Wavesong

by Isobelle Carmody

  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.”

  Brydda’s eyes glinted with amusement and admiration. “During the rebellion, I thought that Zarak had the makings of a fine strategist, and now I am sure of it.” He sobered. “If you will take my advice, we should go directly to Sutrium tomorrow and leave Saithwold alone for the time being.”

  I shook my head. “I promised Zarak.”<
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  Brydda sighed. “It may not be a bad thing. You can spread the word in Saithwold that Dardelan knows what is happening, so people there won’t do anything rash. If you don’t object to riding back along the main road, I could ride with you as far as the blockade. I doubt that whoever is manning the barrier will refuse you entry, knowing that I will witness it. But you will have to coerce yourself out again if they are really preventing people from leaving.”

  “I will do it if we need to, but why must we go to Saithwold by the main road? It would be quicker to go via Kinraide and Berrioc.”

  “It would,” Brydda agreed, “but I need to speak with a rebel who lives just after the Sawlney turnoff before I go back to Sutrium. It would not take long, and we can just go on from there to Saithwold.”

  I opened my mouth to agree with the change of route when a cold premonition of danger flowed through me. At the same moment, Kella, Katlyn, and Dragon emerged from the house laden with platters of food. Brydda leapt up to help them set the plates on the trestle and to fetch more lanterns. By the time this was done to Katlyn’s satisfaction, the premonition had faded.

  Louis and Zarak returned red-cheeked from their walk as we were sitting down to eat, and Zarak explained that there had been little talk in Rangorn about the blockade outside Saithwold. The gossip was all of Zamadi’s men and the soldierguards stationed on the opposite bank of the Lower Suggredoon.

  Listening to his description of the camps, I realized that if both riverbanks were heavily guarded even this high upstream, it would be impossible to enter or emerge from the Suggredoon, even in a plast suit, unless there was a diversion. But it would have to be some thing very clever, since the Councilmen and soldier guards would expect just such a trick.

  As we ate, the moon rose and a chill wind began blowing at our backs. But the fire gave off waves of delicious warmth, and we shifted to sit around it as we finished the meal with slices of plum tart. Only then did I think to ask Brydda about the ship burning. I told him what Garth had said, and he nodded.

  “It would be impossible for a ship to come into port, decant enough men to set fire to the ships being built, and then vanish, all without anyone noticing anything; therefore, we know that the raiders did not come by ship.”

  I stared at him. “You mean someone from the Land destroyed them?”

  He nodded grimly.

  “But who would do such a thing? And why?” Kella cried.

  Brydda shook his head. “As to why, most of the Council of Chieftains believe the ships were destroyed to prevent us from landing a fighting force on the west coast. But since the shipbuilding began again as soon as the debris was cleared, nothing was accomplished but a delay. Dardelan thinks that might have been the reason for the burnings.”

  “A delay?” I echoed. “To what end?”

  Brydda shrugged. “Maybe to give the Council more time to prepare their defenses, or maybe to allow time for some other plan to unfold. Maryon’s futuretelling about trouble on the west coast all but confirms it, and there is no doubt that our enemies are plotting to regain this part of the Land.”

  “But who burned the ships?” Kella repeated her earlier question. “The Councilmen and all soldierguards who did not die or escape over the Suggredoon are in prison or working on Councilfarms, and all of the Herders left.”

  “They are to be called community farms now,” Brydda explained. “It may be that some Herders or soldierguards did not leave, either by accident or design, and are now bent on working against us so that their masters can return. Or maybe the saboteurs are people who have lost power or property since the rebellion and want things back the way they were.”

  “The sabotage couldn’t have anything to do with Malik, could it?” I asked.

  Brydda met my eyes. “It occurred to me, but how would it serve Malik to have the ships burned? More likely he would want them completed sooner, knowing that Dardelan will insist upon taking part in any west coast landing, where he might be killed or injured or simply fail.”

  The others began talking more generally of the elections, and I told Zarak what Brydda had said about Saithwold. As expected, he was still determined to go there, but he agreed that it was worth the extra time to go back via the Sawlney turnoff if it meant that Brydda would escort us to the blockade.

  “Brocade will likely be reelected chieftain of Sawlney,” Brydda said, answering a question from Zarak a little later. “He has spent a good bit of time currying favor with powerful farm holders in his region. In truth, his election would not necessarily be bad. Brocade openly opposes the Beast Charter, but he dislikes violence and is moderate in other areas.”

  “Who do ye predict will be made chieftain of Darthnor?” Louis asked, no doubt thinking of his friend Enoch, the old coachman who dwelt on a small property in Darthnor with Rushton’s defective half brother, Stephen Seraphim.

  “Lydi may win, but the locals are divided between him and one of their own, Webben. He is a mine overseer who wants the road to the west reopened. He is constantly making representations to the Council of Chieftains, demanding that they negotiate with the west coast, despite the fact that we have no means of communicating with them, nor the slightest indication that they desire it. Do you know the man?”

  “I do,” Louis grunted. “He dislikes Misfits but mayhap more out of Darthnor tradition than any real conviction.”

  “Is there no possibility of Bergold being elected?” I asked.

  Brydda shook his head. “He is thought to be too…eccentric. In any case, he has not put his name forward.”

  I said nothing, for it suddenly seemed to me that, for the beasts and Misfits, it did not matter who won each town’s election, so long as Dardelan was returned as high chieftain, for his honesty and ideals would influence the rest.

  At last, Darius rose slowly with a groan, saying he needed to sleep. Watching him hobble away, I saw that he moved a good deal more stiffly than before. I mentioned it to Kella, who explained that his joints were becoming inflamed from the wagon’s jostling. She rose, saying that she would see if he would allow her to drain off some of his pain. After she had gone, Katlyn told us that the healer had twice on this journey performed the service for the gypsy healer, though he had protested each time.

  “Maybe he feels a man ought to bear his own pain,” Brydda said.

  “Or he is afraid of becoming dependent on the relief she offers,” I countered.

  “It might not be pride or fear of dependency that makes him refuse her help,” Katlyn said, regarding both of us with slight exasperation. Before I could ask what she meant, she rose, kissed her son, and bade us all good night. She held out her hand to Dragon, who went with her, yawning like a cat. She neglected to look back at me with especial dislike, and I felt unexpectedly cheered. Perhaps this trip would at least lessen her dislike of me, even if it did not restore her memory. Maybe I had made a mistake in trying to make her remember our friendship and all along ought to have been trying to form a new one.

  Brydda rose to get more wood for the fire, and Louis and Zarak packed up the meal and carried away the dishes to wash them in a bucket of water drawn from the well. I stayed where I was, for Maruman had crept into my lap during the meal and had fallen asleep. I did not want to disturb him, because he had been unusually subdued all day, either sleeping or simply gazing at the passing world from Kella’s lap or my shoulder, offering few of his usual acerbic asides. And he had not even once glared at the moon, now glowing overhead. I looked up at it, as yellow and ripe as a wheel of cheese, and thought again of the premonition I had experienced earlier that night.

  5

  “I HAVE SOME Sadorian choca,” Brydda said, jolting me from my reverie as he dropped an armful of wood beside the fire. “Would you like a mug before you go to bed?”

  “Is the sky wide?” I asked dryly.

  Brydda threw back his head and laughed. He knew as well as I that the delicious, sweet brown powder was both scarce and violently expensive now that Sadoria
n ships no longer docked at Sutrium. The Sadorian tribal leaders had ruled that neither of the two precious remaining greatships would make port at the Land until Salamander ceased preying on ships that sailed into Sutrium. Their policy of nonaggression meant that they would not engage Salamander’s notorious Black Ship in battle unless he attacked Sador, and as far as I knew, he had never even landed there. This meant that choca and other Sadorian luxuries had to be transported by the difficult coastal route or carried by smaller vessels daring or greedy enough to brave the hidden shoals close to shore, where Salamander’s larger vessel could not venture.

  Brewing the choca carefully, Brydda explained that it had been a gift to him from Bruna, Jakoby’s head-strong daughter.

  “Has she returned to the Land on horseback, then?” I asked with some surprise.

  Brydda shot me an enigmatic look. “She never left. After the destruction of the Zephyr, when Jakoby departed by land, Bruna stayed. She has been an honored guest in Dardelan’s house ever since. Bruna’s mother sent the choca.”

  Brydda handed me the fragrant brown liquid and asked if I had brought the plast suit Dardelan requested. I nodded, explaining that it was laid flat in a special compartment constructed within the wagon’s base and that, although the specially treated plast was impervious to taint over a certain period, the fabric was nonetheless very fragile. I asked openly if Dardelan meant to use it to smuggle a spy across the Suggredoon.

  Brydda looked at me like Garth had. “Dardelan had thought of asking you or another coercer to swim across the river and spy for us. We had even begun planning the diversion of all diversions, but then we learned that all soldierguards guarding the other bank wear demon bands.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. Not long before the rebellion, the Herder priests had created demon bands to prevent Misfits from coercing or farseeking their wearers, but only upper-rank priests and a few Councilmen and soldierguard captains had ever worn them. “You can’t mean that everyone guarding the other bank has a demon band?” I asked, thinking I must have misunderstood.