The Wayfinder
A Heartland Tale
Darcy Pattison
Contents
I. THE LOSS
1. THE F’GIZ
2. THE SISTER
3. THE MISTS
4. THE BELL
II. THE DENIAL
5. THE WELL
6. THE CARAVAN
7. THE PLAGUE
8. THE LADY
9. THE KING COMMANDS
10. THE GOODBYE
11. THE RIFT
12. THE FOLLOWER
13. THE ATTACK
14. THE EAGLE
15. THE EAGLE’S FINDING
16. THE CAIRN
III. THE SEARCH
17. THE FOREST
18. THE CALL OF THE WILD
19. THE TRAIL
20. THE MONSTER
21. THE WATERFALL
22. THE OTHER SIDE
23. THE WARRIORS
24. THE COUNCIL
25. THE LAST JEWEL
26. THE ESCAPE
27. THE GRASSES
28. THE CLAN
29. THE GREAT WOLVES
30. THE FINAL SEARCH
IV. THE HEALING
31. THE CLIFF
32. THE QUESTION
33. THE PAYMENT
34. THE PRAIRIE
35. THE WOLF CLAN
36. THE CHASE
37. THE FIGHT
38. THE FRIEND
39. THE WELL AGAIN
Also by Darcy Pattison
For Bruce, Zeke, Gabe and Ash:
Be strong and courageous!
Part I
THE LOSS
THE F’GIZ
The city lay swaddled in f’giz, the densest mists of the year; they swirled up out of the Rift at the city’s back, covering everything with a thick blanket of damp fog. Yet preparations continued for Ironmaster Cyril Jordan’s fiftieth birthday party. Plans, announced weeks ago, included entertainment of jugglers, minstrels and belly dancers. Sweetmeats and dried fruits had been brought in the last caravan to G’il Rim from the capital city of G’il Dan and stored in cool cellars, along with the finest meads and ales. Because of the fog, Wayfinders were kept busy throughout the day, escorting tradesmen delivering waxed wheels of yellow and white cheeses, loaves of fragrant breads, and roasted rabbit, duck and goat. Nothing could keep Mayor Augustus Porter—or any other citizen—from attending the party, not even the f’giz.
Head Wayfinder Eli Eldras warned Cyril early that evening: “This is the worst f’giz I’ve seen in twenty years. I don’t know how we can make it through the night without someone lost.” He ran a hand through his iron gray mane. “To make it worse, we may have to use apprentices to make sure everyone makes it to the party on time. I’ll supervise them myself, but—”
“Fine, fine.” Cyril agreed, then turned to discuss ballads with the minstrels.
As the afternoon wore on, the f’giz grew deeper still, the Rift mists flowing thick over stone roofs, creeping under thresholds, and stalking through abandoned streets. An hour before Cyril’s party was to begin, the Wayfinders were edgy, pacing around the dining room of Finder’s Hall. Then the moment for action arrived. They scattered into the night, red-and-white robes disappearing into the fog and cries muted.
“May you have a prosperous night!”
“Good Finding!”
The mayor’s hand weighed heavily on Apprentice Wayfinder Winchal Eldras’s shoulder. Win concentrated to keep from shrugging it off. His shoulder would ache tomorrow, but that was the price of being a Finder: soreshoulders, tired feet and fat purses.
“Are we lost?” said the mayor for the tenth time.
Win took pity on him. They took two more rapid steps; then Win said, “Look.”
Above their heads hung the Forge and Hammer, the Ironworkers’ Guild sign. From here on, huge lanterns hung on iron spikes every ten feet along an iron fence, dim beacons in the choking fog. Beyond their circle of light loomed a shapeless hulk, the Ironworkers’ Guild House.
The mayor dropped his hand with a sigh of relief, then quickly slapped it back on Win’s shoulder. The Finders’ Guild told stories of folk losing their way just ten feet from a house and waiting hours for a Finder to Find them. Or worse, wandering around until they wound up outside the city gates, standing in awe at the sense-staggering edge of the Rift. The clouds coalesced into forms so substantial a lost soul was tempted to step out onto them. A fatal mistake.
During the fogless dry season even cowards scoffed at the stories. But this was the wet season. The mayor dared not take a chance on his own in the f’giz. His hand clutched Win’s shoulder in a death grip.
Elaborate wrought-iron gates swung open easily at Win’s touch. They entered a courtyard, and the great stone house towered foundationless over them.
“Who goes there?” called the gruff voice of the doorkeeper.
“Apprentice Finder Eldras escorting Mayor Porter.”
“Apprentice Finder Angelus escorting Mistress Porter.”
Win grunted. Kira had made good time, too, even escorting the mayor’s pampered wife.
Within a few steps the house’s windows materialized, complete with wrought-iron grillwork. Bright beams of light trickled a few feet before dissipating in the fog. Muffled music seeped under the doorway.
Coins dropped into Win’s hand, then Kira’s hand. The mayor and his wife stumbled up the steps into the welcoming light and laughter.
Eli, Win’s stepfather, appeared in a pool of light. He slapped them both on the back, then drew the red-and-white pin-striped robes of the Head Finder closer against the chilly mists. “Good Finding!”
“Everyone else is here?”
“Yes, the mayor will get his grand entrance. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll make it through this night.” He pulled at his chin. “The mayor shows his trust in our guild by letting our best apprentices escort him and his wife. You did well for the guild by making such good time. Well done.”
The apprentices grinned.
“We can Find anything, anywhere, anytime,” Win said, and Kira agreed. In the fog the white halves of their apprentice robes disappeared, leaving only the red sides in a lopsided look that disoriented strangers. Win was neat and tidy, from his immaculate apprentice’s robe to closely cropped black hair to clean fingernails. The bright light from the house threw his face, especially his aristocratic nose, into sharp profile. At eleven, he and Kira were the oldest apprentices in Finder’s Hall. They were equally matched, except that Win’s fear of heights kept him away from the edge of the Rift, while Kira was comfortable anywhere in the city. After five years of training, they hoped their flawless execution of duties this evening would clinch their positions as full-fledged Finders.
Kira, a large girl, reached up to unbind her blond hair which had been plaited and twisted into a massive knot on the nape of her neck.
Eli said, “Let’s get back to Finder’s Hall for a few hours of rest before we return to escort everyone home.”
“Race you,” Kira said to Win. She shook her head, further loosening the locks that were already starting to frizz in the damp air.
“Done,” Win said, then loped away on long legs into the murk.
“Slow down,” Eli called after them, but it was a good-natured admonition. He’d been a young Finder once, flush in the knowledge that he could speed through fog that held most people immobile.
Win raced through the streets of upper G’il Rim. His Finder’s sense told him when to sidestep an obstacle or turn invisible street corners. As he ran, Win kept one Finding on Finder’s Hall and one on Kira. She paced him easily street by street until they reached Finder’s Square, where he headed for the main gate, while she darted in the side gate. Scorpions! He was faster, but he hadn’t thou
ght of that shortcut. He sprinted across the vacant square, down the street, and around to the apprentice’s door to Finder’s Hall. Too late. Kira leaned against the doorframe with extended hand. They both were panting slightly from the run, and their robes were soaked from the dense fog.
Kira said, “You lose. Pay up.”
THE SISTER
Win hunched over his bowl, letting the fragrant steam from the thick vegetable stew warm his face before he scooped it into his mouth as fast as he could. The race up the hillside to Finder’s Hall had left him with a hollow pit in his stomach, which could be filled only with his mother’s stew. His robe sizzled on a drying rack in front of the fire, mingling the smell of wet wool with that of the stew. He refilled his bowl from the small pot hanging in the fireplace in the family’s chambers. Win slept upstairs with the apprentices now and usually ate in the hall with the others. Eli, as Head Finder, often preferred privacy, though, so Hazel, Win’s mother, usually kept a small stewpot in their own chambers. When Win was famished, he often visited his parents’ hearth in hopes of more to eat.
A faint buzzing came from the grindstone in the corner where Hazel was sharpening her kitchen knives. Zanna, his half-sister, flung a handful of tea leaves into a kettle of boiling water.
As Win’s belly filled, warmth spread through him. He and Kira both had done well tonight, and soon they would trade their apprentice robes for a Finder’s stripe.
“Good stew,” he said.
Hazel rose from the grindstone and ran a thumb along the edge of a paring knife. “Vegetables again. When the mists clear out enough, I’ll send you outside the city gates to check my snares,” she said. “We’ve been so busy this week, I can’t spare anyone that long.”
Zanna set a steaming mug of tea in front of Win. “The snares will have rabbits in them, won’t they?”
Hazel nodded. “We usually catch a couple during a f’giz.”
Hazel had been a Finder herself for many years before she took over Finder’s Hall, becoming cook, nurse, confidante and mother to the thirty or so apprentices. Her black hair was sprinkled with gray, and her figure was still slim, if not supple any longer. She walked with a slight limp, favoring the left leg, an old injury from a Finding she refused to talk about. The apprentices gossiped about what had caused the limp.
“She was mauled by a tiger while trying to Find a treasure.”
“The King himself saved her from a charging wolf.”
“She journeyed into the Rift and fell while climbing the cliffs to get out. Though she was injured, she made it out. She’s the only person to escape the Rift.”
At first the apprentices tried to worm more information about Hazel from Win. He could add nothing though. Somewhere there were memories of a tall man who came and went, a series of odd jobs, odd sleeping chambers, and then Eli. Win had been glad when Hazel decided to marry the strong Wayfinder.
Hazel heard all the rumors but let them go unanswered, staying behind a wall of reserve and letting the rumors give her a mysterious dignity and authority. Yet for all her reserve, the apprentices loved her and longed for her hard-won word of approval. In turn Hazel mothered them with the heartiest meals in G’il Rim and protected them with the fierceness of a Rift eagle.
Win filled his bowl a third time.
“Leave some for Eli,” Hazel said. She took a step, stopped to stretch out a catch in her leg, then hurried out to the kitchen to tend the fire and big stewpot. She would keep it simmering night and day while the f’giz lasted, for the Finders who were coming and going from jobs.
Win worked on his stew again.
Zanna snuggled against him and sipped her tea. “Even if the f’giz is bad, you could Find the rabbit snares tomorrow. Or maybe there will be rabbits or some kind of meat in the marketplace.” She fingered the fat leather pouch at his waist.
Win slapped halfheartedly at her hands. “Quit nagging. The market will be empty, and I’ll be busy.”
Zanna turned away and crossed skinny arms over her chest. “Kira will be busy, not you. She beat you again.”
Win ignored her and concentrated on his bowl.
Eli entered, his bulk filling the small room. When he saw Zanna, he plucked her from the bench. She squealed in delight, making the harried look leave Eli’s face. He sat in the spacious wicker chair next to the fireplace and plopped Zanna onto his lap. In spite of the contrast between Eli’s leathered cheeks and Zanna’s lily soft cheek, the family resemblance was clear in the friendly brown eyes, sparse eyebrows and high cheekbones.
Eli tousled Zanna’s blond curls and said, “Don’t tease your brother. Win and Kira have been battling for recognition as the best apprentice for a year now. Sometimes he wins; sometimes she does. Next time Win will beat her.”
“Who cares about races, anyway?” Zanna said, suddenly taking her brother’s side again. “If I were lost, I’d want Win, not Kira, to Find me.”
“And Find you I would, little one.” Win carried his bowl to the washing bucket and cleaned and dried it.
“Is there any stew?” Eli asked.
“Just vegetable,” Zanna said.
“Oh. I’ll pass,” Eli said.
Zanna frowned, then started chewing on her thumbnail.
Win had seen that look before. Zanna was scheming something. Win was already five when his half-sister was born. He dimly remembered life before Zanna, traveling with Hazel until they settled here in G’il Rim, but life always seemed brighter and sharper when Zanna was involved. They had grown up happy and secure in Finder’s Hall.
Their happiness had been threatened last month when Zanna turned six. Her Finding talent was so poor she hadn’t even been able to Find the novice’s Bell by herself. Other Finders’ children who showed no Finding talent were already apprenticed out to other trades by their sixth birthday. But Zanna was Eli’s joy. He had been old enough to think he would never have a child when Hazel surprised him with Zanna, and he made no excuse for spoiling her.
“She can earn her keep right here. Let her be the apprentice cook for Finder’s Hall,” Eli told Hazel.
Win had joined his stepfather in arguing for Zanna: “Wait a few more years.”
In the end Hazel agreed to start teaching Zanna to bake a dozen loaves of bread each morning and how to do the marketing. That meant Win usually took Zanna to market since she couldn’t Find her way home.
Their first stop in the market was always Rilla’s fruit stand. Win would lean against a post while Zanna examined everything and questioned Rilla about where she’d gotten it. Most of the fruits—figs, dates, lemons, or whatever was in season—came from Rilla’s family estate, which had deep wells for irrigation. But Zanna still liked to ask. Finally she would choose one fruit, for which Win paid a copper coin. She would sit regally on Rilla’s stool and eat the fruit, letting juices run down her chin. Pigeons paced at her feet, awaiting crumbs from the hand of royalty. Often she bit off tiny pieces that she threw to them, and she always gave them the core or seeds. She would end by licking each finger in turn, then solemnly thank Win by kissing his cheek, generously sharing the sticky juice. They would race each other to the fountain in the middle of the market where they washed. The rest of the shopping would be fast and efficient.
This afternoon of the f’giz, Rilla’s stall had been closed because it was too dangerous for her to travel into town. Win had scowled when Roberto said he was out of rabbit and likely wouldn’t have any more until the f’giz cleared. Zanna had insisted they ask at every other stall, but half were already closed for the evening, and the rest said, “The Ironmaster’s party took every bit of game we had.”
Now Zanna lay back against Eli’s broad chest and yawned. It didn’t fool Win. They hadn’t heard the last about rabbits for Eli’s stew.
“Time for bed,” Eli said.
“Let me stay up and help Mama cook. It’s a busy night for Finders.”
Eli ran a finger down her cheek. “Hazel will need your help cooking all day tomorrow, too. Unless
I miss my guess, the mists will be with us all day.”
“Even at noon?”
“This is f’giz. Who knows? It can come and go without warning. But I think the noon sun won’t burn off fog this thick.”
Hazel came in carrying a small plate of sliced bread, which she laid on the table near Eli’s bowl. Zanna winked privately to Win, then turned to Hazel. “Mama, may I stay up and help you tonight?”
Hazel told Eli, “I don’t mind if she stays up tonight and sleeps late on the morrow.”
“Please.” Zanna turned shining eyes to her father.
Eli tried to look stern, but a smile betrayed him. “Just stay inside tonight and tomorrow, unless—”
“–unless I go with a Finder. I know. Thanks!”
Zanna took his face in her soft hands, bent his head, and reached up to kiss his forehead. She jumped from his lap and shadowed Hazel as she returned to the kitchen. At the door she turned, dazzled them with a smile, and disappeared.
THE MISTS
Win tracked Zanna through the sweet-smelling fog. Where was she going?
He had worked all night, escorting guests home from the ironmaster’s party. Eli and the other Finders had finally fallen into bed, exhausted but relieved.”
The Wayfinder Page 1