The Rebellion

  “Are they descended from the merpeople?” Kella asked. She had become fascinated with accounts in Beforetime books of a race of humans with gills and fishtails who had dwelt under the sea.

  Fian frowned. “I dinna know. This books says nowt of them, other than that ship fish were sometimes mistaken for them. It does say that Beforetimers had boats that would go under water.”

  “Where the merpeople lived?”

  Fian frowned at the healer. “I told ye, it doesn’t say. Perhaps this was written after they became extinct. Apparently, there were ruined cities under th’ sea.…” He looked down at the tome in his hand. “Powyrs has even more books in a trunk in his room, an’ he has told me I may look through them.”

  “So many books,” the healer murmured.

  “And all about th’ sea,” Fian said. “Enough for a lifetime’s study, and I have only a few days.” He cast a final long look at the ship fish and turned to hurry back into the salon.

  Kella shook her head. “Teknoguilders,” she said with faint disparagement. “How can he think of books when there is this to see?”

  But a little later she grew tired of the ship-fish antics and went in.

  I decided to climb up to the small upper deck, for it would give me a better view. It was piled with boxes, and I sat on top of one, dangling my legs and looking out at the sea. I had never known such stillness. It seemed to accentuate the vastness of the world and, in contrast, my own insignificance, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. In the face of this endless sea, I was no more than one of the ship fish, jumping in my bit of the ocean, making my little waves. There was a queer peace to be found in the thought, and I tried to draw the immense calmness into my heart to erase fear and anger and sadness.

  My concentration was shattered by a muffled explosion of laughter.

  “It tickles,” I heard a female voice giggle. I recognized Freya’s melodic voice and smiled, wondering whom she was with.

  A moment later, I saw Rushton stroll to the rail, and my amusement evaporated.

  Even as I watched, Freya stepped up beside him and shook her head, the springing golden curls catching and diffusing the morning sunlight into a pale halo.

  Rushton appeared to be doing most of the speaking. Then he grasped Freya’s hands in his and stared into her face intently as if waiting for some response. Freya’s head was sunk as if in thought.

  At last she nodded.

  Rushton’s face suffused with joy. He flung his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

  A terrible, savage pain clawed into my chest.

  “You don’t know how much this means to me,” I heard Rushton saying as they moved toward the steep little stairs leading down to the main deck, obscured now by the sail. “I don’t want to tell anyone just yet. Let it remain our secret for now.…”

  Their voices faded, and the pain in my chest intensified, spreading through my body like some exotic plague germ. The image of Rushton holding Freya in his arms seemed to have seared itself onto the inside of my eyelids so that I could see it even when my eyes were squeezed shut. I pulled my knees up to my chest and held them tightly, making myself into a ball.

  “Rushton,” I whispered.

  And who is she? I thought bitterly. Where did she come from, to steal him while my back was turned?

  I clenched my teeth, resisting sour envy. While my back was turned? No, Freya had taken nothing that belonged to me. What could it possibly matter that he had turned to her? There was no room for anything in my life but my quest to destroy the weaponmachines.

  Perhaps that was what Maruman had been trying to say the previous night—that there would be nothing for me at Obernewtyn when my quest was over. Maybe this was the price I must pay—not just Obernewtyn, but Rushton’s love.

  I took a deep, shaky breath and made myself look into the gray calmness of the sea all around me. The ship fish had departed.

  I had not wanted Rushton’s affections or encouraged them. So why did it hurt so much to learn that they were lost to me?

  It does not matter, I thought fiercely. My feet are already on the black road. It is too late to choose another, and this one I must walk alone.

  36

  WE WERE BECALMED for two days, but by early afternoon of the third day, The Cutter was making up lost time, running before a stiff wind.

  We were sitting in the salon, and Fian was describing the discovery of the Reichler Clinic to Daffyd.

  Maruman stirred restively on my knee but did not waken. The others had taken his appearance with some equanimity, since they had only the day before learned of his loss. But I felt it was nearly miraculous to have him with me. It was Angina who pointed out that Maruman made us the thirteen that Maryon had predicted.

  “Hard to believe you just stumbled on it,” Daffyd was saying.

  “In a city so big? No, it was more than chance. I believe we were meant to find it.”

  “After all, Hannah Seraphim was Rushton’s ancestor,” Kella added, her eyes shining. “Some things are meant to be.”

  And some are not, I thought, and was unable to stop my eyes from going to the table at the far end of the chamber where Rushton was talking with Hannay.

  Why was it so hard not to look at him all of a sudden? Before this journey, I had done anything I could to avoid his gaze and his attention. I had refused his every overture, convinced that the force that sometimes crackled between us arose from him, that my own feelings were no more than reactions to it.

  But in this new life of pain, the knowledge that Rushton no longer loved me seemed to have released a tempest of conflicting emotions all my own. I could not believe he had endured what I now felt—this hard, painful burning in the chest, this ache in the belly and throat. How could this be love?

  If it was, it was as bad as ever I had imagined it must be. I should think myself fortunate that Rushton had turned from me before what simmered between us had burst into flame.

  I focused my eyes on Fian, wondering how soon I could reasonably retreat to my chamber again. Then his words caught my attention.

  “It wasn’t until we had read a lot of the plasts that we realized what we had found wasn’t the Reichler Clinic after all,” he said.

  “But we saw the name carved on the wall,” I protested.

  He nodded. “We misinterpreted it. What we found was exactly what the sign said—a reception center for th’ Reichler Clinic. Nowt th’ place itself. Th’ real Reichler Clinic was where Garth always thought it mun be—in th’ mountains.”

  “At Obernewtyn?” Kella asked breathlessly.

  The teknoguilder shook his head. “Obernewtyn, or th’ building that stood there before our Obernewtyn, was likely th’ main residence for the Misfits. Th’ actual Reichler Clinic labs were almost certainly sited where the cave of the Zebkrahn now stands. We have long known some Beforetime building once stood there, but we little dreamed which building or that it—”

  “Labs? For experimentation on the Misfits?” I interrupted with real horror.

  “I dinna think the experiments run by the Reichler Clinic would have been harmful or dangerous,” Fian said. “Better to call them tests, as the plasts do. Hannah Seraphim would nowt have stood fer anything wrong. Fact is, we’re pretty certain she was what th’ Beforetimers called telepathic. In short, a Talented Misfit.”

  I was surprised, though it was the obvious answer to why she had opened the clinic in the first place.

  “This were kept a secret, along wi’ th’ names of those who came to be tested. Ye might say th’ Reichler Clinic we saw under Tor were a front fer an operation very like ours, or, I should say, it became so after Govamen began to stalk Talents.”

  “I still don’t understand what they did with them,” Angina grumbled.

  “There are indications, as Garth explained last guildmerge, that—”

  “I know, they were trying to use them somehow for war-making. But how?” Angina asked.

  “As to that …,” Fian began with some
heat, but he stopped again and shook his head fractionally. “Well. We will know more of that when we unearth th’ clinic.”

  “Unearth it?” I asked sharply. “Then the clinic was buried by the holocaust like the city under Tor?”

  “No,” Fian said. “And nor was the city under Tor. Both were originally built under the earth.”

  He let us clamor for a moment before going on with a rather smug expression. “Th’ upheavals are to blame for th’ flood waters, but no more.”

  “But why?” I asked. “Why would anyone want to build a city under the ground?”

  “Because of the whiteface.” Maruman’s sleepy thought drifted into my mind. I looked down at him, startled. When he snored, I decided he must have been sending in his sleep.

  “I suspect the Reichler Clinic was built under th’ earth so that it would be hidden. But we will know more once we have got into th’ lower levels of th’ caves.”

  I thought of the tattoo on my arm, still hidden from the others in its bandage. Perhaps the Teknoguild had learned something more of what it meant. I would ask Fian about it when I had a moment alone with him.

  Freya came into the salon, and I felt a wave of despair. Was this how it was to be? Every time I had begun to build a wall of calmness, it was to be shattered by the smallest thing? I half expected her to sit with Rushton, but she crossed to the galley and set about making up a tray of food.

  On impulse, I touched Angina’s arm. “What is Freya’s story? How did she come to Obernewtyn?”

  “She ought to tell you herself,” he said, and before I could stop him, he called out to her. I forced myself to smile as she approached, wishing passionately that I had kept my mouth shut.

  She was very small and dainty and, like Rushton, had adapted gracefully to the ship’s movements. I felt myself to be as long and gangling as a string bean beside her.

  “I have wished for the chance to speak with you, Guildmistress,” Freya said. “Rushton spoke of you on our journey here, and truly, your life has been one of danger and marvels. My own story is nothing to yours.”

  My heart bumped against my chest in a sort of frightened leap, and all my hard-won composure vanished at the thought that Rushton might have confided that he had once loved me.

  “Tell her,” Angina prompted Freya.

  She flushed prettily. “Rushton rescued me.”

  Of course.

  “I had come to Darthnor with my father. He is … was … a horse trader.” A fleeting unhappiness showed in her eyes. “Along with his horses, there came a day that he offered his daughter for sale.…” She swallowed as if her throat hurt. “Rushton offered to buy me and the horses as a lot. He seemed a great man when he rode up on his white horse and threw a fortune in coin at my father’s feet.”

  What sort of life had she led to be flattered that a man offered to buy her as a lot with horses? If Rushton had done that to me, I would have just as likely picked the coin up and thrown it back at him! Though probably he had meant it to be a gesture of contempt for Freya’s father.

  “I did not know until later that Alad was with Rushton and that the horses had told him I was … a Misfit,” she went on. “But he said he would have bid whether I was Talented or not, for people should not be sold any more than beasts. He told me about Obernewtyn, though not where it was, and offered to bring me there, where I could stay and commune all I wished with horses, or I might have a bag of coin and go where I willed.”

  Her lashes tilted secretively, and I saw that she had not needed much convincing to choose Obernewtyn. I felt a rush of savage jealousy and was astonished. Was this violent, pointless rage part of love, too?

  “You are a beastspeaker, then?” I asked, and was horrified to hear how cold I sounded.

  “Not exactly,” Freya laughed, obviously taking my sharpness for a joke. “I am an empath, I suppose, but am not able to receive anything much.”

  Thank Lud for that!

  “She may not be much good at receiving emotions,” Angina said cheerfully, “but she has a unique variation of projective empathy.”

  “Unique,” I echoed.

  Angina gave me a frankly puzzled stare.

  “Dameon calls her an enhancer,” he said. “She can enhance another’s Talent. Her ability seems to be closest to what I do when I amplify Miky’s projected emotions. Only Freya can do it to whomever she chooses or switch it off altogether.”

  Freya’s remarkably expressive eyes darkened. “I cannot reach everyone. Never my father. There was a wall in him—a natural mindshield, Dameon called it. And since I saw no one but him, I scarcely knew I had a Talent before I came here. I lived in terror of my father, for he was violent and angry much of the time. He kept me with him only because I could calm even the most uncontrollable horses.”

  “The interesting thing is that her empathic Talent works with animals as well,” Angina said eagerly.

  “Sometimes it made people furious when they sold a wild horse for a few coins, only to see me riding it a little later,” Freya went on. “Several times we had to leave moon fairs quickly because someone claimed I had used the black arts on their horse. My father feared he would be called up by the Herders to explain.

  “In Guanette, we had to leave before my father had completed his bargains. That is what made him drink and decide to sell me in Darthnor. I wonder, now that he is sober, if he thinks the price for me was fair,” she added sadly.

  The clear hurt in her face robbed me of bitterness. I could imagine how little joy there had been in her life. My head ached with the effort of trying to bring order to the whirl of my emotions.

  “All that’s over now,” Fian said. “Freya’s in great demand with the novices, because whenever she’s around, they’re all smarter and quicker than usual.”

  “Unfortunately, my ability to enhance is only an illusory sort of boosting,” she said diffidently. “It lets me show them what they could do, and so they strive harder.”

  “Which means they learn better and faster,” Miky said, wandering over to join us.

  “I am still learning myself,” she disclaimed, flushing. “Speaking of which, Dameon is waiting to give me a lesson as soon as he has eaten.” She smiled at me again, her eyes revealing, of all things—the most painful to me just then—shy admiration. “Rushton told me you are a beastspeaker and might easily have led that guild instead of Alad, if you had wanted it. I wish I could speak to the horses the way you do, rather than simply feeling at them, but I am learning to use signals with them.”

  She turned to retrieve the tray of food and went out of the salon with it.

  “She’s nice, isn’t she?” Miky asked.

  “Yes,” I said bleakly.

  I looked over at Rushton and found him watching me. I dropped my eyes quickly, feeling dizzy and heart-sore.

  A little later, he crossed the salon to look out the window where I was seated. Flustered by his nearness, I looked out, too, and watched a lone seabird spiraling on the winds.

  “I think I could love this life,” Rushton said softly. “It is very peaceful.”

  Something in me trembled in fury. How easily he used the word love. I wanted to ask if his love for the sea would be more enduring than his love for me, but I bit my tongue and swallowed the salty taste of blood.

  “We are very different,” I said icily.

  His hands tightened where they rested on the sill. They were brown and strong, and the thought came to me of how they would feel against my skin. Ruthlessly, I pushed the vision away, mortified at my lack of control.

  To my relief, Powyrs came in to convey a request from his men that the twins play them a few songs. They had played a great deal to while away the anxious hours as we waited for the wind.

  The empaths obliged and collected their instruments. Powyrs made to follow them out, but Rushton stopped him to ask about Templeport.

  Powyrs glanced wistfully at the door as the strains of music drifted in, but, obligingly, he set down his jug.

>   “It is the only real settlement in all of Sador. The tribes are nomadic and move constantly about the desert, living in tents. They believe they should not leave any sign of their passing. The only permanent construction in all of Sador is their Earthtemple, and that is in Templeport. They regard the port itself as a necessary evil, because it is the only place along the Sador coast where boats can put in. All the rest is murderous high cliffs.”

  “What else is there besides a temple?” Rushton asked curiously.

  Powyrs shrugged. “There are lots of people from the Land, and maybe from other places, but they are not allowed to build huts or houses. They have to set up tents, like Sadorians. Being nomadic is part of their religion, and it is terribly important to them.”

  “What is their religion?” asked Fian, abandoning his books to listen.

  “It is not easy to tell such a thing simply. Central to it is their love of the land. By that, I mean the earth itself. To a Sadorian, nothing is more important. All life rises from it and returns to it. They think humans are no more important than any other creature. They don’t believe in Lud at all. They think the land is infused with an earth goddess. They don’t have priests, but some Sadorians are sent from birth to be Temple guardians. It is a great honor. Everything in Sador occurs under the guidance of the Temple and its guardians.”

  “It sounds very different to Herder lore,” Daffyd murmured.

  “Truly,” Powyrs said. “Where a Herder believes humans are made by Lud to rule over the world, the Sadorians believe they are important only as part of the harmonious whole. The Herders claim everybody has to think their way or Lud will send the Great White again. In Sador, belief is a matter of personal choice.” He leaned forward, his blue eyes twinkling sardonically. “Funny thing is, Sadorians are a lot more devout by choice than Landfolk bound by Herder lore.”

  “I gather you don’t like the Herders,” Rushton said.