Wavesong

  “All,” Brydda repeated flatly. “You can see them when you look with a spyglass, once you know what you are looking for. Obviously, the Herders are producing and supplying them. We only knew it after Reuvan found a Port Oran man washed up on a bit of sandy shore near the mouth of the river. Some drunken soldierguards had thrown him into the sea after he had objected to their manhandling his daughter. He had drunk too much tainted water to be saved, but he told us quite a bit, about the demon bands, for instance, and that the Herders have formed an alliance with the west coast Councilmen. Of course, we guessed as much. He also said that Salamander is working openly for the Faction, or with it. He runs three smaller ships that patrol our coastline now, as well as the Black Ship that regularly sails between Norseland and Herder Isle and across the strait to the west coast. Salamander openly buys any prisoners in the Councilmen’s cells, so he must have made some accommodation with them as well.”

  “Did the man say anything about the rebels?”

  “Only that there are no rebels left in Port Oran or any other towns close to the Suggredoon. He did say rebels are rumored to be causing havoc higher up the coast, in Aborium and Murmroth. But things are bad over there. Food is scarce in the cities, because most of their grain and vegetables came from this side of the Suggredoon, as well as ore for their smelters. There are small farm holdings all down the coast as well as in the hills about Murmroth, but their produce is limited by the land’s barrenness. The man said most people survive only by fishing, but even that is being affected by the poisons the Council spilled along the remote and unguarded portions of the coastline before our ships were burned.”

  “It sounds awful,” I said, aghast.

  “The man cursed us for the disaster our victory brought to the west coast, and then he begged us to invade and save his daughter,” Brydda said grimly.

  I did not need to ask if the man had already died. It was in his face. “So if even a Misfit cannot slip across the Suggredoon now, why did you ask about the plast suit?”

  “Because Dardelan intends it to be worn by a spy who will swim ashore on the west coast just past the river mouth. The area is unguarded, because a rocky shelf extends a long way into the water, just under the surface, making it too shallow even for a ship boat, and no one swims there because the water is tainted.”

  “Whoever wears the suit will have to be very careful not to tear it on the rocks—and they will have to be a strong swimmer, because the sea around the river mouth is very wild.”

  “Reuvan all but has fins,” Brydda said, smiling.

  “Reuvan!”

  “He volunteered.”

  “Why didn’t Dardelan’s messenger mention any of this?” I asked.

  “Dardelan wants it kept quiet, given that the ship burnings mean we have secret enemies. Only he and I and Reuvan know about the man washed ashore, and now you. That is partly why I suggested this meeting: to tell you in person what has been happening and to make sure you brought the plast suit. Reuvan will leave as soon as he has it.”

  “Once ashore, what will he do?” I asked.

  “Conceal the suit and make his way to Port Oran, where he will see if anything of the rebel network remains there. If there is no one, he will move from town to town up the coast. Once he makes contact with the west coast rebels, he will let them know what is happening in the Land. But his main task will be to learn what the Council is planning. Because there is no doubt in Dardelan’s mind, or mine, that something is afoot, else why the demon bands? Of course, Reuvan will try to reach your people as well. That is another reason I wanted to speak with you. We need to know how to reach anyone not in communication with the rebels.”

  “How will Reuvan share what he learns with Dardelan?” I asked. “Will he signal over the river?”

  “That would be dangerous, because he would have to get close enough to be seen from our side of the river. The best place for that would be the old ferry landing, where the banks draw closest to one another, but the soldierguards have a barricade there to keep everyone well back. And the remainder of the river is patrolled and makeshift watchtowers have been erected. The plan is that Reuvan will carry the suit back to the coast, put it on, and let the current carry him back to Sutrium. We will be watching for him, of course.”

  “What if the suit is damaged on his way there or if he is washed out too far? Even ships don’t go out into the middle currents.”

  “And who told you that?” Brydda asked, straight-faced.

  I sighed. “Reuvan.”

  “Just so. If the suit is damaged, he will find some way to signal us,” Brydda said. But he looked suddenly weary, and I knew that, for all his apparent confidence, he was worried about the young seaman.

  I thought again of the premonition that had assailed me earlier. “I begin to fear that we were too quick in letting people know of our refuge.”

  Brydda shook his head. “If you had kept your refuge secret, it would have made Landfolk even more mistrustful and suspicious of you. Take heart, for all is not ill in this new time. The Council is gone from this part of the Land, and with them, the soldierguards and Herders and their whole machinery of corruption. Good new laws are about to be established, and soon people will elect their own leaders. Of course, some still fear your kind, but many more do not, having seen clearly your loyalty during the rebellion. Do not be impatient, for the changes have begun and will continue.” He lapsed into silence for a moment, then said, “When people first began to speak of the rebellion, I imagined that once the Council was gone, the Land would become a sort of paradise. But of course, it is not that simple. It will be many years before we have real stability, and no doubt there will be almost as many steps back as forward.”

  “You could just walk away from it all,” I pointed out, once more hearing the fatigue in his voice. “No one would ever say you had not done enough.”

  “I would say it,” Brydda said with gentle finality. “Enough is not measured by what you give but by what is needed.” He reached out and took my hand in his. “Something is wrong between you and Rushton, isn’t it?”

  I cursed his knack of knowing what he could not know, but still the words burst out of me, low and raw. “Rushton has changed since he was imprisoned in the cloister in Sutrium. He does not remember what happened, but something is broken in him. I cannot look inside his mind to see if it can be mended, for he will not permit it. He does not want my Talent, and he does not want me. There is nothing to be done.”

  I looked down at Maruman, who slept on obliviously. I was glad, for my grief would have irked him.

  “Elspeth.” Brydda said my name gently, and when I looked up, I saw pity in his eyes. “Come. It is time you were asleep.” He reached down, scooped Maruman into his arms, and pulled me to my feet. He led me to the bedroll Zarak had spread beneath a wagon, and I lay down, feeling suddenly utterly exhausted. Brydda placed Maruman gently beside me, and the old cat rolled close with a soft snore. He had not even awakened, and I wondered if he slept or traveled the dreamtrails.

  “Sleep,” Brydda commanded gently, and left me. I closed my eyes, and sleep rolled over me like a soft, heavy blanket, obliterating consciousness with a gentle finality.

  I dived through the cloudy swirl of memories and dreams that clamored at me in the upper levels of my mind, shielding myself until I was deep enough for them to fade into a thick brown silence. I continued to descend until I heard the siren song of the mindstream that runs at the deepest level of all minds and that contains the thoughts and memories of all minds that have ever existed. The urge to join the stream and give up my individual existence was as potent as ever, but I held myself until the pull of the mindstream was in exact balance with the pull to rise to consciousness.

  I had come deep to avoid dreaming, but even as I looked down into the shimmering beauty of the mindstream, a bubble of matter detached itself and rose toward me, as shapeless and shining as air rising to the surface of the water.

  The bubble engu
lfed me.

  I saw Cassy Duprey sitting in a Beforetime flier. I could not tell if it was the same flying machine I had seen her in before, but she looked different, subtly older. Perhaps it was just the plain dark clothes she wore, instead of the bright colors she usually favored; or maybe it was the fact that her wild mass of dark crinkling hair was restrained in a complex coil against her neck. A very beautiful, haughty-looking older woman with the same choca-toned skin as Cassy sat opposite her. A certain likeness about the facial bones suggested they were related. Could this be her mother? I wondered. She did not act like a mother, for Cassy wept, and the woman made no move to comfort her.

  “What did you expect, Cassandra?” she finally asked, her tone irritated. “He was a spy.”

  “He might not be dead,” Cassy said in a voice thick with tears and despair.

  “Don’t be foolish,” the woman responded crisply. “Samu vanished while spying on officials in the Chinon Empire. If he is not dead, then he will wish he were.”

  Cassy groaned and leaned over as if she had a stomachache, her forehead pressed to her knees.

  “Don’t you think it is time to end this orgy of grief?” the woman said, glancing at her watch. “Samu knew the price he would pay if he was caught. He thought it was worth it. If you loved him, you might honor his choice.” Her lips twisted into an ugly shape as she said the word love, but Cassy, head on her lap, did not see it.

  “Must people always pay the worst price for doing what is right in your world, Mother?” she whispered.

  The older woman glanced out the window at the sky for a long minute, her expression remote, as if she were thinking about something completely different. Finally, she returned her gaze to her daughter. “I did not say he was doing the right thing, Cassandra. Only that he thought he was. People always think what they are doing is right. Look at your father and his Sentinel project. He and the government think it is right to put the world’s fate into the hands of machines. He thinks it is responsible and mature to relinquish control of the weapons we have created. We may all pay for his doing what he thinks is right.” There was a queer expression on her face, and the queerness had spread into her voice.

  Cassy lifted her head and gave her mother a long, bitter look. “If you think Father is wrong, Mother, why don’t you tell him so? Why don’t you tell the whole world? You have the power to do that, and it would not even cost your life.”

  “Wouldn’t it, Cassy?” her mother asked: “You think the government would allow me to criticize its pet project? You are such a child.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cassy demanded.

  “I am talking about the real world, Cassy, where we all live. Not the world of heroic and foolish boys and girls. I chose to leave your father, because he had become a man I did not like, a man who believed in things I could not believe in. He let the world and his own fears turn him into a puppet. I can’t stop what he does any more than I can stop what the government does. The best I can do is stay away from him and his world and keep you away from it. I don’t want to hear any more about you going back to that place. I don’t want you there again. Not ever.”

  “But, Mother, he has invited me, and I need…I mean, I want to go. It will be the last time.”

  Cassy’s mother gave her a hard, coldly intelligent look. “Why would you want to go there again, when you resisted going there so violently in the first place, despite my having no choice but to send you?”

  “I…I just…I was doing some painting there. Yes, I hated it, but I want to finish the work I began.”

  Her mother regarded her for a moment and then smiled. “You are lying. But I will make you a bargain. You tell me why you suddenly want to switch to the university at Newrome, and I will allow you to visit your father this one last time. But I want the truth, and I will know if you lie.”

  Cassy’s face changed, and a peculiar expression filled her wide, almond-shaped eyes. “Do you really want to know, Mother? Because if you do, I’ll show you.”

  Her mother frowned. “Cassandra, I have had just about enough of these childish—”

  Cassy cut her off. “Remember that big splashy series of advertisements sent out by the Reichler Clinic a while back, Mother? The ones asking for anyone who thought they might have paranormal abilities to come and be tested? Well, I went—”

  “But that was a hoax. There was a scandal over falsified research results. Surely you were not foolish enough—”

  “Yes, there was a scandal, but it was about the man who was running it—William Reichler. He supposedly wrote a book, only he hadn’t come up with the testing methods the clinic used or written the book. It was another scientist, who died. Reichler stole his work and put his own name to it. He was after money, and he got it by conning rich people into making donations, convincing them that everyone had paranormal abilities, which could be awakened with the right techniques, just as the book said. Then he was exposed and there was the scandal. But not everyone he hired was crooked. A lot of the researchers who worked for the Reichler Clinic really believed in what they were doing. So when William Reichler died, they kept the clinic running….”

  “The clinic was destroyed,” Cassy’s mother said. “Reichler burned it to cover his tracks, only he was killed before he could get away.”

  “William Reichler was killed. And the building that had housed the clinic at Inva was destroyed, but the Reichler Clinic is an organization, not a place. It relocated to Newrome. It is still operating.”

  Her mother’s lips curled in disgust. “And I suppose whoever is running this place persuaded you when you visited Newrome last month that you have paranormal abilities. Cassy, will you never grow up?”

  Cassy smiled. It was as cold as her mother’s. I felt her mind reach out. She had fashioned a mindprobe so clumsy that it must have hurt her mother badly as it entered her mind and spoke her name. I heard the older woman gasp with pain and clutch at her head.

  “Is that proof enough for you, Mother?” Cassy asked aloud. “Or are your own senses as untrustworthy as you keep telling me mine are?”

  Her mother’s mouth hung open. Her eyes bulged in disbelief. “You…what did you…?”

  The memory dissolved, and the mindstream sang its song to me, alluring, infinitely sweet, promising release from pain, sorrow, and desire. I dared not stay there any longer. Wrenching myself upward, I was too weary to armor myself against the strands of thought floating past. One brushed me, and all at once, I was inside the old dream of walking along a dark tunnel, hearing the drip of water into water. Ahead was the dull yellow flash, flash, flash of light, like a signal.

  “Stop,” said a woman’s voice, beautiful and strangely loud. “Do not enter or you will die.”

  The shock of hearing a voice in a place where I had never before heard one woke me. I opened my eyes and found myself blinking into daylight, the dreams slipping away like dawn mist. I thought of the vision I had experienced of Cassy, weeping at her lover’s death, and then of her mind forming a clumsy but powerful probe to invade her mother’s mind. Clearly, Hannah Seraphim had taught her to use her Talent. Cassandra, her mother had called her. Not far from Kasanda…

  “Get up, ElspethInnle,” Maruman sent peevishly. “I am hungry.”

  We were on the road again by midmorning, having bade Katlyn farewell. She was to remain in Rangorn, herb gathering until Grufyyd brought down a wagon in a few days to collect her. When we left, the herbalist was tying what she, Kella, and Dragon had collected into bunches to hang up and dry.

  The rest of us parted just over the ford. Kella, Dragon, and Louis Larkin set off in one wagon for Sutrium via Kinraide and Berrioc with both soldier-guards. Zarak, Darius, and I took the other wagon and went with Brydda back the way we had come, first to the Sawlney turnoff and thence to Saithwold. I had tried to convince Darius to go with the others, partly because I worried about his inflamed joints and partly to see if he might give his true reason for wanting to go to Saithwold. But he simpl
y smiled serenely and said he would stay with us.

  I rode Gahltha to begin with, but once Brydda had made his brief call at the farmstead on the Sawlney turnoff, he suggested I dull Gahltha’s coat, tie him to the back of the wagon, and ride inside. “A young woman of your description riding a magnificent black stallion would be as good as a message to Vos that Elspeth Gordie is visiting Saithwold,” Brydda said.

  I was not sure I was as well known as Brydda seemed to think, but I did as he suggested, drawing my shawl over my head and lifting Maruman into my lap as I joined Zarak on the bench seat. Darius lay in the back. I wished again that I had managed to convince him not to come, but perhaps all Twentyfamilies gypsies regarded it as their sacred duty to check on their D’rekta’s carvings whenever they had the chance.

  When at last we reached the turnoff, I was surprised that there was no sign of armsmen or blockade on the smaller road, but Brydda said the blockade was not immediately visible from the main road. Sure enough, around the first bend, we came upon it: a solid barrier of planks nailed together and running from dense underbrush on one side of the road to the other. The surly looking fellow slouching before the barricade gave an unmanly squeak of fright as Sallah pranced to a stop. Brydda roared laughing, but before the red-faced man could unleash a tirade of abuse, the big rebel called out a greeting, naming him Tam Otey.

  The man squinted shortsightedly at Brydda, and then his face changed. “Brydda Llewellyn, are you riding to Saithwold?” He sounded truculent, but there was alarm in his eyes.

  “Will you try to stop me if I am, Tam?” Brydda asked in a mocking voice that made the other man’s expression twist with anger.

  “Chieftain Vos will not like that you sent no word of your visit.”