The Rebellion (67 page)

“Eye for an eye? What if your precious Guardian makes a mistake?”

“It is far less likely to make a mistake than a human being.”

“That’s not an answer. And if the Uropan government is designing the computer, it will think as a Uropan would, so it will still be biased.”

“The program developers are of all nations, including Gadfia and Chinon, and it has been designed to evaluate and take into account the varying cultural differences. In a sense, the Guardian program will be the very first world citizen. Not only that, but it is also capable of learning, and as time goes on, it will continue to grow and mature. It will be the most sophisticated program ever created, and it will be a buffer between humans and the BOT retaliation unit.”

“I suppose it will walk on water as well.”

The man gave her an exasperated look. “The World Council believes that Guardian and BOT will protect us from human greed and stupidity.”

“Nothing can save us from that.…” There was a note of sorrow in the girl’s voice, and the older man seemed taken aback.

“Cassy, is it so bad to spend the summer at the institute? The mountains in Old Scotia are very beautiful once you are accustomed to the bareness of them. We can spend some time together hiking, and you can do some sketching.…”

“Sure thing,” the girl broke in bitterly. “Only you’ll be too busy directing your precious projects. What is it you’re researching there, anyway? It’s not just this Guardian thing. What’s with those weird red birds?”

A shutter closed over his eyes. “Forget the birds. You shouldn’t have seen them.”

“I suppose you’re doing some sort of disgusting experiments, dissecting the poor things or spraying perfume in their eyes.”

“Don’t be absurd. The institute is not a cosmetic laboratory. As far as I know, the birds are part of a genetic research program.”

The girl crossed her arms. “Why can’t I go to Mericanda with my friends?”

“Your mother does not want you there and neither do I. Especially not in the border region.”

“The only thing you two manage to agree on is repressing me as much as possible.”

“After the devastation of Raq and Turka, I don’t think anyone could be blamed for worrying about the state of the world.”

“It’s all right for
you
to worry, but when
I
worry, I’m being childish.”

The flying machine now hovered over a collection of flat, square buildings, and it began to drop toward a pale circle drawn onto the grass among them.

“This place is a prison,” the girl said sullenly.

The older man gave her a strange look.

I felt a pain in my head so sharp it made me cry out, and the dream faded as I rose quickly through the levels of my mind to consciousness.

6

I
OPENED MY
eyes to find Maruman staring balefully into my face. At once the mental pain lessened.

“What is the matter with you?” I sent, sitting up with a groan and rubbing my temples. “You’ve given me a terrible headache jabbing at my mind like that.”

“You desired/wished to wake early,” Maruman sent. He began to wash his ears industriously.

I looked out the window. It was still dark but more blue than black, which meant it was nearly dawn. I thought with a shudder of the creature that had flown at me in my dreams. It had seemed so real.

“Beast is real,” Maruman sent, ceasing his ablutions to stare at me. “It can kill/wound, but last night it sought only to vent rage.”

“On me? Why?”

The cat gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. “Marumanyelloweyes does not know. Dreambeast screeches/is mad with pain from some old injury/hurt. Lives in fortress with no door.”

With a sudden fear, I wondered if it was possibly a form assumed by the H’rayka, but Maruman heard the thought and sent that it was not the Destroyer.

That was some relief, at least. “I dreamed that Rushton was injured by it.…”

“He/Rushton-mate was not real. Your memory Rushton only. He cannot be killed/harmed.”

Relieved, I climbed out of bed. The flagstones were cold under my bare feet, but the air felt warm and smelled sweet with new growth and blossoms. Suddenly I was eager to be outside when the sun rose. I poured some water into a bowl and washed myself, toweled briskly, and dressed. Maruman leaped onto the windowsill and gazed out.

Brushing my hair, I became aware that Ceirwan was trying to farseek me and hastened to open the door.

“I brought ye a bit of somethin’ to eat,” he said, maneuvering a small tray past me. “I meant to wake ye on my way up, but yer mind was closed to me.”

“Maruman saw to my waking,” I said, casting the old cat a wry look.

There was a roll with some cheese, as well as a bowl of egg and milk for Maruman. I took up a steaming mug and sniffed appreciatively.

“Choca. Th’ Sadorians brought sacks of it as a gift, an’ everyone is to have it with firstmeal this morning. Hopefully it will make them feel better about Dameon not comin’,” the guilden said. He sighed. “Well, I had better go back to th’ kitchen. The Sadorians might get up early after all, an’ I ought to be there to fend off questions so they can eat in peace.”

I nodded. “I want you to take them to the farms after they have eaten. Alad can give them a tour and arrange for them to spend time with the beastspeakers, learning more of the fingerspeech. I’m off to Tor soon, but tell Jakoby I will be back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

Ceirwan opened the door, then turned back. “Did ye dream? Ye should write it in th’ book afore ye go.…”

“I’ll start tomorrow,” I said, knowing already that I would
have to leave out a good deal of my dreams. “But ask Sarn to make sure everyone else starts filling it in today.” I hesitated. “Did you dream last night?”

To my surprise, Ceirwan blushed. “I did, but it is nowt that would need to gan in any dream journal.”

I realized then that Maryon might have asked more than she guessed in wanting a record of dreams. After all, many were no more than expressions of private desires.

When he was gone, I farsought Gahltha to ask if it would trouble him to leave Avra when she was so near to foal. He responded wryly that Avra would be glad to see the back of him for a while.

I put Maruman’s bowl on the sill, but he stared pointedly at my roll until I took out a slice of cheese and offered it to him. I took up my mug of choca and sipped at the rich, sweet brew. It was hot and burned my lip, so I set it aside to cool. I chafed at the delay, but choca was too rare a pleasure to leave.

I laced my boots and gave more thought to dreams, remembering Maryon saying our maze had been reconstructed from the remnants of an older version. Could that original maze be what I’d seen in my dream? Yet it had been surrounded by unfamiliar mountains.

“Were the people I heard talking in the maze real?” I sent to Maruman, but he did not respond. I puzzled a moment before remembering that I had bluntly shushed him in my dream. I sighed. “I’m sorry I told you to be quiet, Maruman, but tell me, was I remembering something that really happened from the Beforetime, or was it just a dream?”

He lapped at his milk, and I resisted the urge to shake him. “Well, did you mean what you said about being able to show me the doors of Obernewtyn on the dreamtrails?”

Still he did not answer.

“Maruman!” I said aloud and with my mind. He yawned rudely in my direction and began to lick his paw and wash his face with it.

I became sly. “Well, you probably can’t do what you boasted, and that’s why you are silent,” I sent with the faintest suggestion of condescension.

He regarded me coldly. “Maruman knows dreamtrails. Knows where doors are/were.”

“You mean your
memory
of the doors,” I sent.

“All that is/was/could be can be reached by dreamtrails. Real are things on them,” he sent haughtily. But at once his manner changed, and he gave me a long grave look. “Maruman could take/bring/show ElspethInnle. But flying beast may scent/see/seek you.”

I frowned. I wanted to have the chance to study the doors again, but my memory of the beast plunging from the sky and savaging Rushton was shudderingly fresh.

I drank some choca pensively. “Could it really hurt me?”

“In dreams/memories, you can be hurt/pained/bruised, but dreamhurts do not become reality. On the dreamtrails, spirit and flesh of dreamer are one. Flying beast is not the only danger. Maybe H’rayka watches for chance to hurt/harm Innle. Watches for moment when Maruman is not watchful/wary.”

“But you could show me the doors?” I persisted.

The old cat merely coiled himself into a ball, and I knew there was no use in going on at him. He would raise the matter if he decided to show me the doors, or he would refuse to discuss it again. I did not know whether to be sorry or not. I was certainly in no hurry to risk the dreamtrails. But the likeness between the doors and Kasanda’s panels in Sador haunted me.

With a sigh, I finished my choca in a few greedy mouthfuls and sent to Gahltha that I was on my way.

Fian met me in the courtyard that led to the maze path. He confessed he had been lurking in wait. “I saw Ceirwan in th’ kitchen, an’ he said ye were goin’ down to Tor to see Garth,” the teknoguilder explained. “Would ye mind if I ride wi’ ye? I’m curious to see what they’ve bin doin’.”

Me too
, I thought. “Come if you like. I wanted to ask more about your time in Sador anyway. Dameon was well when you left him?”

Fian slipped on the melting crust of snow at the maze’s threshold and righted himself before answering. “I have never seen him look better nor be more fit. He spent much more time than I ridin’ about on those foul-tempered kamuli. ’Tis a funny thing about Sador. To start with, th’ sun is oppressive an’ ye can hardly bear it loomin’ over ye. But after a time, ye learn to move slow an’ to savor th’ lovely cool evenin’s, an’ ye discover th’ flowin’ robes worn by the Temple guardians are cool and soft. Ye learn to like the way they lick an’ flap at ye heels, an’ in th’ evenin’s, the dunes go from bone white to violet an’ rosy pink an’ deepest blue, an’ the tribesfolk’s fireside chant songs seem to fly over them.…” He fell silent.

“You sound as if you miss it.”

He gave me a quick look. “Ye know, I guess I do at that, though if ye’d predicted it when I was there, I’d have denied it. But th’ desert gans into yer blood.” He laughed. “But still th’ mountains are rooted deeper, an’ it’s glad I am to see them. I am even glad to see a bit of snow, for it dinna fall once in Sador during all th’ long wintertime.”

Fian’s words summoned up my own time in the desert
lands, and I could see them clearly in my mind’s eye.

“I’ve been hearin’ all about Miryum’s coercer-knights,” Fian said.

I groaned. “This Sadorian who claims to be betrothed to Miryum …”

“Straaka,” Fian said.

“Straaka,” I tried. The highlander corrected my pronunciation, rolling the
r
and lengthening the
a
sound. “I just can’t believe he would regard the few words he said to Miryum as a serious proposal. They had only just met, and she had hit him.”

Fian grinned. “No doubt that is why he proposed, for there is a streak of wild in th’ tribesfolk that makes them as volatile an’ sometimes violent in love as in hate.” The highlander sobered. “But Miryum ought to ken that Straaka regards th’ proposal as a serious bond. By Sadorian lore, she accepted him. But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Is that possible?”

“Straaka would ordinarily be here to bring Miryum back to bond with him. But his betrothal gift is now morally repugnant to him.”

“The horses?”

“Aye, them. Now th’ Sadorians are committed to fair an’ equal dealin’s between human folk an’ beasts, Straaka feels th’ giving of them as not only a shame on him but a grievous insult to Miryum. He has brought th’ horses here personally—escorted them, he says—because he wants to explain to her why th’ gift is withdrawn an’ ask what she will have in their place.”

“You mean …”

“That he expects her to name another gift he can gan to replace th’ first, an’ it has to be a difficult enough thing to obtain to restore his honor. If she simply spurns him, he will take it
that his shame is too great to be wiped away, no matter how she puts it, an’ he will have no choice but to kill himself.”