In my chamber, I cursed and struggled to light the fire. I had grown accustomed to Ceirwan doing it. He had been concerned enough about leaving me to offer to instruct another farseeker to serve me, but I had not wanted to be bothered getting used to someone new fussing around me when in only a few days I would be away to the lowlands myself.
With the fire lit at last and a lamp glowing at my elbow, I flattened the paper. There were the six lines that I had copied out as exactly as I could from the dream rubbing.
Fian had written above the top line,
I, [Carandy?], have left [steps/signs/things] behind me that the [leader/wanderer/searching one] must find before
Fian had tried a couple of spellings of “Carandy” in the margin, but I did not doubt what was meant.
I had been right about the doors. They did contain a message from the mysterious Kasanda. And “the searching one” could only mean “the Seeker.” A cold finger ran down my spine at the thought that I was reading words left by a dead woman who had long ago foreseen my coming.
I studied the abrupt end of the first line, where there had to have been a gap in my rubbing. The seeker had to find the signs left by Kasanda before … what? The overguardian of the Earthtemple in Sador had claimed that I must find four signs before seeking the fifth there, so the end of the line probably said something like that. But was this message to be counted as the first sign, or was it merely a notification of where the signs would ultimately be found? I read on.
That [key?] which must be used [before all else?] is [with/given/sent to] she who first dreamed of the [leader/wanderer/searching one]—the hope beyond the darkness to come.
Fian was clearly unsure about the word key. Did it mean I had to find an actual key, or was it a key in some other sense? And who was the “she” referred to? If Kasanda had kept it with her, then it must lie in Sador with her body. But the overguardian had said that the four signs were to be found in the Land.
Perhaps “she” referred to some other woman who had dreamed of me. The fact that Kasanda referred to herself as “I” in the first line suggested that she did mean someone else, but how was I to know who, much less find her? If Kasanda had known her, she would be long dead now.
I sighed and turned my attention to the third line. Over it Fian had written:
Who [would/must] enter the [sentinel/guard/watcher] will seek the words in the house where my son was born.
I frowned. If Kasanda had borne a son, how on earth was I to learn where he had been birthed? The only people who had known her were the Sadorians, and she had been past childbearing when they rescued her from the New Gadfians. If she had given birth to a child, it must have been long before she came to Sador.
I bit my lip. The overguardian had said that on my return to Sador, I would be accompanied by one of Kasanda blood. I had thought at the time that he was using the word as a title, for the Sadorians called any person with futuretelling ability “kasanda.” But if I read the word blood literally, he could have meant that I would travel with someone descended from Kasanda.
I blinked into the fire, considering the possibility that Kasanda had been in the Land as a young woman. It would explain how she had been able to distribute her signs. But why and how had she left the Land to end up in the hands of the Gadfians?
I set that aside and continued to read.
That which will reach the [heart/center/core] of the [sentinel/guard/watcher] seals a [pact/promise/vow] that I did forge, but never [witnessed/saw].
I frowned, for this was less clear. Was this “guard” a person? Was I to somehow seal a pact that Kasanda had made? Or was I to find something that had already sealed the pact?
A carved monument could sometimes be used to symbolize a pact between parties. Such a thing would make use of Kasanda’s talents, and it would be much more likely to endure than an agreement on paper. If Kasanda had left a physical symbol of some allegiance that I was to find, it would have to be something that would endure for generations.
The final section was longer than all the others and had in fact been the hasty second half of the rubbing.
That which will [open/access/reach] the darkest door lies where the [?] [waits/sleeps]. Strange is the keeping place of this dreadful [step/sign/thing], and all who knew it are dead save one who does not know what she knows. Seek her past. Only through her may you go where you have never been and must someday go. Danger. Beware. Dragon.
The paper slid from my fingers at the realization that the final words could only mean that the futureteller had foreseen Dragon’s dream beast attacking me at the very instant I was reading her message on the doors.
I took up the page again and read the lines together, striving to reduce all the words and possible meanings and nuances to simple essentials.
I was to find something left with a woman who had dreamed of me. Possibly an actual key. I was to find some words in the house where Kasanda had birthed her son. I was to find something that sealed a pact, possibly some sort of carved monument. Finally, I was to find another thing with the help of a woman who did not know what she knew, in a place where I had never been. That could only mean the farthest reaches of the west coast, for I had been everywhere else in the Land.
I sat back in my chair, confounded. For the life of me, I could not see what these cryptic signs, nor indeed Kasanda herself, had to do with my finding the weaponmachines left dormant by the Beforetimers.
My heartbeat accelerated as I remembered where I had heard the word sentinel before. It was the name of the computer system being developed by the Beforetime World Council to gather information about patterns of aggression and violence among countries. It was supposed to be capable of eventually deciding for itself who was to blame if any incident occurred. In the final analysis, it was to have sole power to activate a worldwide retaliatory system known as the Balance of Terror.
Cassy’s “Guardian” and Garth’s “Sentinel” had to be the same thing. And what if it had been completed before the Great White? The whole point of the system was that it could operate outside of human influence; so, what if the deadly computermachine was even now standing somewhere in the world, needing only to be activated? Learning of the devastated world, wouldn’t Sentinel then rouse BOT?
I felt truly sick at the thought of a second Great White initiated by a mindless machine and cursed the Beforetimers with every foul word I knew for making an evil that would outlive their own rotten lifetimes.
I ran my eyes down the page.
A key that must be used before all else … Words that would let me enter Sentinel … Something that would reach its core … Something that would open a door.
My mouth felt dry as I saw that Kasanda’s “signs” could in fact be the means by which I gain access to the site of Sentinel and to its weaponmachines. No wonder I needed to find what Kasanda had left before walking the dark road.
But why had she made it so difficult for me? Even as I thought of the question, I knew the answer. She had foreseen the existence of my fated opposite: the Destroyer, destined to activate the weaponmachines if I failed to disable them.
Kasanda must have known she was making it difficult for me as well as for the Destroyer. Of course, nothing about futuretelling was certain, and Kasanda could have overestimated my abilities. But knowing what was at stake, she would have done her best to transform possibilities into probabilities.
That meant the balance of chance was in my favor. It struck me that the purpose of the message I held might even have been to ensure that I understood that. I felt awed at the thought, for in a way, she had also been telling me that no matter how lonely my quest seemed, I was not alone.
I laid the page aside.
The quest before me was no less dark than it had ever been, but the feeling that I was not alone was new and welcome. Staring into the glowing embers on the hearth, I had the feeling that I need find only one clue, and it would lead me inevitably to the rest.
20
I DI
D NOT sleep until Maruman came into my room looking so shifty I suspected he had been chasing mice. Instead of scolding him, I lifted him onto the bed and curled my body around his furry warmth. On top of everything else, I was worried about the old cat. He had been behaving oddly for days, and though he had not fallen into one of his mad states, his mind had been unfocused. We had last communicated normally just after my nightmare about Ariel, and his confusion in the following days reassured me that it had been merely a period of mental instability that had led him to suggest my nightmares were anything out of the ordinary.
I shivered and pulled his body closer. I could not imagine life without him. I lay listening to the slow soft buzz of his breath until I drifted into unconsciousness.
That night, I did not dream at all, but the evening before my departure for Sawlney, I sank through the layers of my mind until I was just above the mindstream, and a memory bubble rose from it to engulf me.
I was hovering beside Cassy, who was painting a flamebird in a very white room with plain, shining surfaces. There were no windows and only a single closed door. The lighting in the room was the same radiant kind as the immense globe that lit the main cavern in the Teknoguild network but on a much smaller scale. The only color in the room was Cassy’s orange shirt, glowing brightly against her brown skin, and the brilliant scarlet plumage of the bird in its cage on the table before her.
I studied the bird in wonder, for though much smaller, it was otherwise astoundingly similar to the Agyllians.
Cassy was absorbed in her painting, but suddenly she looked up, a stunned expression on her face. For a second, I thought she had sensed my presence. Then I realized she was looking at the bird.
“What?” she whispered, leaning closer to the circular air holes in the glass cage.
It said nothing, of course, but I opened my mind and heard its thoughts reaching out to hers. To my astonishment, I recognized Atthis’s voice.
“… can/do you hear?”
Cassy looked around the room in suspicion.
“Do not fear,” the bird sent calmly. “It is I/we who reach you. I/we need your help.”
Cassy licked her lips and spoke aloud, though very softly. “I … I did hear you the other day, didn’t I?”
“Did,” the bird sent with obvious satisfaction. “Felt you could/would. Not all funaga do/can hear.” Now I realized that though the voice was Atthis’s in a sense, it was like one strand of it, and that reminded me that the Elder of the eldar retained the memory of its ancestors.
“How is it that you can … can do this?” Cassy stammered.
“Many things they did to us/me. Many wearypainful things.” The bird’s tone held a residue of anguish that was almost palpable. “Funaga do not think birds feel/fear/think.”
“You … you’re using telepathy, aren’t you?”
“Something like. Something very like. But word too little. Too limited.”
“You made me want to paint you, didn’t you?” Cassy asked with a touch of fear. “You put the idea of it into my head.”
“Not put. Found thought. Amplified and nourished. Cannot/will not make.”
Cassy licked her lips doubtfully. “You … you said you wanted my help. Do you want me to set you free?”
The bird gave the avian equivalent of a sigh. “O freedom. Yes. But there is a more important doing needed. In this place there are others.”
“I might manage to get you out, but I doubt I could get to your friends and free them without being arrested. All of the experimental animals are locked up in the labs.”
“Friends yes. Not beast. Not avian. Human/funaga.”
“You have human friends here?”
“Telepaths, you would say/call them. Like you.”
“I’m not telepathic,” Cassy laughed self-deprecatingly. “Believe me, I’d love it if I was. I even went to one of those centers. They tested me and found zilch.”
“Do not know tests. Not know zilch. Know only could not reach your wakingmind if not receptive.”
“But I’m telling you I tested as dull normal!”
The bird made no response.
“All right. Let’s just say I am telepathic, or at least I’m receptive to telepaths. You say there are people here who are telepathic? Volunteers?”
“Prisoners. Like me/mine. Stolen.”
She looked shocked. “You can’t steal people. There’d be inquiries.”
“Stolen, yes, but cleverly so no searching. Most dark of skin/hue like you. But no money. No family. No position/place to make for wondering.”
“Trashers,” Cassy said. “That’s what people call poor folk who live in the rim slums.…” She spluttered to an indignant halt.
“Your anger burns me,” the bird complained.
Cassy looked discomforted. “I … I’m sorry. It’s just that the whole thing makes me so mad. It’s just dumb luck my mother was able to get herself educated, or I’d just as likely be in those rim slums right now. All the progress we’ve made, and still no one does anything about the disadvantaged … uh, sorry,” she said, seeing the bird ruffle its feathers in reaction to her anger. “Look, these people. Why are they being held here?”
“Experiments. Like on I/we.”
“Oh hell. What can I do? I mean, I’ll help, but I’m nobody here. I’m only here because I was dumped on my father at the last minute. He’s the director of this place,” she added. “I barely move without Masterton treading on my shadow, the bastard.”
“No one knows they/human telepaths here,” the bird sent.
“No one …” Understanding dawned in her eyes. “You want me to let people know? The electronic bulletins would jump at the story, but I’d have to have proof.…”
“There is a woman who must be told they are here. If more know, they would be moved or killed.”
“A woman? Who?”
For the first time, I sensed uncertainty. “Not know name. I/we dreamed of her. Find her. Tell her.”
“I can’t find her without knowing more than that.”
“Woman searches for telepaths,” the bird sent with a touch of desperation.
“Hell, lots of people are interested in telepaths. Or they were a couple of years ago. There were all those mobile clinics roving around testing people, though it all came pretty much to nothing. At least, that’s what the bulletins said.…”
The Agyllian sent a swift warning, and Cassy barely had time to snatch up her sketch pad before the door burst open and the gray-suited Petr Masterton appeared.
“Time’s up,” he said.
I was only slightly less shocked than Petr Masterton appeared to be when Cassy smiled at him. “Damn. I haven’t worked nearly as fast as I’d hoped.” He blinked, as well he might, for her tone was several degrees warmer than usual. As if realizing that this might require some explaining, she said blithely, “It’s just been the first good subject I’ve had in ages. I’ve been in such a bad mood. I really enjoyed today, so I guess I owe you one for hustling me into it.”
Petr Masterton gave her a stiff smile, as if it was not an expression that often crossed his face. “I’m glad you are having a pleasant time,” he said.
“I know I shouldn’t ask when I’ve been such a bad-tempered brat to you, but do you think I could have some more time in here tomorrow?” Cassy directed a pleading look under her lashes, and I all but felt the man melt under its impact.
“Not tomorrow. There are World Council representatives to be shown through the compound. They will want to see the birds.”
“You said they were useless.” Her response was a fraction too swift and sharp, but her face was so guilelessly open and friendly that he didn’t seem to hear it.
“The birds are the remnants of an older phase of a long-term experiment that continues to this day. Flamebirds are actually the result of cloning in the last century. They possess certain natural properties that make them ideal for the genetic manipulation of the frontal lobe. That is the seat of paranormal abilities
. Unfortunately, cloning is costly and the bird is unable to reproduce efficiently, so it is on the verge of extinction.” His voice had taken on a lecturing tone, and Cassy adopted an expression befitting a favored student receiving the wisdom of her acknowledged master. “The birds were subjected to various treatments, but it was discovered that you can only develop a bird mind so far. Ultimately, they lack certain qualities that exist in, say, the human mind. This bird and the others you saw were not subjected to the more drastic phases of experimentation, because they were the control group.”
“What happened to the experimental group?”
“They were vivisected and subjected to autopsy. The few birds left are a pretty but bitter reminder that even the most promising experiments can come to nothing. That’s how science is. A lot of dead ends before you find a fruitful lead.”
Even I felt Cassy’s rage, and the bird shuddered slightly in response, but she only said lightly, “I guess it’s lucky I’m an artist, then, since there are no dead ends and certainly no dead birds.”
Petr Masterton’s eyes flickered, and I wondered if she was underestimating him. She must have felt the same, for she began packing up her notepad and pencils, chattering about the sort of colors she would like to see as part of the design. After she had gone, he stood staring at the bird, frowning.
“Wake.” Maruman’s mindvoice lifted me from the dream. “Angina wearies. Mornirdragon restless. Wake lest she comes.…”
It was still early enough to be chilly when I left Obernewtyn later that day, but by the time I reached the outskirts of Guanette, it was very bright and sunny, and I was hot enough to want to peel off a few layers of clothing. Stopping by the road, I slid from Gahltha and stripped off a thick shirt and jumper before replacing my jacket. I stuffed the extra clothes into my pack and rummaged for a couple of apples.