but I thought … I didn’t realize a firestorm was coming.”
I looked at the cave opening worriedly. “I hope the others are safe. I pray this firestorm ends quickly.” I made to rise, but all the suppression in the world could not make useless limbs work.
Daffyd laid a gentle hand on my arm. “Be patient. Even when the storm front passes, there is the rain. We can’t brave that and live.”
As if his words were a signal, it began suddenly to rain with great force. For a moment, we both looked outside, watching steam hiss and billow from the dying fires. I bit my lip and hoped Dragon understood the danger of being out in the stinging rains.
The cave we were in was no more than a shallow scoop of erosion, and if the rain had been slanting from the opposite direction, it would have filled the cave. As to the fire, the blackened ground showed that it had come to within a single span of the rocks. I shuddered. The area visible from the cave was devastated, and some of the trees were still aflame with their eerie blue halo. The beat of falling rain was curiously soothing amid the sight and smell of destruction, and my eyes drooped. The suppressing was draining my reserves.
“Elspeth, Gilaine said you were trying to reach the coast. If you did get through the mountain, why did you come back?” Daffyd asked.
Forcing myself to full awareness, I looked at Daffyd squarely. I had always found it hard to trust people, but this time I did not hesitate. My infected feet rendered me useless as a messenger. Providence had brought Daffyd to me.
“The Druid’s friend on the Council,” I said. “What do you know of him?”
Daffyd looked at me closely as if trying to judge if I were delirious. Then he turned his gaze out at the teeming rain and shrugged. “A couple of years back, a boy stumbled into the camp one winter, more dead than alive. The Druid had him looked after, no doubt hoping for some useful information, or at least another set of hands. When the boy regained consciousness, he claimed to have lost his memory. Eventually, the Druid decided to let him join us.
“Though fair faced, he was not well liked. And yet he had a charm, when he chose to use it. The old man grew fond of him, began to think of him as a son. In the end, he was privy to the armsmen councils. Then he came up with a daring plan to infiltrate the Council and feed information back to us. It was a dangerous proposition, but he is an insidious sort of fellow. If anyone could carry out such an audacious plan, it was he. So he went off to Sutrium.” Daffyd shrugged. “A lot of us thought he would disappear as soon as he was out of the Druid’s sight, maybe even betray us, but he did as he had promised, supplying us with luxuries and information, working for the day the Druid comes out of hiding to challenge the powers that be.”
“Ariel,” I murmured, not believing for a minute he had lost his memory or that he truly had the Druid’s interests in mind.
“It’s strange to hear him named openly,” Daffyd said. “The Druid has forbidden us to speak of him by name. How did you come to hear it?”
“We met before he came to the Druid,” I said bleakly. “He is a Misfit, from Obernewtyn. You have heard of the seditioners there, Alexi and Madam Vega, once enemies of the Druid? He was their pet creature.
“Daffyd, I did not leave Obernewtyn and fall in with the gypsies. I and my friends came from Obernewtyn disguised as gypsies. The new master there, Rushton, has made it a secret haven for Misfits like us. I could not tell Gilaine the truth, but I wanted to return to offer you a place with us at Obernewtyn when Lidgebaby is old enough to leave the Druid encampment.”
“Then Obernewtyn was not ruined by a firestorm?” Daffyd said.
“No. It’s quite safe—so far.”
“But, why are you telling me all this now, if you would not speak of it to Gilaine?” Daffyd asked.
I sighed. “Because I need you to go to Obernewtyn and warn Rushton that Ariel is behind the Council’s interest in us, before the pass is closed with snow. Tell him soldierguards wil
l arrive at first thaw, and they will find no firestorm-racked ruins. Maybe Rushton can evacuate, take everyone higher into the mountains. Maybe they’ll decide to fight, defend the pass. But if I don’t get word to Rushton, they’ll be defenseless. Ariel will have won.”
Daffyd looked pensive. “Ariel always seemed fanatical about Obernewtyn, now that I think of it. He has convinced the old man that Rushton was a threat to us. He was up here just days ago, and when he heard that a group of gypsies had seen Obernewtyn with their own eyes and then slipped through our fingers … Well, he was very interested in you and your friends. He cursed when there was no trace of your bodies and swore you had not died. If not for him, the Druid would have called off the search much sooner. Does he know the truth about Obernewtyn?”
“I’m not sure what he knows, but it seems to me he has guessed that Obernewtyn is undamaged. And he wants revenge,” I said bitterly. “He must also realize that Rushton can expose him to the Druid, or to the Council, as a Misfit and a seditioner. Daffyd, will you go to Obernewtyn for me?” I asked, too weak for pretense.
Daffyd’s eyes flicked to my legs.
I nodded. “They’re badly infected. So far I’ve been able to block the pain so it wouldn’t slow me—one of my more useful Talents. But stopping the pain can’t make these legs carry me any farther.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Daffyd spoke. “I can do as you ask. But what about you and the girl and boy you spoke of?”
“We’ll be fine. Rushton can send help for us. The storm is interfering with my farseeking, but once it’s over, I’ll call Dragon and Jik and Darga to me.”
I looked out of the cave. There were no more flames, and a gray curtain of firestorm rain obscured the outside world. Carefully, and remembering Daffyd had no love for the Council, I related all that had befallen us in the lowlands. When at last the rain ceased, I urged him to leave at once.
“You must go now—” I began, when an anguished cry shattered the stillness.
It took a moment for me to understand that it was Dragon screaming, the grief in her voice tangible and terrifying. Daffyd gave me one startled look, then plunged out into the open.
Long moments later, he returned carrying the prostrate form of Dragon.
“She’s not…,” I began, but he shook his head.
“Fainted,” he said stiffly as if his lips were frozen. His face was very pale as he laid her on the ground inside the cave and wiped the wetness from her bare skin.
“What is it?” I asked, sensing disaster.
He looked up bleakly. “She had found a body. Burned beyond recognition. It might be one of the people from the compound,” he added unconvincingly.
He reached into a pocket. “She was clutching this.” He held out a hand, and something glinted dully in his palm. It was the small empath novice token that Dameon gave to new members of his guild.
I felt the suppressing barrier weaken with shock and revulsion.
Jik. It was Jik.
I was filled with a guilt deeper than anything I had ever imagined possible. I was responsible for his terrible death. I might as well have killed him with my own hands. If only I had left him with Brydda. If we had not brought him away from Obernewtyn, had not brought him out of the cloister. My teeth chattered, and I felt dizzy with horror.
Daffyd knelt beside me and made me drink water from a tin jar. “Drink,” he said, and his eyes, filled with honest pity and compassion, were my undoing. I wept then, great choking tears that seemed to take pieces of my soul.
Jik’s face rose in my mind’s eye, sweet and grave with eyes always a little too old for his years. He had hardly joined us before we had set him on a path to this horrible death. And what had bringing him achieved? I was now certain Jik’s presence had been necessary on the expedition only because it ensured Darga’s. Maryon had admitted her prediction was unfocused. I could not recall any vital action of Jik’s, but without Darga, we would never have found Dragon or completed our survey of the library; we could not have come through the Olden way. But even if Obernewtyn was warned in time, was even that enough to justify Jik’s death?
“There was no sign of the dog,” Daffyd said quietly. “It might have escaped.” I shook my head, knowing Darga would never leave Jik in danger by choice.
I wept myself empty of tears.
Daffyd went to bury what remained of Jik’s body and returned looking pale and weary.
“Daffyd,” I said. “You have to go now, while the pass is still open, or it will be too late. Take Dragon.”
“I’ll carry you,” he said. I shook my head. I would slow them to no purpose. Not even Roland could help me now. I was sure too much pain had accumulated.
Dragon was less easy to convince when she woke. She only agreed when I told her Daffyd’s friends would be coming to help me. Jik had told her about Obernewtyn, and she had built it up in her mind to be a place of endless happiness where everyone was always safe. Her horror at the manner of Jik’s death made her vulnerable, and I exploited this shamelessly.
I made them go immediately, maintaining a calm façade for Dragon’s sake. I shook Daffyd’s hand, pressing my armband into it. “This will make them believe you,” I said softly.
“Is there anything … anyone …” Daffyd hesitated.
I thought of Rushton as I had last seen him, his hand raised to me through the driving rain. There had always been a strange, prickly affection between us, a bond of sorts. It was hard to believe I would not see him again.
I smiled. “Tell him … tell them, goodbye …,” I said.
When they had gone, I sank gratefully into a black feverish sleep filled with dreams, but I did not release the suppressing. At the end, life and sanity were too sweet to give up voluntarily. I knew it would not be long before the barrier gave way of its own volition.
I dreamed a horse with wings came and carried me to the mountaintops. I dreamed Darga was there and singing to me in Jik’s high, sweet voice. I dreamed of Maruman, his fur ruffled by the winds. I dreamed of a voice inside my mind calling and calling.
I dreamed … of birds.
23
THE SOUND OF a breaking branch in the silence of the devastated valley dragged me from my feverish drowsing. I had imagined myself beyond fear, but the notion came to me that the sound had been made by a predator seeking easy prey in the aftermath of the firestorm.
I stared out of the cave, craning my neck as far as I could to keep from using my legs. I dared not overload my mind with any more pain. Miraculously, the suppressing was still intact, although my vision and hearing seemed distorted.
I could see nothing outside but blackened trees and earth and a drifting haze of smoke. There was no sign of life anywhere, but I felt I was being watched. My scalp prickled, and I groped for a rock to use as a weapon.
“Who’s there?” I called, my voice a dry, frightened croak.
Letting my mind loose in desperation, I was surprised to find myself listening to a mental dialogue.
“What do you think it is?” one mind asked.
“A funaga, of course. What else makes such ugly noises?” came the response.
Astonished at the strength of minds that were clearly nonhuman, I projected, farsending my own thoughts. “Who/where are you?”
“It spoke!” came a third mental voice. Younger than the others and less controlled, I thought. There were quick shushing thoughts from the other two, who recognized the significance of my mental questions.
I gathered myself, trying to decide if I was dreaming.
Forcing down a mad urge to giggle hysterically, I made an effort to sound normal. “I know you’re out there. There are three of you, and I can hear your thoughts!” Nothing. “Answer me!”
I heard a faint movement and craned my neck, trying to farsense them.
A shudder of branches caught my eye. Squinting, I realized there were birds in the tree. I let my eyes follow the trunk to the ground, thinking the three Talents might well have disturbed t
hem.
No one.
The branches rustled again, and I looked up, wondering what had brought the birds to such a place. Animals generally avoided firestorm-devastated areas for months after, sometimes years. There was no small prey, no insects, and no plant life. No reason—yet there they were, just sitting and staring.
One of the birds extended its wings, and I drew in a sharp breath at the flash of red on its plumage. Guanette birds. I had seen one up close only once, a stuffed trophy. Even dead, the bird had possessed a quality that had enthralled me, a wild sort of nobility.
Looking more carefully, I could tell one of the three was a male, with a straighter beak and smaller body. The two larger, with curved beaks, were female.
I sent a questing probe to the birds. After a moment, the smallest began to fidget, shifting weight from one claw to the other like a sheepish child. I sent a more aggressive inquiry. The male flexed his wings and gave a faint chirrup.
“Will you answer?” I sent directly to him.
There was no response, and I was unsure I had reached the bird. Its mind was oddly opaque, and I felt light-headed and weak. Then I felt a probe in my mind. It had entered with such precise delicacy I had not even been aware of being broached. The finest shield I could create would not bar entrance to such a fine-tuned probe.
“Greetings, funaga,” came the thought shyly, but with undeniable grace.
“I am Elspeth,” I sent. “What name/shape may I call to you?”
“Do not speak to it!” came a sharp, intrusive probe, no less delicate than the first. I wondered if the infection were somehow weakening my natural defenses.
The first hesitated, then spoke again, its presence the merest cobweb in my thoughts.
“My name is Astyanax,” he sent. I heard a brief aside directed to the other mind. “And ‘it’ is a she.”
The two females, still side by side on the topmost branch, exchanged a doubtful look, and the effect was so like two old women conferring that I laughed in spite of everything.