The Keeping Place

by Isobelle Carmody

  “We should not stay too long,” she said, looking around uneasily. “It is not safe in here.”

  I had an image of the airlock giving way before a great dark gush of water that would smash the monument into lethal spikes of glass, against which the plast suits would be no protection. But I refused to let fear hasten my examination of the monument. I knew I would never have another opportunity.

  Fian’s translation of a line of Kasanda’s message came into my mind: “That key which must be [used/ found] [before all else] is [with/given/sent to?] she who first dreamed of the searcher—the hope beyond the darkness to come.”

  Surely the plaque was a paraphrasing of these very words, and if so, whomever the statue was dedicated to—the “one who” saw the future—was also the “she” referred to in Kasanda’s message. And if the creator of the statue and dark-skinned Cassy of my dreams were one and the same, then it was almost a certainty that the “she” in question was Hannah Seraphim.

  The trouble was that even if I could guess that Hannah had possessed some key, I was still no closer to learning its whereabouts.

  Unless the key was somehow contained within the monument.

  A thrill of excitement ran through me at the thought that Cassy might have sent the key to Hannah—perhaps secretively, given that Govamen must have been watching Hannah closely.

  I circled the monument for the seventh time, searching for niches and crannies. Unfortunately, if anything was concealed in or on the statue, I could not find it.

  I froze as a long, ominous cracking sound rent the silence, followed by the sound of something snapping. Then all was quiet again.

  “Elspeth…,” Zadia said anxiously.

  I glared at the statue helplessly, willing it to reveal its secrets; but it remained transparently beautiful, utterly mute. There was another creak, and cursing under my breath, I turned to Zadia and nodded my readiness to go. Looking infinitely relieved, she grabbed my hand and all but dragged me down the steps to where the air hoses were fixed. Thrusting one at me, she pulled her own about her neck and positioned her goggles. I did the same, all the while looking back longingly toward the nearly invisible statue.

  Zadia swam ahead, looking relieved to see me emerge through the metal doorframes. We swam back through the trees and along the black road, following the horizontal rope, collecting glow bulbs as we went. Watching the teknoguilder remove her belt and lay it in a weighted basket attached to another rope, I was already regretting that I had let fear pull me from the foyer.

  Zadia gave me a look of inquiry, and I realized she was holding on to the rope and waiting for me to remove my weight belt. I did so, at the same time turning to cast a final look around. It was impossible to imagine that once people had walked here and smiled and talked, yet so they must have done. Hannah had walked along this very street, and maybe Jacob Obernewtyn as well.

  Wearily, I turned back to Zadia, but she was no longer looking at me. Her attention was riveted to something over my shoulder, and I turned with a thrill of terror, half expecting to find one of the aggressive eels that dwelt in the depths.

  But there was nothing. I calmed down, and only then did I realize what she had seen. Through the wavering water trees, a great cloud of dirt and filth was visible in the distance, rising up along with huge, shining bubbles of air. I did not need Zadia to tell me that the airlock had given way.

  She gripped my arm with trembling fingers and pulled me to face her, gesturing determinedly upward. I nodded, and we released the rope and began to float swiftly up. Taking my cue from the teknoguilder, I caught the rope and rested whenever she did, but in what seemed bare minutes, we had risen above the swaying submarine forest. Then I could look above and follow the snaking hoses to a patch of light far above. It grew larger and closer, and white blobs appeared, resolving into faces peering into the depths.

  Bursting into the air, I spat the hose out and sucked in several long, sweet breaths of fresh air. Roland and Garth caught hold of me and dragged me none too gently onto the rubble island.

  Garth glared at me, his face a pasty white. “Curse you, Elspeth. You near sent me to my grave!”

  I tried to stand and found my legs would not support my weight. Roland caught me. “Are you all right?” he shouted, as if he thought I might be deaf as well as weak.

  “I…I’m fine,” I panted. “I just feel so…so strange.”

  “It takes you like that before you grow accustomed to it,” Zadia said. She was puffing, too, but she seemed not to be suffering the same dreadful lethargy that had suddenly overtaken me. The other divers rolled me out of the suit expertly and threw blankets around me.

  “A hot drink, and you’ll be good as new,” one of them said with a grin that told me my mad venture had made me one of them, despite my status.

  “We saw a great mass of debris and air bubbles and feared that the airlock had collapsed with you inside the building,” Garth said fiercely.

  “We were outside when it happened, obviously,” Zadia commented mildly, pressing a mug of steaming liquid into my numb fingers.

  Garth looked horrified. “Are you saying the lock did fail?”

  Zadia nodded, and Garth looked from one to the other of us in helpless fury. I gave him a bland look, thinking it served him right. I knew exactly how he felt, having been all too often faced with teknoguilder determination that disregarded all else but its own desire.

  “Let’s get outside,” I said. “I need to see the sky.”

  31

  IT WAS NIGHT when we emerged into the open, and I was reminded of the man from the cloister cells as I looked up at the stars. They dwarfed me, but I was glad to be diminished by their greatness.

  The waxing crescent of the moon hung above the trees. It was the same moon that had lit the clearing the night of Malik’s betrayal, the same moon that had witnessed the end of the Beforetime. No wonder it seemed so remote and cold. How small and ugly humanity must seem to it.

  “What in blazes is going on?” Garth muttered.

  I followed his gaze to the campsite, which lay just visible beyond a clump of trees. A huge bonfire blazed at the center of what seemed to be a great crowd of people.

  “The gypsies have accepted our invitation,” Roland said, and hurried ahead.

  “Hmph,” Garth grunted, though it was unclear if this signified approval or not.

  As we drew closer, I smelled cooking food and burning wood, and I could hear the thin strains of musicians tuning their instruments. Every sound and smell seemed vivid after the chilling graveyard that was the underwater city, and despite my fear that I had failed Atthis and Kasanda, I could not help but feel a thrill of joy that I lived.

  The minute we were in sight, Zarak came running over. “We have prepared the most incredible feast, but Swallow wouldn’t let anyone eat a morsel until you came. I’m starving!” He frowned. “Your hair is wet….”

  “Enough talk! Lead me to the food, boy, for I am famished!” Garth declared, propelling the Farseeker ward before him.

  “Elaria!” a voice cried, and Swallow’s grandmother, the tiny white-haired healer, hobbled from the crowd to take my hands in hers. “It is good to see you; though now you look more Landborn than gypsy. And as troubled as ever.” Her eyes passed about me rather than resting on me—a disconcerting habit shared by every Twentyfamilies I’d encountered. I was glad for my sleeves, which hid that I no longer bore the gypsies’ tattoo.

  “It is good to see you again, Maire,” I said. “I had hoped to find you all at Obernewtyn when I returned from Sutrium.”

  She shook her grizzled head. “Twentyfamilies do not dwell within walls nor under roofs. We have lived like this for so long now that I suspect we could not live any other way.” She made a sweeping gesture encompassing sky, forest, and mountains. “What palace or mansion could better this roof, these walls?”

  A hand descended on my shoulder, and I turned to look into the familiar face and strange two-colored eyes of Swallow’s half s
ister, Iriny. For a few heartbeats, we stared at one another solemnly; then she said, “I never thanked you proper-like for saving me all that time ago.”

  “There is no need for thanks,” I said. “Especially when your people just saved our lives.”

  “Maybe that’s why I can finally thank you. It should have been said sooner, but it’s hard for us halfbreeds. And for a long while, I could not see the saving of my life as any good fortune.”

  “You were mourning your bondmate,” I said.

  “I will ever mourn him,” she admitted. “But I have learned to love life again. I am glad anyway to have lived to see the end of the Great Divide and my brother assume the role of D’rekta.”

  “If only he would bond a maid,” Maire snapped.

  A faint smile passed over Iriny’s face. “He knows his duty, Grandmother,” she said fondly.

  “Elaria!” Swallow called, and I turned to see him on the other side of the fire with Dameon.

  “Go,” Maire said, giving me a little push. “He is eager to speak with you. Sit, and we will serve the food.”

  “I am glad to see you,” Swallow said, standing to offer me his own stool. Knowing a little of gypsy manners, I accepted, and he waved for another to be brought.

  “Well, now,” he said, reseating himself. “I have heard that these rebels have won the Land up to the Suggredoon, but they have lost what lies beyond it, and now no one may pass over to the west coast. A pretty mess.”

  I nodded. “They have lost it for the time being, but I do not think they have any intention of losing it forever. It will take some time, though—we may have no news until after next winterime.”

  “You are worried for your people trapped there?”

  “Very much so. But worrying won’t help them.”

  “We must trust to their courage and wisdom,” Dameon said. “If it is possible to survive, then Merret will find a way.”

  “Dameon here has been telling me of Dardelan and his charter of laws.” Swallow smiled at the blind empath, who felt his regard and smiled, too.

  “I told you that not all of the rebels were like Malik,” I said.

  “Perhaps not, but in my deepest self, I doubt life for gypsies or Misfits will differ greatly under these rebels. People do not easily relinquish their scapegoats, for if they accept us, who will they blame for their misfortunes?”

  I shrugged. “I have to hope change is possible; otherwise, why strive at all? But change won’t come easily, and maybe there will always be some places it is better not to go. Yet I think you will find that some areas do change, depending on which rebel rules them. If Dardelan runs Sutrium, as I think he will, gypsies and Misfits will receive fair treatment there.”

  “Better to continue to live warily everywhere,” Swallow said.

  Iriny interrupted to give Dameon and me platters laden with spiced vegetables and covered in a delicious-smelling sauce. I was feeling almost dizzy with hunger. The divers had spoken of their appetite after dives, and I marveled that my own, shorter immersion had the same effect.

  One of the other gypsies came up to speak with Swallow, and between mouthfuls, I took the opportunity to ask Dameon where Gavyn was.

  “He went trailing after Darius hours ago,” the Empath guildmaster said. “He seemed quite drawn to the old man.”

  “What did Darius make of the boy?”

  “He did not say, but they went off together to where the horses are grazing. Rasial went, too. ‘Following Gavyn like a pale shadow’ was how Zarak described it.” The empath shook his head. “It is a curious thing, but there are times when I cannot tell the boy apart from Rasial. It is understandable in Rasial’s case, for my beast empathy is very slight. But I have the same opaque sense of Gavyn….” He trailed off, clearly troubled by his inability to express himself more accurately. “His…affinity with animals has nothing to do with Talent. It is as if he aligns with them somehow, as if he is not quite human.”

  “These Talents your people have,” Swallow said, having heard the last words. “I am interested to know more about them, for as you know, my people also have abilities not possessed by ordinary folk.”

  “Your people can futuretell,” I said.

  He nodded. “They can, though we call it seering. And we can scry out truth and lies when people speak.”

  “Truly?” Dameon murmured.

  Swallow smiled in his wicked way. “Well, it’s more of a trick than a Talent. We have learned how to see and read the patterns of energy that hover about all things. One can read many things in the fluctuations of pattern and color as a person speaks. Seeing is the easy part, though. Anyone could be trained to it, I think. The real ability lies in learning to read and interpret, and that’s a lot of long, hard work.”

  Auras, I thought incredulously. Surely he was speaking of seeing auras with his ordinary eyes.

  “What else can your people do?” Roland asked. He had been standing, but now he brought a stool and came closer.

  Swallow frowned. “Naught but those two things and healing, although we have an affinity for beasts. But I think that rises from our love of and our respect for them. We cannot beastspeak.”

  Roland explained that only some Misfits knew how to beastspeak but that all of us could communicate with animals using a form of signal language. Swallow grew excited at this, and for a time, the conversation centered on Brydda and his fingerspeech.

  Someone came to refill our plates and pour mugs of ale. I asked for water, though, ever preferring to have my wits solidly about me. Swallow tossed back a deep draft and said that he would like to learn the signal language but that his people would be on the move within the next few days.

  “There are matters that must be attended to on the west coast,” he said.

  “But you can’t get to the west,” Roland objected. “The whole of the Suggredoon from the coast to the Blacklands will be guarded on this side by rebels and on the other by soldierguards.”

  “The best guards are slack from time to time.”

  “If you’re determined, you’d best speak to Dardelan,” I said. “The rebel guards this side are like to think you a spy if you are caught trying to sneak by them.”

  “I don’t doubt we can elude clumsy Landfolk, but maybe I will speak to this young rebel. I’d like to get the measure of him.”

  “How will you get across the water?” Roland demanded. “A boat of any kind would make you an easy target, and you could not swim, for the water is poisonous.”

  Garth said, “Well, you could swim in tainted water with a diving suit, if you could keep your head out.”

  Everyone stared at the Teknoguildmaster.

  “Are you telling me diving suits would protect a person from being poisoned?” I asked.

  “For a limited time, if it were completely sealed and thick enough, yes.”

  “Brydda would be interested in this,” Roland said.

  “I am interested,” Swallow said with an imperious flash of his dark eyes. He looked at me. “You said before that you were in our debt. I would take one of these suits as fair discharge of that debt.”

  “You don’t understand,” Garth spluttered. “I do not have such a suit just lying about. It would have to be made and tested. That would take time.”

  “I am a patient man,” Swallow said, his saturnine features alight with purpose. “I will send someone to collect it once it is ready.”

  “This is madness,” Roland said.

  “Sometimes success demands a certain refined insanity,” the gypsy responded.

  A sudden burst of music made further discussion impossible. The gypsy musicians had finished their meal, and their first song was greeted by laughter and clapping from gypsies and Misfits alike. In no time, men and women were up dancing in the wild gypsy style. I saw Zadia hauled to her feet by one of the halfbreeds, and even Roland was drawn into the dance by a Twentyfamilies girl with a bewitching smile.

  At length, everyone had risen, leaving me alone with Swallow.<
br />
  “Will you dance?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  Rushton’s face rose in my memory, asking the same thing, and I shook my head. “I am not truly in the mood for dancing. But if you could bear a walk, I would like to see the monument your people have been constructing. I understand your camp is not far….”

  “It is being constructed within the cul-de-sac, but that is not more than an hour’s walk, if you are willing.”

  The rollicking music faded into the sounds of the night as we left the merry campfire scene behind. We walked some way without speaking; then I said, “This Red Queen’s country—do your people have maps of the journey from there to here?”

  “There was never any map. The D’rekta led us here by her visions.”

  “What about a diary?”

  “There is no written record, but there were songs. Some of the old people might recall the words.”

  “Perhaps when you come for the suit, you could bring me the words of these songs.”

  He looked at me. “You need no map to find the Red Queen’s land, if you are meant to find it,” he said.

  I blinked at him. “You really believe that no matter what you or I do or don’t do, we will end up where we need to be?”

  He nodded without hesitation.

  I sighed. “I have never found it easy to give myself into the hands of fate.”

  “I do not think it is a matter of giving,” Swallow said. “I see fate as more of a ruthless tyrant than a gentle supplicant.”

  “You think we have no choice?”

  “I think our choices are irrelevant. I also think that only a fool would try to pit his or her puny human will against fate.” His expression became more serious. “But even if it were possible, I would not fight my fate in this. It would be to turn my back on the ancient promises and to spurn everything that my life has meant, for I am as I am because of the D’rekta’s vision. Because of my obedience to it.”

  I realized the conversation was beginning to loop uselessly back on itself, and I wondered why I persisted in trying to get Swallow to name the ancient promises. I was more than certain that his D’rekta’s vision dealt with my quest to locate and disarm the weaponmachines, and the ancient promises were no more than a means to protect the signs and portents she had left for me—the Seeker.