Obernewtyn

  The book itself was uninteresting, filled with diagrams, symbols, and words that made no sense to me. On the book's spine I read Basic Computer Programming without comprehension. The next book was exactly the same, except that the diagrams were beautifully colored.

  Faintly disappointed, I moved to another section of the shelves and took out a book. This time some of the words made sense, but these were sprinkled with terms that meant nothing. Interestingly, someone had written copious notes in the margins of the book. Pulling others out at random, I discovered many were notated and underlined as if someone were trying to decipher them. They were a long way from the Oldtime story books and fictions my mother had read.

  Changing my method, I took out a couple of modern books, finding them to be filled with incantations and magic spells. Snorting with contempt, I laid these aside. I had grown up to share my parents' scorn for the Black Arts.

  Turning around, I remembered seeing a pile of maps on the table near the fire. Fortunately, my memory proved accurate, but the maps were of little use, being Beforetime maps, and badly tattered. The spaces on them were covered in small faded ink notes and I wondered why someone would study with old maps. Everyone knew the shape of the world had been changed forever by the Great White.

  One would not bother with such maps unless they wanted to locate an Oldtime place, but that was forbidden.

  Wide-eyed, I stared into the fire wondering if I had stumbled on Alexi and Madam Vega's plan.

  Could it be that they wanted something from the Beforetime? They had already broken the lore by not burning the Oldtime books, and by concealing the mental state of Stephen Seraphim. They would not then be stopped by fear of the consequences of searching the past And yet that was considered by the Council to be the worst sort of Sedition. They would certainly burn if that were known.

  So what did they search for that was worth risking such a terrible death?

  Thinking of the Council made me think of the stranger in the kitchen and suddenly I remembered where I had seen him before. He had been with Daffyd, the boy I had met at the Sutrium Councilcourt. It was too much to believe that he was here by chance. What was he up to?

  I shook my head. It was no time to be pondering. I must find a modern map. Sometimes maps came in books. I took out a few of the modern volumes and flicked one open. An inscription inside read: "To Mar-isa."

  Marisa! Impulsively, I opened the others, only to find many of the inscribed books were Oldtime books. Those with inscriptions had all been given to Marisa Seraphim! Amazed, I understood that all of the books in this room belonged to her; therefore, whatever search had been conducted was hers, at least to begin with. The same handwriting had made all the notes. I turned back to the painting and Marisa's eyes mocked me.

  My instincts were telling me I had already been there too long, but I ignored them. With Marisa dead, perhaps Alexi was carrying on her research. But that still didn't tell me what he was after.

  I went around one of the shelves to the semicircular room behind it. In a corner was a shiny, square steel box. It was a cupboard with a lock built into the door. Curiously, I worked the tumblers and the door clicked open.

  There were only two shelves and these were stuffed full of old papers and letters. Why were such worthless paraphernalia locked away? On top was a partly completed letter.

  My darling,

  I have bitterly thought this over and I have decided we cannot meet again. Mine is a strange family, tainted with madness. I do not want you to be part of it. I am the Master of Obernewtyn and I belong here. Forget what has passed between us. My mother has arranged a marriage. This is best. The lady in question does not love me. Lud knows I do not love her. She bonds for gold and I for convenience.

  The letter ended suddenly halfway down the page. Which Master of Obernewtyn had penned it? Not the first, but perhaps the second. I wondered why the letter had not been completed.

  I found two more letters, unsealed but replaced neatly in their envelopes. One was a note from Lukas Seraphim to his wife Marisa, and the other was addressed to Michael Seraphim. I guessed it was the latter who had written the letter to his lover. I had no chance to read either through, because I heard noises that told me someone was approaching the room.

  I slammed the door on the cabinet, the forgotten letters falling from my lap. I thrust them in the narrow space under the cabinet and crept to the opening of the shelf. No one was there. I moved through the rest of the chamber and listened at the outer door.

  I heard muffled voices.

  I was trapped!

  My heart only began to beat properly again when I realized the voices came from outside the Doctor's chamber. I could not tell whom they belonged to. After a long time, they receded and there was silence, but it took me several minutes to raise enough courage to leave the small side room. All I could think of was the terrible dead look in Selmar's eyes. Whatever had been done to her could happen to me. I was too frightened to stay in the Doctor's chamber any longer. Trying to regain the sense of calmness I had carried on my arrival, I returned to my own room, praying none of the others had wakened and noticed my empty bed. I thanked fortune that fate had seen fit to make my roommates dull-witted creatures who slept like logs.

  I slept, too tired even to think of what I had learned. Right through the next day I had no chance to see either Matthew or Dameon. I took the chance to have a short sleep at midmeal but felt worse than ever when I woke.

  At nightmeal, Matthew leaned across the table and whispered into my ear that the new Misfit had come into the hall. I shrugged, too tired to care, but I looked where he had indicated and my exhaustion fell away in my shock, for I knew that face.

  It was Rosamunde! She seemed to sense my gaze and looked up. She was thinner than I remembered. As I had expected, she recognized me. What I did not expect was the look of cold bitterness, she gave me.

  XX

  It was several days before I had the opportunity to speak to her.

  After the first meal, Rosamunde did not come at the same sitting. I saw her from a distance on the farms once or twice, then one midmeal I saw her come out of a barn to collect her lunch. I went over to her, ignoring Matthew's perplexed look for I had not told him that I knew her. I could not waste the chance to talk to her.

  "What do you want?'.' she asked listlessly. I sat down by her, wondering at the change in her. She had always been vivacious, friendly, and gentle.

  "You know me," I said in a low voice.

  She stared at me blankly and I wondered what on earth was the matter with her.

  I leaned closer. "Is it Jes?" I asked bluntly. "Where is he? Is he all right?"

  Those were not the sort of questions orphans or Misfits generally asked one another but the dull apathy in her face made me want to shock her.

  "I don't want to talk to you," she said dully.

  I bit my lip and suppressed an urge to shake her. "He was my brother. I have a right to know. He would not have let you come here alone. He cared about you," I said. Her face trembled with some feeling. "You must tell me if he's all right."

  Again an expression, too quick to be read, came over her features and I began to feel frightened.

  "Leave me alone," she whispered. Something in her eyes made me want to shudder.

  "You denounced me," I said, desperate to have some response from her. Perhaps I could use her guilt.

  Her face paled a little. "You know? Of course. I should have guessed it," she said. I was more confused than ever.

  "I don't understand," I said.

  "He could do it too. Read my mind. But he promised not to. I was scared he would find out I had denounced you," she said colorlessly.

  My mind grappled with what she was saying. "Jes could read your mind?" I said at last.

  She shook her head slowly as if she was too tired to talk anymore. I was baffled more than frightened now.

  "I made you tell them about me," I said to her, trying again to make her react.


  She did not seem very surprised or interested. "I don't want to hear about that. I knew you were different. Everyone did. It was better after you went. He wasn't so worried and closed up." Her voice was bitter and I felt anger stir in me. She looked up and saw my expression. I thought she would say no more, then she shrugged, again with that queer exhausted air.

  "All right. I might as well tell you, then you'll leave me alone. It doesn't matter now anyway. Though I wonder why you don't just read my mind," she said.

  "It was his fault in a way. He should have told me. He knew I cared. It would have made no difference." She looked up at me with sudden pathetic appeal. I saw a ghost of the old Rosamunde.

  "We were happy in the beginning. It didn't matter about us being orphans because soon that would all be over. We were going to live far away from any home. Then a boy came." The deadness returned to her features.

  "He was different too. Nobody liked him much because he stood out. You could see at once he would never get a Certificate. Jes said he made people feel uncomfortable. Then all of a sudden they were the greatest friends. I couldn't understand it. I didn't like him and I knew Jes hadn't either. But when I asked about it, he just changed the subject. He became secretive and evasive after that. I did not see him so often and there was a barrier between us. An awkwardness. I don't mean he stopped caring about me," she said slowly, "but something had come between us.

  "Then one day, he told me. He said, 'I am a Misfit.' I thought he was joking and I laughed. But he wasn't He wasn't!" This last was almost a sob. "He said he was different and so was that boy. He said there were others too. I asked him how he was different and he said ... he said he could talk to people inside their minds. He said sometimes he could know what people were thinking. He said that boy had shown him what he was. A group of people like him were meeting secretly. He kept saying you were right about having to use the powers once you knew they were there."

  "Then he showed me." Her voice cracked. She was too absorbed in her memories to notice she was attracting curiosity. I was too enthralled to care.

  "He said he had not meant for a rift to grow between us," she went on. "He said the others had not wanted me to be told, but that he trusted me with his life. I was terrified he, would read my mind and know what I had done to you. I made him promise ... I was frightened of his friends. Jes started to talk about escaping. He wanted to run away with these new friends and live somewhere where no one would find us. If he had said just the two of us, I might even have gone. But all of us. There would have been a massive search. But he didn't care. He said the Council had guessed about some of them and that the Herders wanted to know more about his sort of Misfit. He said the Council was frightened of them. Some of his friends did not even come from our home. He said the boy could talk to them over great distances."

  She fell silent for a while, but I did not prompt her. Now that she had begun, I knew she would say it all.

  Jes told me then that a group of his people from Bel-don- had been uncovered and betrayed. They had been taken to the Councilcourt and were being interrogated by the Herders. He said he and some others were going to try and help them. He wanted me to come. I thought I was going mad. It was a nightmare. What could a handful of orphans do against the Council and the Herders? It was madness.

  "He said I would never understand." She paused with deep sadness in her eyes. "I guess I knew then what I had really known since the whole thing started. Jes had changed. He loved me, but it was as if I came from another race. I would always be found wanting. I said I would not come. I think he was relieved but he said he would come back for me, when it was safe. I knew he wouldn't. In some ways Jes was hard like a stone. He told me he had rejected you because you were different. He regretted that, yet now he did the same to me, because I was different.

  "The night he went, he came to say good-bye. I loved him so much. He asked me again to come with him and I almost said yes. But I refused, and he climbed out the window to meet that boy." She paused. "That was when the soldierguards got him."

  My heart froze but her voice was calm. She had probably replayed this scene a hundred times.

  "I don't really know what happened. One of the others had talked maybe. The Herder would have made them. They shot Jes with an arrow. He tried to run. They had already killed the Other boy. One of the soldierguards went over to Jes. The arrow was sticking out of his side. He told Jes the others were dead. He said the Herders would be pleased to hear they had a live one. I heard him cry out when he heard his friends had been killed. That was when Jes... he did something. The man just stopped laughing and fell over. He was dead. Then one of the other soldierguards fell down screaming. One of them shot Jes. He died."

  Her voice was like cold death and I wondered numbly if that was the end, but she went on. "I wanted to die too. At first they thought I was like Jes. The Herder asked and asked, but in the end they... showed me what they had done to his friends. I told them everything. They wanted to know all about Jes. Everything he could do. They wanted me burned, but in the end they decided to send me here, in case they needed to talk to me again. They told me to say nothing of Jes or the others or else I would die."

  She saw the question in my eyes and shook her head. "I didn't tell them about you. Not because I was trying to save you. I just forgot. I would have told them if they asked. But I think they will find out in the end. Jes was right. They were badly frightened by him and the others. That's why they were so violent." Two tears rolled slowly down her cheeks and she did not wipe them away. "They will come for you," she said again.

  I stood up without a word and walked stiffly into the barn. I could not bear to talk to- anyone, not even Da-meon and Matthew.

  Oh, Jes, I wept silently in the privacy of my thoughts. I cried for the pity of his end and for the irony of his late discovery and my needless loneliness. I cried for Rosa-munde and for Jes's friends. I remembered my premonition on the day we had parted at Kinraide. I had imagined I would never see him again, but foolishly I had imagined the loss to be his, not mine.

  And lying in the sweet-scented hay, the tears fell and I did not try to stop them. They flowed steadily, splashing my wrist and running down my throat. Their warm wetness made me feel like I was bleeding to death.

  I sensed Sharna nearby, seeking entrance to my thoughts. "Sharna," I wept bitterly, "why is life so full of pain and hurting? There seems no end to it. When are the moments of happiness to come?"

  "It would take a truer wisdom than mine to answer that," he answered, nuzzling my arm for comfort and blessedly not asking any questions.

  "Then teach me to be wise, for I cannot bear this pain," I thought, and looked into his sad shaggy face. He told me with compassion that wisdom was not something one could teach, but a thing each person must discover for himself. I let him see into my thoughts and oddly, I felt that he really did understand what I felt.

  "Death is known to the wildbeast," he spoke. "All who live, not only beasts, live with death riding on their back. But beasts do not regard it as a burden. The funaga think death is evil. It is nature. Evil exists only in life. There is so much good and evil allotted to each life, and there is much that is neither good nor bad. Death is such a thing. As for the rest, you can only weigh up how much good or bad there is and decide yourself what adds up to evil." He licked me roughly, then left me alone with my grief.

  My heart was tight widi pain and I felt as if I would cry forever.

  "What is it?" came Rushton's voice.

  I thought of him telling Madam Vega about my friends and my pain became a raging fury.

  "Nothing that you should feel compelled to report," I shouted rashly. "I am not planning to kill anyone, or burn down your precious farms. There is no dire plot in hand. Nothing... of any importance has happened. I have just heard my brother has been murdered by that filthy Council." My rage died as quickly as it had begun and I lay my head down and wept.

  Rushton. knelt in the hay beside me and touched my arm
as gendy as he had ever touched a hurt animal. "I suppose you will not believe it, but I am no informant for Vega. I am sorry about the death of your brother. You must think badly of me to imagine I have no compassion. I have only a half brother and there is nothing between us. I could almost envy your affection, though now it brings you much pain. I have cared for few since the death of my mother. My life has been filled only with anger and cold purpose..."

  His voice faded and I looked up. For a long moment he said nothing, only staring into my eyes with his searching green gaze. Then he bent closer until his breath fanned my face, his eyes probing.

  "Why do you plague me?" he whispered, as if I were a dream or a wraith.

  I shook my head and he sat back abruptly.

  "Come now. You must return to work," he said gruffly but not unkindly. "It is not wise to grieve too long; though I am no tattletale, there are many who are."

  He was brisk as ever, but strangely his manner no longer offended me. I rose, feeling empty of all emotion. Rushton sent me to a distant field alone to check the foot of a horse he said might be going lame.

  That night my slumber was surprisingly peaceful. I was too tired to dream, yet when I woke I had a sharp picture of Rushton's expression as he asked why I plagued him.

  His behavior in the barn made it less easy for me to focus my fears and frustrations on him. Strangely, I believed him when he said he was not an informant. Any number of Misfits knew of my friendships; Rushton had only warned me that it was dangerous to make mends too openly.

  I still felt he was mixed up in whatever was going on at Obernewtyn. His words had seemed to confirm he was no Misfit and he had said there was some purpose in his life.