The Dreamtrails (8 page)

The crippled healer smiled peaceably and said, “It was ever dangerous to be a Twentyfamilies gypsy, and there is a thing in Saithwold I wish to see.”

At these words, I struggled to keep my composure.

Khuria had once told me of a magnificent statue of a man in Noviny’s garden, and his description had made me wonder if it had been carved by Cassy Duprey, when she had been D’rekta to the Twentyfamilies. Swallow had told me enough of the ancient promises that bound the Twentyfamilies to make me aware that their first leader had charged his people with the maintenance and protection of the carvings she had created to communicate with the Seeker. If I was right, the statue in Noviny’s garden might very well be a message to me. Darius’s interest certainly suggested it.

So far, I had found only one of the signs mentioned in the clues carved on the original Obernewtyn doors: an enormous glass statue with my face in the sunken city under Tor. I had dived to see the statue, convinced that I would find concealed in it one of the keys mentioned on the Obernewtyn doors. But instead of a key, I had found only an inscription and the
artist’s name: Cassy Duprey. Soon after, water had filled the protective airlock, shattering the statue, and I had been devastated, convinced that I had failed my quest at the first test, because I had not found the key.

But later, the teknoguilder Reul had mentioned that Beforetimers communicated with their computermachines by pressing on scribed letters built into the machines, spelling out sentences. This, he had explained in his dry crisp way, had been called “keying in a command.” Seeing my rigid attention, he elaborated, saying that a key word or phrase might also be required before a computermachine would accept a command or offer any information.

This had made me realize that the phrase carved into the glass statue’s base—
Through the transparency of now, the future
—might be just such a “key.”

That had led me to wonder if the other keys referred to on the Obernewtyn doors might not be physical keys either. Indeed, one bade me “seek the words in the house where my son was born.” Whatever those words were, I was sure that they, too, would prove to be a key to the mechanisms of the Beforetime weaponmachines I must find and destroy.

Discovering the glass statue had also made me realize that Cassy Duprey’s decision to leave messages and clues for me had been made much sooner than I had supposed—not when she had been living in the Land as D’rekta of the Twentyfamilies, as I had thought, but
before
the Great White, when she had carved the glass statue.

Of course, it was possible that the glass statue and the words upon it were no more than a significant gift to a new friend and perhaps the seed from which the eventual plan to send messages to the Seeker had grown. But the Agyllian
mystics had insisted I return in haste to the highlands to find “the last sign” before it was lost, and finding the glass statue seemed to fit their warning too well for it to mean anything else. Only later had it occurred to me that the Agyllians might have summoned me to the highlands to save Dragon, whose deepening coma threatened the keeping place of another sign referred to on the doors—something locked in her suppressed memories.

I visualized the words to the second and most obscure of the clues as Fian had translated them from gadi:

I was sure that Dragon was “the one who does not know what she knows” and that Cassy or Hannah had foreseen Dragon and all that had brought her to me, impossible though that seemed; however, Fian’s translation had so many alternative possibilities and blank spaces and ambiguities that sometimes I was afraid I had misread all the signs. During the early part of the winter, I had even flown the dreamtrails again with Maruman to try to take a clearer rubbing of the doors’ carvings, for they had been destroyed in reality, but our first visit had affected the dreamtrails, so we had been unable to find them again. Or that is what Maruman had said, though perhaps he had simply been unable to focus his mind well enough to lead me to them.

We had not long taken the turnoff to Rangorn when Zarak spotted the other wagon waiting by the wayside. We stopped briefly to share what had happened at the inn.

As we rode on, the others began to speculate about Saithwold and Vos. Finally, Katlyn said comfortably, “I expect Brydda will explain everything.” The others nodded so readily that I wondered if we were not putting too much faith in the big rebel. He had been a true friend to us and to beasts, as well as to his rebel comrades, but Brydda and Dardelan were no longer trying to overthrow a vicious and oppressive authority.
They
were the authority now, and they must control the Land and protect its people while living up to the ideals they had expounded during the years of oppression.

At length, we passed the rutted, little-used back trail leading to Kinraide. I glanced along it and thought of my early years in the Kinraide orphanage and my brother Jes. How long ago that day in the orphanage seemed when he had embraced me and promised he would come for me at Obernewtyn as soon as he had his Normalcy Certificate. How certain he had been that he was in control of his life. And I, borne away in a carriage bound for Obernewtyn, had felt utterly powerless. One day, when there was time, I would go back to Kinraide and see if I could lay flowers upon my brother’s grave.

The road passed the dense, eerie Weirwood, within which lay the deep narrow chasm known as Silent Vale. As a girl, I had been marched here from the Kinraide orphanage with other orphans to gather deposits of poisonous whitestick. We had been given gloves and special bags, for merely brushing against the stuff could cause vomiting, blisters, and the loss of teeth and hair. Of course, in those days, there had been an
overabundance of orphans to be disposed of, I remembered bitterly.

On the other side of the road was the stream, which was all that remained of the Upper Suggredoon after it flowed through the mountains and drained through Glenelg Mor. It was forded just before a cold, dark, poisonous river from the Blacklands joined it, transforming it into a wide, fast-moving, and now tainted river known as the Lower Suggredoon. As the wagons lumbered across the ford, I looked downriver and saw the white patches of the Sadorian tents used by the men of the rebel Zamadi, who had been given the task of guarding the banks of the Suggredoon to prevent an invasion of west coast soldierguards.

It was growing dark by the time we headed north on a smaller road to bypass Rangorn and cut across sloping green fields. The path turned to follow the lower edge of the dense forest that ran all the way from Rangorn’s perimeter back to the foot of the Aran Craggie range. Here, where the river flowed out after its tumultuous journey through the mountains, Grufyyd had found Domick, Kella, and me washed up on the riverbank following our dramatic escape on a raft from the Druid’s encampment.

The road brought us at length to the narrow track leading to the land where Katlyn and Grufyyd had once lived with their son. I wondered how Katlyn felt, knowing that she must soon look upon the charred ruins of her home. As a child, I had dwelt in this region, too, with my brother and parents, but I had no desire to see the ruins of my old home. It could only remind me of the dreadful death my parents had suffered at the hands of the Council.

We reached the clearing where Katlyn and Grufyyd’s house had once stood, and I gaped in disbelief, for
there stood
the house
, exactly as I remembered it, perfectly whole and utterly unmarked. I turned to find Kella looking no less astonished. At the rear of the wagon, Katlyn sat staring, pale and stunned.

We climbed down silently from horses and wagons, and before anyone could recover enough to speak, the front door of the little homestead opened, and out stepped Brydda Llewellyn, huge as ever, the brown beard and great shaggy mop of his hair shining in the light from his lantern. Hanging it on a hook beside the door, he strode forward, scooped up his gaping mother, and kissed her soundly, asking how she liked his surprise.

“I know you never wanted to come back here after I destroyed the old place to prevent the soldierguards from doing so, but I have a fondness for this hill and this view, so I have been rebuilding the cottage, little by little, since the rebellion. I think there is not a finer house in all the world, and though I know you and Da are happy at Obernewtyn, I thought you might like to spend the wintertimes down here.”

Katlyn answered him, but she was laughing and crying at the same time, so not a single word was understandable. He lifted her again and swung her around with a laugh. I noticed Dragon gazing at Brydda, a shy, bemused smile upon her face, but when she caught me looking at her, her face shuttered.

Brydda noticed this, but even as I began some vague explanation, I found myself swept into a bear hug that crushed the breath out of me. I had not expected the embrace or how much it would warm me. These days, no one touched me, not in friendship or in love, I realized and was horrified to discover tears blurring my eyes.
It is your own fault for being so prickly and remote
, I told myself savagely.

Fortunately, Gahltha chose that moment to approach, and Brydda released me to greet him and the other horses warmly in the fingerspeech he had invented. I did not know it well, having no need of it, but my beastspeaking ability allowed me to understand that Brydda was telling Gahltha that Sallah grazed in the fields beyond the forest. She was a large fiery mare who would accept no human as her master; she allowed Brydda to ride her only because she regarded him as a friend and an ally.

Once the horses had left, we told him the news from Obernewtyn in between ferrying items from the wagons into the house for Katlyn. There was not much news, but the big rebel listened with grave courtesy. Once the fetching and carrying was done, Katlyn and Kella shooed out all of us except Dragon so they could prepare a feast fit to celebrate a home’s resurrection. We would have to eat it outside as a picnic, Brydda said apologetically, for he had not yet arranged to have furniture sent up, and he began to set out a rough trestle table and upturned log seats, hoping it would not rain.

I asked Zarak and Louis to walk down to Rangorn during the meal preparations to see if they could learn anything more about the blockade in Saithwold. Darius went to tend the soldierguards, then took a short walk to ease his cramped muscles. That left Brydda and me.

“Maryon insisted that we bring Dragon,” I said without preamble.

Brydda frowned. “I gather that she has not remembered you?”

I shook my head. “Roland told me that she will. Maybe that is why Maryon sent us on this trip together.” I changed the subject and told him about Khuria’s letters and what I had heard at the inn. Brydda was not surprised by any of it.

“For the last moon or so, we have had numerous reports from people turned away or beaten up at this blockade,” he said. “We have also had complaints from people who received letters like Khuria’s. Dardelan sent a messenger to question the blockaders, but Chieftain Vos claimed that he is protecting the people of the Saithwold region from brigands and ruffians. I wanted to ride to Saithwold with a troop of armsmen and shake him until his teeth rattled, but Dardelan would not allow it. He says that we must not be seen as oppressors who can solve problems only with force.”

“Surely Dardelan will not sit back and let the people of Saithwold be forced to vote for Vos against their will,” I said indignantly.

“He will act only if someone from the region lays a formal charge against Vos before the Council of Chieftains. You see, it is too well known that Vos allies himself with Malik and that Dardelan and Malik are at odds. If Dardelan acts against him of his own volition, people will say that he is not impartial, and he can’t risk that, given that he will be one of those to judge your charge against Malik.”

“But how is anyone in Saithwold to lay a charge if they are not allowed to leave or scribe a letter without fear of it being destroyed?” I demanded. “And what of Malik? I have heard that he is behind the so-called robber burnings.”

“I have heard the same. But, Elspeth, think,” Brydda said. “In a very short time, Obernewtyn will lay a serious formal charge against him. I have no doubt that, with the soldierguards’ testimony, the Council of Chieftains will agree that there is a charge to answer. In which case, Malik must remain in Sutrium. That will severely limit his mischief. It will also make anyone think twice about voting for him as a chieftain. And when he is found guilty after the elections, as I have no
doubt he will be, he will have to serve a long sentence on a community farm.”

“And what about Vos?”

“Straight after the elections, you can be sure that Dardelan will find some pretext to enter Saithwold and deal with him.”

“Are you so sure that Dardelan will be elected high chieftain, Brydda? I understand there is some concern about his proposed Beast Charter.”

The big man rolled his eyes. “I did suggest he wait until after the elections to reveal the Beast Charter, but you know Dardelan. He said it would be dishonest to hide his intentions. However, he means to make it very clear that the charter will not be formalized until all Landfolk have had the chance to offer their opinions and ask questions. Given how gently he went about publicizing the Charter of Laws, allowing people to argue for changes in it, I doubt anyone will feel he is like to force anything on them.”

Brydda’s certainty and calmness began to allay my fears. I said, “You might mention this to him. On the way here, Zarak had an idea about how Dardelan might ensure that Vos does not cheat in the election. He suggests that as many chieftains as are willing march into Saithwold on voting day. Dardelan can claim they have come to celebrate the first elections. For that reason, there should be tumblers and musicians and other sorts of entertainers, and if possible, the chieftains should bring their families to lend the day a festive air. Needless to say, the chieftains would bring a substantial honor guard of armsmen. Vos will not dare to complain, nor will he dare to bully anyone or tamper with votes if other chieftains are looking on. Maybe Dardelan could even open the sealed box of votes and count them on the spot so Vos can’t later claim they were tampered with.”