Wavesong

by Isobelle Carmody

  My mind turned to Vos. If he had been any other rebel leader, I might have tried telling him the truth about Malik’s treachery and the pending invasion, but Vos would undoubtedly go straight to Malik to report what he had been told.

  “How…how long does it take for a demon band to cause harm…to a horse,” Kevrik asked, somewhat jerkily, and I realized he had hardly been listening to anything I had said since I had mentioned the taint inside the demon bands.

  I had to work to keep triumph from my voice when I answered. “I am not sure, but given that a horse is flesh and blood, as we are, it would take the same time as for a man. That is several months. Of course, that would depend on whether it had been worn constantly or not. A horse cannot take the band off at will, as a man can.” I did not quite succeed in hiding a renewed jab of anger.

  Kevrik said, “Vala is my horse and I care for her, no matter that you beastspeakers think yer the only ones to have any love fer beasts.”

  “We love them as friends and fellow beings. You love this mare as a possession,” I said coldly. Before he could say anything, I added, “But if you love her in any way, you will remove the band as often as possible.”

  There was a long silence, and then he said, “Is it true some of you Misfits can enter a person’s mind even if they are nowt near?”

  “Some Misfits can. It is called farseeking, but usually farseekers only communicate with other Misfits who have that ability. To farseek someone with no Talent is more difficult,” I added. In fact, it required both farseeking and coercive abilities to manage it, but I did not say so, because the perception among many un-Talents was that a Misfit could have only one ability, and it was always better to be underestimated by enemies. “But why do you care?” I asked. “We Misfits have given our word to the Council of Chieftains not to use our powers on any person, save those who are enemies and wish harm to us.”

  The wagon slowed as we drew near a wide gate with ornate carved posts, and I knew we had reached Vos’s homestead when the mare turned into it so willingly.

  “What if ye suspected harm was intended but could nowt be sure? Would a Misfit wait to see or penetrate a man’s mind to find out if he was an enemy?” Kevrik asked once the wagon was through the gate.

  “In such a circumstance, that Talent would be as a weapon. You might take out that knife in your sheath, if you thought a robber was stalking you. But you would not use it on him until you were certain he was a villain.”

  He nodded and said nothing more until we came in sight of another gate. This one led to a cobbled courtyard surrounded by fenced enclosures and various barns and outbuildings. Set back from these, in the midst of a smooth lawn, was a large rambling farmhouse with wide stone steps leading to a veranda and an ornate front door between two fluted stone columns. Kevrik stopped the carriage on the cobbles, then bade me wait while he announced my arrival to his master. It was again raining, but lightly, as he ran to the house, so I climbed down from the carriage and went to the mare. Despite being in contact, the band would not let me reach her mind, and I gazed into her long face and gentle eyes, wondering if she could tell I was the Seeker or whether that knowledge would only come to her when our minds touched. I murmured soft nonsense to her, and she put her ears forward in a friendly alert fashion that suggested Kevrik had probably spoken the truth when he said he cared for her.

  I examined her face and neck and listened to her heart, but there was no sign of the wasting sickness. The hair on her coat was not even rubbed under the demon band, which suggested that she had not worn it long. The catch was a simple hook, and only the fact that the mare was yet unhurt kept me from it—that and the certainty that Kevrik would remove the horse’s band and his own as soon as he could.

  The front door opened, and a group of armsmen spilled from the homestead into the rainswept yard.

  “What were you doing to the horse, Misfit?” demanded one of the armsmen brusquely.

  “I wanted to see if she showed any sign of wasting sickness,” I said truthfully. This was greeted with blank silence, which told me that although Kevrik had obviously reported that I was a beastspeaker, he had not mentioned what I had said about the demon bands. I said, “It is caused by demon bands if they are worn too long.”

  The anger in one or two faces gave way to apprehensive expressions, but most burst into rough laughter or jeered in disbelief. “Do not think to trick us into taking our bands off, Misfit,” said one man in a mocking voice. “We are not the fools you take us for.”

  I widened my eyes innocently. “You are wearing them, too?” Before any of them could speak, I asked, “Where is your chieftain? I have come to pay my respects to him.” I turned and marched across the yard to the door and through it. The armsmen, clearly sent to force me hence, crowded hurriedly after me, muttering and treading on one another’s toes.

  The front door led unexpectedly straight into an enormous front parlor. Here, rather absurdly, Vos sat upon an ornate chair on a raised dais. He wore a demon band that had been polished and set with jewels, his collar laid back so that it could be clearly seen. I wondered waspishly how he would feel when he realized what a pretty death it was. His narrow-jawed face made him look more ratlike than ever, despite his fine red-dyed robes and oiled hair. He observed me with such exaggerated disdain that I knew he hardly saw me at all for admiring his own posturing.

  “What is your business in this region, Misfit?” he demanded in his thin bullying voice.

  I made an exaggerated bow that anyone less arrogant would have perceived as a mockery, and said, “Good day, Chieftain Vos. My name is Ella. I am a Misfit but I prefer you to call me beastspeaker.” Vos reddened with anger, but before he could think what to say, I went on smoothly. “As to what I am doing here, that is nothing more than an accident.” I gave a light laugh. “You see, I was traveling to Sutrium when my friend Zarak expressed a desire to see his father, the beastspeaker Khuria who serves Sirrah Noviny. Saithwold was not much out of our way, but I feared encountering brigands. We were arguing the matter when the rebel Brydda Llewellyn heard us and offered to escort us to Saithwold. As it turned out, there was no need for him to bring us all the way because of the blockade you have set up near the main road. We meant to remain in Saithwold only a night, but, unfortunately, one of our party is now ill. Sirrah Noviny’s granddaughter has some skill in healing and seems to think it will take at least a sevenday and maybe two before he will be able to travel. It is a pity, but what can be done?”

  Vos scowled and a bold idea flashed into my mind. “I had not thought to come here today, but now that I am here, I wonder if there is any possibility of my sending a missive to Brydda Llewellyn with your next messenger to Sutrium. We were to meet him in a twoday or so, and I would let him know that we cannot now come to Sutrium so soon.”

  Vos gave me a cold smile. “I am sure that Sirrah Noviny had much to say to you and your friends about matters here that you are eager to report to the Black Dog.”

  I shrugged. “I do not know what you mean. In truth, I have had little chance to talk with Sirrah Noviny, for we arrived only yesterday, and my friend’s sickness has preoccupied all of us since then. Khuria and his master do complain somewhat about the barricade, to be sure, but I cannot see why when it is for their own protection. They ought to be glad of it, but in my experience, men do hate to be locked up as much as cats, even when it is for their own good. All the same, it seems to me they exaggerate its effect on their lives, for Zarak’s father said people cannot pass the blockade. But that is nonsense, for how else should Zarak and Darius and I have come to Saithwold?”

  “What did he say to that?” Vos asked.

  “More of the same. But it is the nature of old men to grumble, and I daresay they did not mean me to take it seriously.” I looked around as if distracted and said vaguely, “Well, I will see for myself how Saithwold is in these next sevendays, will I not?”

  “You will see what I permit,” Vos snapped.

  I pretended
to have mistaken the threat in his words for an offer.

  “You are most kind, Chieftain!” I gushed. “It would be very agreeable if you would allow your armsman to take me about in his wagon. Ours is unwieldy and Noviny has only a small uncovered cart, and there has been so much rain!”

  Vos was clearly confounded by my inability to realize that I was under threat, and I reminded myself to be careful not to overdo it. All that I said would be reported to Malik, who was far from a fool. It was enough that I had sown seeds of trouble concerning the demon bands. As the chieftain sat glowering at me, I gathered my wits and sent a probe roaming through the house, but I could not find a single mind to enter.

  Vos suddenly twisted his features into a gruesome parody of a smile. He had realized that it would be to his advantage to let me write an innocuous letter to Brydda, for he now announced that a rider bound for Sutrium would come first thing in the morning to collect my missive. My heart leapt in triumph, but I arranged my face in a mild expression of gratitude and bobbed a curtsy. “I thank you, Chieftain Vos. You are a man of courtesy, though I had heard it said you have no love for Misfits. I hope the armsman who brought me here can convey me back to Sirrah Noviny’s homestead, for my friends will be anxious.”

  Vos nodded curtly toward Kevrik, who stood amidst other armsmen to one side of the dais, his expression preoccupied.

  Outside, I discovered that the rain had again stopped. As I climbed into the wagon, I cast out another general farseeking probe. Once again, I could not locate a single unbanded mind. Either the armsmen and servants wore bands constantly, or they had donned them upon my arrival. I turned my thoughts to the letter I would scribe to Brydda. On the surface, it would praise Vos’s courtesy, and for good measure, I would scribe disparagingly of Noviny’s overreaction to the barricade, pointing out our own ease of entry as proof that he was wrong. But as soon as Brydda saw the pricks I would make in the page, he would recognize the language Dameon used to scribe messages, and soon after that, they would know about the invasion. I could hardly wait to get back to Noviny’s farm.

  Kevrik suddenly asked, “Did ye speak true about the demon bands?”

  “I did,” I answered. I thought he would ask other questions, having broken the silence, but he lapsed back into frowning reverie. By the time we reached the town, it was beginning to rain again. My initial feeling of triumph faded into fear that Malik would guess that I meant to use the missive to send a hidden message. I told myself it did not matter if he assumed this, since he could not possibly know that we knew about the invasion. He would envisage any secret communication as being solely about Vos’s activities, which could only serve him.

  Just so long as he did not guess who I truly was.

  By the time the carriage approached Noviny’s gateway, it was raining harder than ever, and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. It was only dusk, but the stormy sky made it seem much later. To my surprise, instead of urging the mare through the gate, Kevrik pulled the wagon to a halt, explaining that the track was too narrow and ill kept for it. “I am afraid ye mun walk up to yon household,” he said with unexpected courtesy, and to my surprise he handed me a blanket, bidding me drape it over my head for some meager shelter from the rain.

  Turning to trudge up the muddy track to Noviny’s homestead, I wondered why a man as courteous as Kevrik seemed to be would choose to serve Vos. By my judgment, the armsman was not a natural bully, nor did he appear to be a man who hungered for power over others. Perhaps there had been no other way of making a living save to bear arms, and he had offered himself to Vos with no knowledge of what the man was like.

  I was shivering with cold, for the clothes Wenda had given me had been soaked through more than once that day. Doubly regretting the rain because it prevented me summoning Gahltha to fetch me, I stumbled suddenly and fell to my knees, muddying and ripping the sodden skirt. I felt like cursing Noviny for the state of the track, but he had explained that it was kept narrow and uneven to inhibit Vos’s armsmen from coming in wagons.

  It occurred to me that I must be near Khuria’s cottage and the concealed wagon. Indeed, I had intended to stop there but had forgotten. By the time I groped my way to the wagon, unlaced the canvas, and slipped inside, the storm was directly overhead, and rain was hammering down. I tied the canvas shut, deciding I might just as well wait out the storm. It was dank and chilly inside, but I lit a lantern and a small fire in the cooking brazier. Teeth chattering, I drew water from a barrel and set it to warm for soup. Then I peeled off my sodden borrowed finery and toweled myself briskly, thinking I would have to replace the skirt when I had the chance. I felt more myself dressed in my own comfortable trousers and shirt as I crumbled herbs and dried mushrooms into the soup. While it cooked, I tried squeezing some of the moisture from my boots, then set them as near to the brazier as I could, for I had no other footwear save a pair of thin sandals.

  As the wagon slowly filled with warmth and the wholesome fragrance of the soup, I was glad I had not gone straight up to the homestead bubbling with triumph, for I realized now that I could not simply rely on a missive with a secret warning to stop the invasion. There was too much danger of that plan going awry. And now that I had ceased to fret at it, a different idea for dealing with the invasion had begun to form in my mind. I pondered it, wondering if I dared put it into practice, for it would be very dangerous. I had no doubt that were I to present it at guildmerge, it would be rejected as far too risky. But I was not at Obernewtyn with strong allies about me. I was trapped in a hostile province with dangerous enemies on all sides.

  I drank the soup, alternately refining the plan and wishing there was some way to let the others know I was safe, but it was too wet and wild outside. The wagon gradually grew so warm that I began to drift to sleep, but I woke at once when the rain stopped. I tried farseeking the house, but the tainted patches of earth still blocked my probe. I was about to reach for my boots when it occurred to me to try farseeking Gahltha, since he might be grazing nearby. To my delight, the probe found him at once. He was not far away, but the contact was tenuous. Relief that I was safe filled his mind, but fearing that our connection would be broken, I wasted no time in asking him to go to the house to let Zarak and the others know where I was.

  “I/Gahltha will come and carry you there,” he offered, but I refused, saying I was warm and dry and might as well wait where I was until daylight. Reluctantly, Gahltha obeyed, warning me that I had better be prepared to face Maruman’s wrath. The probe began to dissolve. I sent a swift farewell, extinguished the little fire in the brazier, and lay down. Able to relax at last, I fell immediately into a deep sleep.

  I dreamed of Matthew standing on a red rocky bluff gazing hungrily out over a dawn-bronzed sea. As on the previous occasion, I was aware that I was simply a disembodied watcher in the vision dream, which again had a remarkable clarity. I did not need to hear Matthew’s thoughts to guess he was thinking of the Land, for there was an unmistakable yearning in his face. Then he turned, and I saw a long puckered scar down one lean brown cheek that I had not noticed before. Matthew smiled as Gilaine came to join him, and once again I was glad they had found one another; the mute empath-farseeker had met him when he and I had been taken captive by her father, the fanatical renegade Herder Henry Druid. I did not know how they had encountered one another in the Red Land, but it was no great surprise, since Misfits were naturally drawn to each other.

  For a time, they merely gazed companionably out to sea, until Matthew sighed and said, “Ye ought not to be seen talking to me, just in case there is trouble over this.” He touched the puckered scar.

  Gilaine did not speak. Indeed, she could not, for she was mute, but when Matthew sighed and shook his head, I realized that they were farseeking.

  “I am careful,” Matthew now said. “’Tis just that I nivver expected to be attacked by another slave. I kenned the people here dinna want to fight the slavers, because the Red Queen is supposed to come an’ set the whole thing in m
otion, accordin’ to their prophecy. But I always thought they refused me because they believed it would be impossible to win without her. I dinna realize they’d think of me as a threat fer trying to make them act before the prophecy had come true. Pity Naro did nowt realize I have abandoned my plan of rousin’ the people against their oppressors.” He shook his head to whatever Gilaine said. “I canna tell them about Dragon, because they will nowt ken that she is truly the daughter of their queen without seein’ her. An’ even if they did believe me, how should I tell them about her bein’ in a coma?”

  Another pregnant silence, and Matthew frowned. “I wish I could believe she has woken, Gil. But that’s too much like the happy ending in an empath storysong. When I were a lad in th’ Land, I saw life as a grand story full of heroes an’ villains an’ sleepin’ princesses that mun be wakened with a kiss. I nivver guessed it might be a sad story that ends in misunderstandin’ an’ tragedy.” A silence. “I have nivver lost heart. I just ken that mebbe I have been wrong tryin’ to force a battle. Mebbe the prophecy is true, an’ Dragon mun come here before this Land can be free. I mun gan back to th’ Land. I am sure I can convince Elspeth an’ th’ others to let me bring Dragon here, once they understand that it may be th’ only thing that will wake her.”

  Gilaine laid a hand on his arm, and he flushed, then paled. “I dinna expect her to love me. I scorned her affection when she was a lass, so how could she love me now? An’ she will be a queen. It’ll be enow fer me if she can be restored to her people an’ will let me serve her.” There was a caressing quality to his voice that made me think of the blaze of wonder I had seen on his face when Dragon had tried courageously to save two children from a Herder just before she had fallen into her coma. He had been enchanted by her heroism, but something in his voice and face now suggested that boyish infatuation had ripened into something deeper and more real.