The Rebellion

  “I meant to ask Brydda about the best way to do it, but I didn’t get the chance. I’ll find a way.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Kella. “You cannot move her. Her system has undergone a terrible shock, and she was already weak. She needs to be allowed to rest.…”

  “There is no time,” I snapped.

  “Then she has even less time, for you will kill her if you move her in the next couple of days.” There was a deep crease between the healer’s eyebrows. “Does she have no rights of her own, Elspeth? Is Obernewtyn more important than her life?”

  I bit my lip in sudden shame. I had not thought of the gypsy at all, only of myself and Obernewtyn. I felt sick. “You are right,” I said. “I will not move her until you say it is safe. But, Lud, pray it is soon.”

  Kella’s face softened. “I did not mean to criticize you. After all, it is not for yourself but for Obernewtyn that you fear.” I flushed but held my tongue. “In any case, you cannot return her until you find her people. That is your task, and mine is to heal her. I’ll do my very best to have her well enough to be shifted before the days are up,” she vowed, squeezing my hand.

  Just then, Dragon came in, and I was glad of the distraction. Her face and hands were unusually clean and her hair roughly braided. Her beauty struck me anew, and from Kella’s expression, she felt the same.

  “Hungry,” Dragon said.

  My stomach chimed in agreement. Kella laughed and rose to carve some slices of bread and cheese. My mouth watered as she toasted them; then for a time there was silence as we ate. Kella did not join us but fed crumbs of cheese to Maruman as an apology. He sent to me that he felt no ill will for the slap she had administered, but he accepted her offerings with feline fastidiousness, seeing she needed the reassurance.

  “Good,” Dragon announced at last, patting her distended stomach. Then she gave me an anxious look. “Dragon stay?”

  “I suppose you must, but you’re an awful nuisance,” I sighed.

  “Nuisance,” she echoed with an identical sigh.

  I stifled a grin and put my arm around her. “Dragon, I’m going to let you stay, but only if you promise to do exactly as you are told.”

  “Promise,” she agreed after some thought. “Promise and stay.”

  “Is Domick still asleep?” I asked Kella.

  At once the strained look returned to her eyes. “He went early to the Councilcourt.”

  I nodded and looked into the fire, reflecting on his behavior at The Good Egg. Kella would be a great deal more worried if she understood more about what Domick did when he was not with her.

  I wondered how the healer, with her horror of torture, would respond to the knowledge that people thought her bondmate a Council torturer. My own wild fear, that the rumors had been true, now seemed absurd in light of what I’d seen in the gypsy’s memory. No Misfit could stoop to that, not even a coercer.

  Then Ariel’s lovely, vicious face floated into my mind, giving lie to that certainty. But I thrust it away. Domick was no Ariel.

  Only then did it occur to me that Domick had still not told me what he did now at the Councilcourt.

  12

  “DO YOU UNDERSTAND me/ElspethInnle, who stands before you?” I sent, framing the thought carefully.

  The bird tilted its head and eyed me, but I could sense no thought from it other than an instinct to eat and a subliminal memory of flight that filled me with restlessness.

  “Well? Are you buying the creature or communing with it?” the stallholder demanded.

  Resignedly, I handed him a coin, and he passed over the cage. “You must be starting up a breeding pen with all them birds you keep buying. Store them in your wagon, do you, boy?”

  I took the cage and turned away, ignoring him.

  “You found one?” Kella whispered eagerly, coming over from another stall.

  I shook my head. “I can’t get any sense out of it.”

  The healer stared at me. “Oh, Elspeth! Are we going to free this one like all the others?”

  “What else?” I asked in a disgruntled voice.

  Brydda’s suggestion of using a bird as a messenger had seemed a marvelous one. It was always easier to communicate with tamed or partly tame animals, so I had decided to search the numerous markets for a captive bird that would agree to carry a message to Obernewtyn. This search would also give me the opportunity to randomly probe a large number of people for information about gypsies.

  I found an astonishing amount of Herder-induced superstition and wild surmise but very little real information. Landfolk despised all gypsies but hated and envied the Twentyfamilies with a passion that surprised me.

  Kella had accompanied me to the market to replenish her supply of herbs, leaving a disgruntled Matthew to watch Dragon and the gypsy, but she had lingered, drawn into my search for a messenger bird. In many ways, she was of more use here than I, for I had quickly discovered that the birds available in the market were not sentient in the way that Maruman or Gahltha were; they used a mode of communication closer to empathy than farseeking. I was able to receive only the vaguest images from their minds. Kella was able to use her slight secondary empathic ability to muster some response from them, but it hadn’t been enough to convey what we needed.

  Those few who were able to comprehend farsought speech seemed to have no grasp of time and had very short attention spans.

  However, having felt, even dimly, a bird’s longing for freedom, I had not been able to leave it caged. So far, I had purchased fifteen of the wretched creatures and set them free, running our store of coin dangerously low.

  Kella made a strangled noise, and I thought it a sign of frustration.

  Then I realized she was trying not to laugh.

  I sighed, wondering why I was still trying, when it had been perfectly obvious for some time that the idea was doomed. After trying so many, I was beginning to believe that the Agyllians had the only avian minds capable of full communication with humans.

  “I’m sorry for laughing,” she said contritely.

  “It’s good to hear laughter,” I said. “It helps me to forget Maryon’s deadline and that I must make some reply to Brydda, when he comes, as to whether I will meet with the other rebel leaders. Since these birds will not lend themselves as messengers to carry word to Obernewtyn, I will have to make the decision myself.”

  “Domick will have sent a message off this morning,” Kella said.

  “Nevertheless, it will take too long to arrive to give me any direction. I will be back at Obernewtyn by the time it gets there.”

  And perhaps I will return only to die before the next Days of Rain. The thought crept insidiously into my mind.

  I wished I’d had the chance to tell Brydda about the gypsy and ask his advice. Lud only knew how long it would take him to call on the safe house. I racked my brain for some sensible way to find the gypsy’s people, but nothing came to me other than finding out where they set their wagons up in the city and going among them. The other obvious alternative was to have Kella waken the gypsy again so I could ask her. But I was reluctant to do that. I still felt a twinge of shame at the selfishness of my attitude toward the gypsy. Let her waken when she would.

  Maneuvering the cage through the market throng, I noticed a ragged gypsy lad trying to sell something to a stallholder; a halfbreed, as evidenced by his poverty, the lad was clearly receiving short shrift from the trader and departed finally with a doleful expression.

  If I could coerce some general information out of this gypsy about his people, I would be able to face any number of them without quaking in my boots for fear that I was about to give myself away as an impostor. It was odd how blithely I had gone about pretending to be a gypsy, when I thought I knew all that needed knowing about them. Now, awareness of my ignorance terrified me. Swiftly, I shaped a light probe and sent it after the lad.

  The probe slid away from his mind, blocked by a natural shield.

  “Damn,” I muttered, withdrawin
g.

  The Teknoguildmaster, Garth, had a theory that normal people were developing unconscious shields that keep us from reading them. Even back in my days in the orphan homes, I had known there were unTalented people with natural mindshields that kept me out or mind sensitivity that warned them if they were being read.

  I did not like the idea that such natural defenses were developing in response to and alongside our own abilities. Not just because it would make our work more difficult, but because it would put paid to the theory that Talented Misfits were simply the next step in human evolution. It would mean instead that we were simply one strand in human evolution and the unTalents another. That practically brought us back to the Herder theory that Misfits were mutant deviations from “true” humanity.

  “The poor thing,” Kella murmured, her eyes following the gypsy lad. “They are not allowed to farm or settle, and no one wants to buy from them. No wonder they take to thievery. What else are they supposed to do?”

  I thought again of our gypsy and of the whole question of half and pureblood. She was a halfbreed, but she had let her bondmate suffer torture rather than speak the name of a Twentyfamilies gypsy. Yet Domick had told me with absolute conviction that Twentyfamilies were estranged from halfbreeds.

  I scowled. For a moment, I forgot my guilt and indulged anger instead. I had saved the gypsy from the Herder flame only to see her attempt suicide—and draw me with her! Even if I had broken free and let her go, her death would have meant my own if the futuretelling was true. It angered me that my life should hinge on a woman who valued her life not at all.

  “Does it have to be a bird?” Kella asked.

  I blinked at her, having lost the thread of the conversation.

  “Does it have to be a bird you use as a messenger?” she reiterated.

  “Any other animal would move too slowly and would be as vulnerable on the ground as a human messenger,” I said. “I might just as well send Matthew.”

  “Gypsy pig!” a man hissed as I brushed past him.

  I ignored him, but Kella paled. Belatedly, it occurred to me that I was endangering the healer by being with her. There was a definite antagonism in the eyes of anyone who looked at me. The Herders’ slur campaign against gypsies had been more than effective.

  The sooner we got back to the safe house, the better.

  Gahltha whinnied softly as we approached the public holding yard, and in spite of my tensions, I smiled at the sight of him. I had asked Dragon to dirty him, and the empath had surpassed herself. His coat was so matted and filthy that it was impossible to tell his color, and he smelled truly disgusting. For once, there had been no need to worry about leaving him alone since he looked and smelled far too disreputable to be worth stealing.

  “Is the bird/sahric useful/capable?” Gahltha inquired politely. Sahric meant “those who sing.” I noted the coolness in his mental voice and realized he had not forgiven me for going to The Good Egg without him the previous night. I had promised not to do it again, knowing he felt his guardianship to be a sacred trust from Atthis, but clearly he still felt slighted.

  “I’m afraid this bird/sahric is no more capable of hearing me than any of the others,” I sent, looking glumly at the cage.

  I mounted him and then offered my spare hand to Kella. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and volunteered to walk.

  Suddenly, her eyes shifted to something beyond me, her smile vanishing.

  “What is it?” I resisted the urge to swing around and look for myself.

  “That gypsy who was watching us before. He’s on the other side of the holding yard on a horse. I’m sure he is following us.”

  I forced myself to be calm and think. Mistakes were made when people panicked.

  “Are you sure it is the same gypsy?” I asked at last. Kella was easily agitated and much given to morose reflections. When she had first claimed a gypsy was watching us, I had dismissed it as overactive imagination. Gypsies were too much on both our minds.

  “I was sure before and am surer now. He is looking directly at us,” the healer said forcefully. She looked near to fainting.

  “Perhaps I should beastspeak his horse and ask it to tip him on his head,” I said. As I had hoped, her fear evaporated into concern at my flippancy.

  “Be serious, Elspeth. He has obviously followed us through the market, and he might now follow us to the safe house.”

  “He probably follows us because he finds you attractive,” I said robustly.

  She colored. “But I … I …”

  “Oh, never mind. I won’t tell Domick you have been flirting with gypsies. Or perhaps I will, since he neglects you disgracefully.”

  Her color deepened and then fled. “Oh, Elspeth, he’s coming around this way! I’m sure he’s trying to see your face.”

  My heart bumped against my breast, but I kept my voice calm for the healer’s sake. She sounded on the verge of hysteria. “This is what we are going to do,” I said. “You are going to go back into the market and pretend to shop. If the gypsy follows you, I will ask his horse to drop him on his head. If he follows me, Gahltha and I will lead him out of the city and give him a run for his troubles. Either way, stay at the market a little while and then make your way carefully back to the safe house.”

  Kella nodded, eyes wide and frightened.

  I handed the birdcage down to her. “Take this.”

  She took it and moved off as I had bid. I waved, turning my head slightly and scanning the area with peripheral vision.

  Sure enough, he was there—the same tall, rangy gypsy in costly blue silk that Kella had pointed out earlier. I was puzzled. What reason could he have for his interest in us, other than the slight curiosity value of a halfbreed gypsy boy walking with a Landgirl? He did not fit the description of the gypsy Matthew had seen leaving Guanette. And that would have been odd in any case, since in Guanette he would have seen a girl when now I was disguised as a boy.

  From the corner of my eye, I studied him. His dark hair was bound back in a plait, and the band of fabric about his brow was stained to match his shirt. Kella had said the elaborate and expensive garments marked him as Twentyfamilies, but this did not seem conclusive evidence to me. After all, a halfbreed gypsy might be vain enough to spend his coin on such things.

  I pretended to adjust my trousers, watching to see if he followed the healer. Sitting astride his gray horse, he stared intently after her. But as she walked off, his eyes moved toward me.

  I pretended to spur Gahltha. “Head out of the city.”

  The black horse wheeled, and after a moment, I looked back as if I had remembered something to say to Kella. Seeing her gone, I shrugged and turned forward casually, but my heart was beating wildly. “He’s right behind us,” I sent.

  “The gray equine ridden by this funaga who follows is named Sendari,” Gahltha sent suddenly. “He/Sendari tells that he has not been owned/ridden long by this funaga. He says this one’s hands and feet are skilled and gentle.”

  I frowned. His ownership of many horses seemed to confirm Kella’s surmise that our pursuer was Twentyfamilies, but it still did not tell me why he was following me.

  “Does Sendari know why this funaga follows?” I asked, just in case he did.

  Gahltha paused, then reported the answer to my question. “He/Sendari tells that this funaga has ridden about much in these days soonest past, but he has arrived nowhere. He has spent much time standing/idle.”

  Watching, I thought uneasily. Looking for us?

  I decided to probe the gypsy and sent my mind questing, but to my frustration, I encountered yet another mental shield. Cursing, I withdrew, thinking it an odd coincidence that all three gypsy minds I had tried to enter possessed natural mindshields. Garth’s theory that more unTalents were developing mindshields was beginning to look as if it might be true.

  I was indecisive. There was no subtle way to find out the gypsy’s motives. His natural shield would prevent my coercing him except at a subconscious level, a
nd there would be no gain in that. I could ask him outright what he was doing, but I would have no way of coercing the memory of our meeting from him.

  “Let’s lose him,” I sent to Gahltha. Obedient, he broke into a fast canter along a road leading toward the farmlands east of the city.

  I could hear the clatter of hooves behind me, but Gahltha did not increase his pace, saying it would confuse Sendari’s rider if we behaved as if we were being followed. He was right, for the gypsy made no attempt to overtake us but rode at a distance.

  Only when we reached the edge of the outlying farmlands surrounding Sutrium did Gahltha break into a full gallop, and I flattened myself to reduce wind resistance, thrilling to the race.

  “He/Sendari follows,” he sent.

  “Can you outrun him?”

  “There is no need,” the black horse sent, with a faint echo of his old haughtiness. “Only the funaga race one another for no reason. Equines race for mate or lifesaving. Sendari knows that you are Innle. He will do what is needed.”

  I was discomforted by the thought that the gray horse would let us get away because he believed I was a figure from beastlegend. I had tried endless times to convince Gahltha I was not their heroic savior. It was enough that the Agyllians had incorporated me into their dreams and futuretellings without finding the animals were trying to do the same thing.

  We rode swiftly along the dirt road; then, without warning, Gahltha turned sharply, cutting across a long, sloping grass plain. I clung tightly in case he stumbled on the rough tussocky ground, leaving it to him to decide how to proceed.

  Looking ahead, I saw that he was making for a thick copse farther up the slope. He slowed only fractionally as we entered the trees, and in moments, we thundered out the other side of the stand onto open ground.

  A rush of exaltation filled me as the ground blurred beneath us, and I gave a wild cry as we crested the hill.

  Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw that the gray had fallen into a limping walk, just short of the copse. Even as I watched, his rider dismounted.

  “He/Sendari has pretended lameness,” Gahltha reported, coming to a halt, too.