The Keeping Place

  “I won’t let you die,” I sent grimly.

  I tried to pull him back to the surface, but his weight was too great, and he drew me inexorably with him down into the dark sea’s deadly embrace. I should have let go, but I would not. I could not.

  “Maruman,” I sent despairingly, and suddenly we were not so much sinking in the sea as drifting through the air. The darkness lightened, and the pressure on my lungs ceased. I could see the silvery cord drawing me through the clear blue sky, down through pristine whiteness to the world of swirling color visible to my spirit eyes.

  I floated above my body, thinking how dull and cold it was, repelled at the thought of confining myself to it.

  “You do not live only for yourself,” Maruman sent urgently, and I felt his fear as a sharp blow to the face. Only then did I realize that the cord linking my light form to my body was beginning to fade. Propelled by fright, I sank down immediately, releasing the silver thread, and as it fell away from me, I rose gently to consciousness.

  I opened my eyes.

  Kella was looking into my face and gave a little scream of surprise. “Elspeth? Are you…Can you understand me?”

  I made myself nod.

  “It is a miracle,” she breathed.

  I licked my lips and summoned the energy to speak. “Dragon?”

  Kella frowned at me worriedly. “I don’t understand.”

  That meant her condition was unchanged.

  “Rushton?” I croaked.

  She bit her lip. “Elspeth, we moved you from his room. Let me get Roland or Dameon….”

  “He lives?”

  “He…he lives, yet, but is…Elspeth, don’t you remember Darius coming here? What he said?”

  I struggled to sit up. “I want to see Rushton,” I said.

  Kella protested, but even though I was as weak as a newborn calf, I was determined enough that she agreed to help me into the room where he lay.

  He looked exactly as he had before. I thought of my recurring vision of him swimming through dark waters always just beyond my reach.

  I laid my hand on his cheek and whispered, “My love, I came looking for you and I found you, but you must swim this last stretch to me.”

  He did not stir. Had I failed him after all, then? I had recognized him at the last instant, but maybe that had been too late.

  Yet I remembered the feel of rough, wet fur in my fingers. I had caught hold of him—I had not let him go.

  I thought then of Dameon’s story of the sleeping princess.

  Shaking myself free of Kella’s restraining hands, I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Summoning the longing of my soul, I called his name with my mind.

  His eyes opened.

  I heard Kella gasp but ignored it.

  “Rushton?”

  “Elspeth,” he sighed. A faint, sweet smile lifted the corners of his lips. Then a spasm of anguish wrenched his entire body, and I threw my arms about him and clung tightly until the fit faded. “They…they…,” he panted.

  I kissed him to silence. “I know, my love. They hurt you…. We will talk of it later. Now you must rest and regain your strength.”

  “You will not leave me?”

  “I will stay by your side until you wake,” I promised, taking his hand in mine. “Sleep, my love. Sleep and heal.”

  EPILOGUE

  “YOU KNOW, THE story doesn’t say what happened after the prince awakened the sleeping princess,” I said. “It doesn’t say if the princess liked the prince, or if they were happy.”

  Dameon and I were seated at the window of my turret room, enjoying mugs of cold cider as the sun fell behind the mountains. Maruman was curled on the sill, sleeping soundly.

  “Such stories are about events, not aftermaths,” the empath said. “It will take time for Rushton to recover fully.”

  I sighed, realizing he would always see to the heart of things. “He will have to face what the Herders did to him sooner or later….”

  “Be patient,” Dameon said mildly. “Has he not resumed his place as Master of Obernewtyn? Didn’t he meet with Brydda and present our suggestions to the rebels admirably?”

  “I know he works hard, and outwardly there is nothing wrong with him. But until he opens his memories, they will poison him.”

  Dameon sat up and turned his blind eyes to me. “I think you are troubled more because of his manner toward you than because he will not let anyone inside his mind.”

  I wanted to tell him he was talking like a fool, but all at once I was close to tears. “Shouldn’t that trouble me?” I asked at last. “He avoids me.”

  Dameon sighed and reached out to touch my arm. “If he avoids you, Elspeth, it is because he fears to see your contempt.”

  “Contempt!”

  Dameon shrugged. “He feels he is failing you, because he cannot yet cope with delving into what happened to him. It would not be so if you did not demand so much.”

  I swallowed a bitter feeling of injustice. “Do I demand so much?” My voice sounded flat and unhappy even to my own ears.

  “Of yourself, perhaps, as well as him,” the empath said gently.

  Blinking back tears, I turned to look out the window. Dusk cast a reddish light over the trees and rooftops, and a warm breeze lifted the hair from my face.

  Dameon set his mug down and stretched, saying he had better go. “I want to see Dragon before nightmeal.” He hesitated. “Will you come with me?”

  I shook my head. “I am the last person she would care to see.”

  “Elspeth, you take her memory loss too personally. The important thing is that her coma has broken. And although no one can get into her mind, Maryon is confident that she will remember all when she is ready.”

  “You really believe that?”

  He smiled. “I do, and you must as well.”

  Dameon rose and embraced me before he left.

  I had been devastated when it became clear that, although awake and sane, Dragon remembered nothing. Not only was she unable to recall her distant past, but she also had no recollection of her time at Obernewtyn. All she remembered was her feral existence in the ruins on the west coast, and upon waking, she had barricaded herself in a corner, shrieking and gibbering in fright and confusion. No one had been able to approach her except Dameon, who wooed her with empathy and his own patient gentleness.

  When I had visited her, she bared her teeth at me in a snarl, cowering into the Empath guildmaster’s arms. Dameon urged me to persist, but as yet, I had not been able to bring myself to it.

  I wandered back to the window and sat on the sill, enjoying the breeze and watching everything vanish into shadow. I felt less melancholy than when the empath had arrived with a jug of cider, and I suspected he had been subtly empathising hope and comfort to me the whole time we had talked. I had imagined my distress over the rift between Rushton and me was unnoticeable, but of course, Dameon had sensed it.

  I took a deep breath of the sweet night air and counseled myself to be patient, as Dameon had urged.

  “At least they are safe here at Obernewtyn,” I murmured aloud.

  That was more than could be said for all the Misfits trapped on the west coast or for Domick. The coercer-knights had been unable to locate him—or Miryum, who had completely vanished with Straaka’s body. Neither had Brydda managed to locate Daffyd, who needed to hear that his beloved Gilaine was alive in the same distant land as Matthew. The likelihood was that both Domick and Daffyd were on the west coast, but there was no way to be sure until the rebel ships were completed.

  Brydda felt these would be ready to sail by the end of the following spring. A year away. And it would be at least that long before I could begin to search for the clues and signs left me on the west coast by Kasanda.

  Unless Swallow returned for the diving suit.

  I reached into my pocket and withdrew Fian’s tattered translation and read it through, though by now I knew the lines by heart.

  I was fairly certain that the key la
y wherever Hannah was buried. Given Garth’s fascination with the Beforetimer, it was only a matter of time before he learned the whereabouts of her grave. In addition, Kasanda had left something where she gave birth to her son and something else inside a monument built to acknowledge the pact between the Council and the gypsy community, and she had given yet another thing to the Red Queen before leaving her land.

  I sighed and thrust the paper back into my pocket.

  I had learned much since the beginning of the rebellion, yet still I had not managed to find a single sign left by Kasanda. In fact, I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that the Cassy of my dreams was the Sadorians’ revered Kasanda and the gypsy D’rekta.

  And that Ariel was the dreaded Destroyer.

  “Have patience,” Maruman sent.

  “It is harder to wait than to act,” I responded.

  Maruman sniffed contemptuously. “Time does not care about you, ElspethInnle. Nor this barud nor any who dwell here. It cares nothing for this world nor for your quest to save it.” His mindvoice had taken on a fey tone that chilled me, and he turned to stare out at the moon, newly risen above the jagged horizon.

  It was fat and red. An ominous moon, almost full.

  “Maruman…”

  “The moon waits,” Maruman sent distantly. “The H’rayka waits. The glarsh waits. All wait for ElspethInnle to walk the darkroad.” He looked at me. “Are you so eager to walk it?”

  I licked my lips and found them dry. “I don’t want to leave Obernewtyn. I love…I love it here. But my whole life has shaped me to go.”

  “And go you will,” Maruman sent sternly, turning his single flaring eye back to me. “When all things are as they must be. Until then, eat the days and nights that come. Do not wish them gone/away. They will succor you when all is dark and you are alone.”

  His words frightened me, but they also drove away the last remnants of my melancholy. Dameon was right. I had felt that Rushton was failing me, and Dragon too. That they were getting in the way of my quest. In truth, it was I who had been failing them.

  I farsent a probe to Rushton and found him with Alad on the farms.

  His mind reacted with a wariness that hurt me, but which I knew I deserved.

  “I thought we could go for a walk after nightmeal,” I sent gently. “It is so warm, and it will be light enough to swim in the high springs.”

  I felt his cautious pleasure. “You would like that? To walk and swim?”

  I laughed and sent my laughter to him. “Why not? We have time.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To Nan McNab, for stepping into the breach with her own particular brand of sensitive, meticulous editing; to the Australia Council, for their creative grants which allow that things sometimes grow where you least expect them; to Choice Connections in Geelong, and in particular to Adrian, who gave emergency computer counseling, on the phone and sometimes halfway round the world. And thanks to Mallory, Nick, and Whitney, for giving the stories new life in America.

  Last but not least, thanks to Jan and to my darling Adelaide, for tolerating this immense cuckoo in our nest!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ISOBELLE CARMODY began the first of her highly acclaimed Obernewtyn Chronicles while still in high school. She continued writing while completing a Bachelor of Arts and a journalism cadetship. This series and her short stories have established her at the fore-front of fantasy writing in Australia and abroad.

  She is the award-winning author of several novels and many series for young readers, including The Legend of Little Fur, the Gateway Trilogy, and the Obernewtyn Chronicles.

  She lives with her family, and they divide their time between homes in Australia and the Czech Republic.

  BOOKS BY

  ISOBELLE CARMODY

  THE OBERNEWTYN CHRONICLES

  Obernewtyn

  The Farseekers

  Ashling

  The Keeping Place

  Wavesong

  The Stone Key

  The Sending

  Red Queen

  THE GATEWAY TRILOGY

  Night Gate

  Winter Door

  LITTLE FUR

  The Legend Begins

  A Fox Called Sorrow

  A Mystery of Wolves

  Riddle of Green

  How can reconciliation between the Council and Misfits endure if the Land is occupied?

  Scroll down for a sneak preview of what Elspeth will do when the Herders invade. Available now!

  Excerpt copyright © 2008 by Isobelle Carmody

  Published in 2008 by Random House Children’s Books,

  a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  MALIK WAS THE same solidly muscled, gray-eyed, gray-haired man he had been the last time I had seen him in Sador, but he wore his arrogance with a vicious new edge that must have been honed by the secret bargain he had made with the Herders. He listened impassively to Vos’s description of my capture—by his telling, a brilliant coup in which Vos himself was a central figure. Without the congratulations and accolades from Malik that Vos clearly expected, the story at last foundered to an uncertain end.

  “Did I not inform you that I wished you to send word that you had caught the Misfit? Did I not command that a messenger be sent if you intended to come here?” Malik inquired coldly. The light from lanterns hung about the encampment gave his face a sinister ruddy glow.

  Vos’s bluster about being Malik’s equal shriveled, and he said, “You did, however…ah…it is a dangerous Misfit that my men caught. Not just a beastspeaker but a powerful coercer.”

  Malik all but curled his lip in derision. “Your men caught her after they first let her escape and after you acted against my express orders to do nothing about Noviny or his visitors until I gave you leave.” Vos tried to speak, but Malik ignored him. “But I am sure Chieftain Dardelan will be most understanding when you explain to him why you took Noviny and his granddaughter and their guests prisoner and interrogated them.”

  Vos paled. “But…if the freaks had used their powers to escape, they would have reported me to the Council of Chieftains.”

  Malik gave a bark of laughter. “Do you really imagine that the Council of Chieftains would be forever ignorant of what you have been doing here?”

  “You-you said I would have your full support if it came out,” Vos stammered.

  “So you would have, had you not decided to take prisoners against my orders. And now you march into my camp, though I warned you against it.”

  “I am sorry, Chieftain Malik,” Vos gabbled, unraveling with fear. “I hope that you will not take this…eagerness of mine amiss. I will take this creature and return with my men to my homestead.”

  “The mutant might as well remain here,” Malik said. He turned to look at me. He had glanced at me indifferently when we arrived, and I thought that he had not recognized me under the mud and dirt. But now, seeing the look of gloating hatred in his metal-gray eyes, I knew I had been wrong. He knew exactly who I was.

  A cold shiver of terror ran down my spine.

  “Why are you here in Saithwold?” Malik demanded.

  My mouth was so dry with fear that I had to work my tongue to produce moisture enough to speak. “We had letters from the beastspeaker Khuria, who serves Master Noviny. The missives did not sound like him, so we…”

  Almost casually, Malik drew back his hand and struck me in the mouth. It was an open-handed blow with the back of his knuckles, but hard enough to make me stagger sideways.

  He asked in an almost bored voice, “What did you know of matters in Saithwold before you came here?”

  “Nothing until a woman at an inn mentioned the blockade. She said that Chieftain Vos was trying to force people in Saithwold to elect him.”

  “And the Black Dog?”

  “Brydda said the high chieftain knew what Vos was trying to do but that Dardelan didn’t want to act against him until after the elections. He did not want us to come here, but when I said that Z
arak was determined to see his father, he offered to help us get past the barricade.”

  Malik sneered. “You would have me believe that despite knowing there was trouble in Saithwold, Brydda Llewellyn, a known friend to freaks, escorted here the guildmistress of Obernewtyn and doxy to its master, and left her without protection?”

  I heard Vos gasp at hearing my title, but Malik ignored him.

  “Brydda didn’t think there would be any real danger,” I said. “The worst we imagined was having to wait in Saithwold until after the elections, and in the meantime I would be able to stop anyone from doing anything rash by telling them that Dardelan meant to deal with Vos.”

  Malik struck me again, this time with a closed fist that glanced off the side of my head and knocked me to the ground.

  “Get up,” he said coldly.

  I struggled to my knees with difficulty and wondered what Malik wanted from me. I was answering his questions truthfully, and he could have no idea that we knew of his bargain with the Herders.

  “Get up,” Malik said once more.

  Trembling, I obeyed. When he stepped toward me, I instinctively lifted my bound hands to protect my face, but he sank his closed fist into my stomach. I doubled over, gagging at the force of the blow, and fell to my knees. When I managed to heave in a breath, he ordered me up yet again. I obeyed as slowly as I dared, tensing for another blow. Instead of hitting me, Malik asked what Noviny had told me. When I opened my mouth to answer, he punched me again in the stomach.

  I fell badly this time because of my bound hands, banging my head on a rock, and when Malik told me to get up, my limbs would not obey. I stayed curled on the muddy ground, praying that he would not kick my head or face. When he did not move or speak, I looked up to find him staring down at me, his features utterly empty. The moon had risen and seemed to ride on his shoulder. No wonder Maruman hated the moon, I thought, dazed. It was on Malik’s side.