The Seeker

by Isobelle Carmody

  “Yes, I …,” I began, but Rushton waved his hand urgently. We both listened, and this time I heard something, too—the sound of running footsteps.

  “Lud take it! I think they have discovered that you are missing. That was surely a coach I heard some while back. The Councilmen must have changed their minds about waiting in Guanette until morning. We have to get you out of the house now, or you will be trapped.”

  There was a loud knock on the door, and we both froze in horror. Rushton tore his coat off and gestured me toward the shuttered window, behind which lay a balcony. It was snowing hard outside. I pulled the door nearly shut and pressed my ear up against it.

  “All right, all right,” Ruston called grumpily after a second knock. “What is it?”

  “Still dressed?” I heard Ariel ask him suspiciously.

  “I was reading in front of the fire. I fell asleep,” Rushton said casually. “What’s going on? I heard a commotion.”

  “One of the Misfits has escaped,” Ariel said. “Elspeth Gordie. Skinny girl with dark hair and a proud look. Sly bitch.” There was a pause, and when Ariel spoke again, his voice was full of mistrust. “In fact, you must know her. She has been working on the farms.”

  My heart thumped wildly.

  “I know the one you mean,” Rushton said with a smothered yawn. “Quick with the horses but insolent. Anyway, why all the fuss over one Misfit? Lots more where she came from,” he said coolly.

  “The Council has sent some men here after her. She’s wanted for questioning,” Ariel said evasively.

  “She’ll be dead before morning if she’s out in it. Storm’s nearly on top of us.”

  “I don’t doubt she will die,” Ariel said viciously. “I have let the wolves out.”

  “A bit drastic, don’t you think?” Rushton drawled through another yawn. “I suppose you want me to help look for her.”

  “You are paid to work,” Ariel snarled.

  There was a long pause. “I am paid to manage the farms,” Rushton said at last, his voice cool. “But I might as well come. Otherwise I’ll be up all night listening to your beasts.”

  “Good. It’s snowing, so you’d better put on boots and a coat. I’ll come back for you,” he added imperiously. There was the sound of footsteps and the outer door closing; then I heard Rushton’s voice.

  “You can come in. He’s gone.”

  I obeyed, shivering with cold. “He sounded suspicious,” I said worriedly, but Rushton shook his head.

  “He’s always like that. But Alexi must want you badly to conduct a search while the Councilmen are here. Though I doubt very much that he has any intention of handing you over.” Howling sounded in the distance, and he scowled. “We can’t go out the front gate now, but there is one other way to get to the farms: pipes running under the maze. It is a foul labyrinth and hard going, but you are small enough to fit. The problem is there will be dogs in the courtyard, barring the way.”

  “Dogs or wolves?” I asked, my heartbeat quickening with hope.

  “Half breeds and a few pure wolves Ariel has cowed enough that they will obey him,” Rushton said in open disgust. “Why?”

  “I … I can control them,” I offered hesitantly. “With my mind.”

  Rushton nodded slowly, and instead of the astonishment I had expected, there was a touch of humor in his eyes. “You can control these beasts? You know they have been tormented near to madness and only obey Ariel out of terror and hunger?”

  “I can manage them,” I insisted with more certainty than I felt, knowing there was no other choice but to try, and the longer I stayed, the more dangerous it was for Rushton. Yet I hesitated.

  “Before … when you caught me, you said you would kill me if I didn’t cooperate,” I said in a low voice. “Did you mean it?”

  Rushton looked at me with the same unreadable expression I had seen on his face that day in the barn.

  “It would have been safer for me if I could have,” he said at last. “Best for my friends and for yours. If you are caught, you will reveal my role in your escape, for no one resists Alexi. And if the Council gets you, the Herders will make you talk. Alive you are a danger to all I have planned.”

  “Is your plan so important, then?” I asked softly.

  “More than you could possibly imagine,” Rushton answered simply.

  I stared at his troubled face and willed myself to be strong. “Tell me the way through to the farms. I will not betray you. And I will manage the wolves.” Or die trying, I thought.

  “The drains run from the courtyard to the farms and are like a maze themselves, but they were not designed to confuse. Remember to always take the right turn and you will be safe. To get from here to the courtyard, you will have to use the tunnels. I am not so certain about them. My mother told me of them, but she had never seen them herself, and I have had little opportunity to explore.” He explained about the tunnels, then looked up warily as footsteps echoed past his door.

  “When you get to the farms, keep to the walls. The storm will be much worse by then, and if you get lost, you will die. Follow the walls to the farthest silo. The door will be open. Hide there until I come.”

  “But … but is that all? For that I am to risk wild beasts and capture?” I asked.

  “You risk no more than I,” Rushton said coldly.

  “But what if you don’t come? Where is the refuge you mentioned?” I faltered.

  He shook his head regretfully. “Understand this. I have already told you too much. If I tell you any more and you are caught, I will endanger others. It is my decision to risk my life for you. I will not decide that for them.”

  Chastened, I nodded, for what he said was surely the truth.

  “You do not know what an irony it would be if you betrayed me,” Rushton said cryptically, moving to the door. He pressed his ear against the dark wood and listened before opening the door and looking out. He motioned for me to go into the hall. “Go quickly. Ariel will be coming from the other direction. I will try to direct the search toward the front of the house.” Rushton looked into my eyes, and I marveled at how green his were. Like deep forest pools.

  “Perhaps someday we will have the chance to talk properly,” he said. “There are many things I would like—”

  He stopped abruptly. We could hear footsteps again. “Go quickly,” he said urgently.

  “Goodbye,” I whispered as I slipped away from him and descended into the darkness.

  23

  I FELT MY way along the hidden passage, walking as carefully as possible, but there were several unpleasant crunches under foot that made me wonder what I was treading on. The smell and the veils of dusty cobwebs I pushed through told me that the tunnel had not been used for a very long time, and I wondered again how Rushton had known about it. The darkness was total, and I only hoped there was not a fork or turning I had missed.

  Then I heard voices coming from the other side of a wall. I stopped and listened.

  “She must be found,” said a voice. “If it weren’t for the Council …” It was Madam Vega.

  “I am glad they came,” said Alexi. “They have shown me that she is the one we have been seeking.”

  Ariel spoke. “She won’t get past my hounds.”

  “I want her found, not torn to pieces. That affair with the other girl was quite unnecessary. You are a barbarian,” Alexi added, almost as if he found that amusing.

  “She will be found alive,” Madam Vega promised soothingly.

  It terrified me to hear her certainty. It did not enter any of their heads that I might get away.

  “The beasts have been trained to mutilate,” said Ariel sulkily. “They kill only on command.”

  “She must not be allowed to die,” said Alexi in a flat voice that sent ice into my blood. “It might be years till another like her is found. A pity we wasted so much time on that last defective. I was so certain, but she had only minor abilities after all.”

  They passed out of my hearing, and des
pairingly, I knew they meant Cameo. What had they done to her?

  I forced myself to continue. The tunnel seemed endless, but after some time I bumped headlong into a stone wall. I gave an involuntary cry as I staggered back, and then stopped to listen anxiously, fearful that someone might have heard.

  “Greetings,” came a thought.

  My body sagged with relief and astonishment. “Sharna?” I asked incredulously.

  “I dreamed you were in danger, so I came,” he sent. “If you make yourself low, you can come through the wall.”

  I did as he suggested and felt a low gap in the wall. I reached my hand through it and brushed the soft scratchiness of a tapestry. I had never noticed it before, but when I crawled past it, I saw that I had come out in the kitchen pantry.

  Sharna pressed his nose against my leg as I emerged, and I remembered what he had said.

  “What did you dream about me?” I asked.

  “I dreamed your life has a purpose that must be fulfilled, for the sake of all beasts,” he answered.

  It was late at night, and I squinted into the darkness of the kitchen, trying to see his face and thinking of the dreams Maruman had experienced in which I had figured. The old cat had always insisted that my life was important to the beastworld and that it was his task to aid me and keep me safe. But I had taken this as something he had imagined in his disturbed periods.

  Sharna interrupted my reflections to ask how he could help. I explained that I had to get out of the kitchen and into the courtyard adjacent to the maze. From there, I could reach the farms.

  “There are beasts in the yard,” Sharna returned, projecting an image of huge doglike shapes moving about, sniffing at the wall and the maze gate.

  “I know. I will talk to them and ask them to let me pass,” I said.

  “They will not hear you,” Sharna warned. “They were once wild wolf cubs, but they were caught by the funaga-li and made mad with rage. There is a red screaming in their heads that stops them from being able to hear anything but their own fury. Best to come back when they are locked up.”

  “I have to pass them now,” I sent. “Maybe I can find a way to distract them long enough for me to get into the drain.”

  There was a long pause while he ruminated. “I will go to them,” he told me at last. “Innle must be shielded.” I started, because “Innle” was what Maruman sometimes called me when he spoke of my appearances in his dreams. It meant “one who seeks” in beast thoughtsymbols, and I had always thought it some queer term of affection.

  “Come,” Sharna commanded, crossing the kitchen. I followed down a short corridor and unlocked the outer door, opening it only a crack. The chill of wintertime bit deep into my skin. Then I saw the glimmer of red eyes and heard a low, savage growling that filled me with icy fear.

  “Greetings, sudarta,” Sharna sent, flattering them with a title that applauded their strength. It seemed to have no effect on them.

  Sharna turned to me, his own eyes gleaming. “Do not go until I tell you. While you wait, find with your eyes the place you must go.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to the door, nosed it open, and began to make an odd, low thrumming sound that vibrated in his throat. Beyond the door, I saw the red eyes withdraw.

  “Sharna, what …?” I began, but suddenly the old dog launched himself from the door and raced across the yard toward the wolves. Only then did I understand that he had not meant to persuade them to let me pass.

  “Sharna!” I screamed. “Don’t—”

  “Go!” he commanded. The primitive snarling of the wolves sent a primeval shudder through my body. I heard Sharna taunting them, calling them away from my exit.

  Trembling so hard I could scarcely walk, I stepped into the courtyard and stood for a moment, paralyzed with fear at the sight of the wolves falling on Sharna.

  “Go!” he shouted again into my thoughts. A madness of terror roared through me as one set of red eyes turned to me and the beast uttered a growl. I flew across the courtyard, tore away the drain cover, and flung myself into the round opening behind it. Terrified one of the wolves would follow, I wriggled mindlessly along the pipe, imagining snapping jaws closing on my foot and dragging me backward.

  I heard a howl of pain and stopped my mad flight. I was horrified to realize that I had left Sharna to his savage brethren.

  “Go!” Sharna cried yet again, and I felt him weakening. I knew then that even if I could turn and go back, I could not help him. He had sacrificed himself for me, and I had not realized it until too late. Sick with shame and despair, I continued, but more slowly, for aside from the narrowness of the tunnel and the darkness, I was half suffocated by my tears.

  In the end, I had to stop and gather myself before I could go on. The crawl through the network of pipes was such a long, cold, exhausting journey that, by the time I reached its end, sorrow and guilt over Sharna had given way to sheer dogged determination to make use of the chance he had paid for with his life.

  My trousers had shredded at the knees and my palms were so raw and painful that I did not even realize I had reached the end until I tumbled out into the soft, cold snow. Gasping, I lay in the drift for a long moment, panting and weeping, but it was too cold to stay there long. My tears were already freezing on my cheeks. I managed to stand and look about, but it was impossible to tell whether it was still night, for there was nothing to see but the blinding white of the flying snow, which was a kind of darkness, too. Squinting, I tried to make out the shape of the silo, but I could not see more than two steps in front of me, and I dared not move away from the wall.

  In the end, I had no choice but to climb painfully back into the hated drain, wrap myself in the coat Rushton had given me, and wait until I could see the silo. It was only slightly warmer inside, and because I lay there motionless, the icy cold soon crept into my bones. I thought of the fever I had only just thrown off, and prayed it would not return.

  After a long time, the snow seemed to lessen. I still could not see the silo, but made out a shape that seemed to be the back of the milking barn. Far better to be inside it than in the drain, I decided, and I slid out into the snow. My limbs felt stiff and unwieldy, and when I tried to step forward, my legs were so slow to obey me that I fell headlong into the snow. Cursing and weeping with frustration, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to rise again. Then I began to hobble carefully toward the barn. The snow slowed, and for a moment, eerily, the moon reflected on it. Or perhaps it was a veiled sun. I saw then that it was not the milking barn ahead, but another, smaller shed I did not recognize.

  It began to snow hard again. I did not change direction, because I knew that I could not be outside for much longer without falling into a deadly lethargy that would have me lie down and die, imagining I was in a warm feather bed. Reaching the shed, I found that snow had blown against it in great drifts. I had stumbled all around it before I realized with despair that the door must be buried in snow.

  “Who is there?” called a voice. I staggered in a circle, trying to see who had called out.

  “Is someone there?” the voice called again, marginally closer.

  “I am here,” I called, all at once terrified of being left alone. I saw a flash of light and broke into a shuffling run toward it.

  “Who is it?” asked the voice, much closer now. Suddenly a face appeared in front of me out of the swirling whiteness. I knew him. It was an unsmiling Misfit my age named Domick. I had sometimes seen him with Rushton, I remembered, and the thought reassured me.

  “Elspeth Gordie?” He held the lantern up to my face. “What are you doing here?”

  I stood in the midst of the storm, my mind reeling. What could I say? What possible reason could I have for wandering around on the farms? The silence between us lengthened, and I saw suspicion form on Domick’s face.

  At last he said, “Well, you had better come back with me. We’ll talk where it’s warmer.”

  He struck off to the right, and I followed him closely unti
l we reached a squat, sturdy building I had not seen before.

  “What is this place?” I asked through chattering teeth.

  Domick bundled me through the door. “The watch-hut,” he said shortly, and hustled me across to the fire. He hauled off my snow-crusted coat and threw a thick blanket around my shoulders, then he piled more wood on the fire.

  “Are you numb anywhere?” he asked. Wordlessly, I pointed to my feet. He wrestled off my boots, grimacing at the bloody mess of my knees. Both feet were white and bloodless.

  “Frostbite,” muttered Domick, and he began to rub them vigorously. In a short while, sensation returned with burning, painful clarity. Only when I was writhing with pain did he stop.

  “You were lucky. Don’t you know anything about frostbite? You could have lost a foot if you’d left them that way,” he scolded.

  I shuddered.

  He gave me a bowl of warm water to bathe my knees and palms, and when I had finished, he pressed a mug full of soup into my hand. Then he fixed me with a disconcerting stare. “Well, what are you doing out here?” he asked.

  I sipped at the soup, then looked up at him. “I’ve run away,” I said, for there was no other answer.

  He nodded. “How did you get past the maze?”

  I sipped again at the drink, trying to think what to say. Though I had seen them together, I couldn’t risk giving away Rushton’s part in my escape.

  “I … found some drainpipes that go under the maze,” I said at last, lamely.

  Suspicion hardened in his face. “I will have to report you,” he said coldly. “But there is the storm. I’ll lock you in until someone comes from the house.”

  He put me into a small room and locked the door behind him. I decided I would stay until the storm abated and Domick slept, then I would open the lock and find my way to the silo. In the meantime, there was a sacking bed in one corner. I climbed onto it gratefully, and not even my fear and despair at all that had happened could keep me awake.

  24