The Wayfinder

by Darcy Pattison

  Hazel took a step toward Eli, but he held up a hand. “Not a word, Hazel. You think I’m too harsh, but your coddling hasn’t worked.” Sitting beside Win, Eli leaned over and took Win’s face in his hands. “Son, all of us make mistakes. Zanna wasn’t your fault, and it was no disgrace to Finders. Hazel and I both have grieved for her loss, too.” He paused as his voice caught. He cleared his throat and continued. “But you’ve got to get past it. It’s either work, or you’re out.”

  Hazel’s lips were pressed together into a tight, straight line. She dished up a bowl of stew and handed it to Eli, who moved to another table, sat with his back to Win, and started eating. Then she dished out another bowl for Win. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

  Win barely heard her.

  Why had Zanna gone out of the city? She knew better. Why had she taken that step? He’d called out to her to stop. None of it made any sense. If only he knew why.

  “Win!”

  Dazed to be back in Finder’s Hall, he looked up at Hazel. He still drifted in and out, sometimes forgetting where he was for long minutes. He looked down at the bowl. He handed it back to her. “I’ll get more water. Everyone will want to wash up before going out tonight.”

  He picked up the empty buckets and pushed out into the oppressive evening heat. He plodded back to the sandstone well. Once he would have rejoiced at the thought of a caravan’s arrival now it just meant torture. It meant he had to draw on his Finding skills again. Could he do it?

  Something red caught his eye. He bent and picked up a chunk of a red wax seal; it must have fallen from the scroll Eli had carried. It had a Tazi hound and a gyrfalcon on it—the royal insignia! Was the nobleman of the royal house or just on royal business? It doesn’t matter, he thought. I’ll never see the nobleman. He dropped the red wax and ground it into the dust with his heel.

  Win joined the line at the well once more. He realized he hadn’t taken a drink from the last bucket of water. He licked his lips and again tasted salty blood.

  THE CARAVAN

  Merchants, Finders, beggars, pickpockets, officials and curious citizens lined the city wall above the K’il Rus Gate and milled about the main street below. Win joined those pacing back and forth on the city wall. Now and then he stopped to peer anxiously eastward. He probably wouldn’t be the first to sight the caravan, but he couldn’t help trying. The sky as devoid of color as if the heat and drought had drained every hue. In the darkening sky there appeared stars, points of light in a desert of shifting shadows.

  “Who do you think the nobleman will be?” Kira asked. She clutched a sandwich with spicy brown sauce dripping from it. Win supposed he should eat, too, but since Zanna—for the last few weeks, he hadn’t been hungry.

  Win considered telling Kira about the wax seal he’d found. The seal would only make her question even more, though, and he wasn’t up to that. He already felt tired from the effort of getting ready and walking down to the K’il Rus Gate. “You’ll know by midnight,” he answered.

  “You’re right,” she mumbled with her mouth full of sandwich.

  A long cloud of dust snaked across the plateau toward the city gates. Twice a year the high mountain passes were free from snow and open, so caravans could travel from G’il Dan to G’il Rim. With the weather so hot, they must have thawed earlier this year. No one had expected the caravan so soon, but no Wayfinder would complain about the chance for extra work.

  The Finders’ Guild was expert at Finding anything and everything: lost rings, the prettiest blue dress in the market, a lost child, the way home. Every city in the Heartland had a few Finders, but G’il Rim had the largest guild. During the worst of the dry season, the days were too hot for anyone to move around, so most business was conducted at night, a good time for Finders to work. They took their business when they found it. The caravan meant strangers who wouldn’t know where they were going; it meant party-goers who needed guides to get home; it meant hunting excursions for the wagon drivers and traders; it meant wrestlers and other entertainers and people coming and going from the entertainment; it meant good business for the next week or so.

  Darkness was beginning to settle in. The caravan was close enough now for Win to pick out individual wagons, especially as they lit and hung lanterns. There was a large red one pulled by four mules, a small blue one with flowers painted on the side, and a dusty white one pulled by an equally dusty white mule. They stopped outside the gates in a disorderly line. Win lost count of how many there were.

  Kira gripped his shoulders and stared into his eyes. “You’ll do fine. Just let the Finding take you and you’ll be fine.”

  Win shrugged off her hands. “Go on. I’ll come down in a minute.”

  When he looked down a moment later, Kira was bobbing in and out of pools of lantern lights until she stopped and talked with the owner of the white mule. She would have a busy and profitable night.

  Win took a deep breath, then strolled down the steps to the street, through the crowd, and out onto the caravan’s camping site. Finders had already taken charge of different wagons, offering to escort the traders to shops, taverns and inns. The older Finders would have their pick of the earliest wagons. Win and the other apprentices were expected to work the last wagons, usually the poorest of the caravan. He hoped nothing would be left for him.

  His attention was drawn to a green wagon that was lit by two lanterns, one on either side, which was just pulling into the campsite. It was drawn by two stout black horses, and running alongside it were two Borzois, tall lean hunting hounds. Though they were rare in G’il Rim, Win had seen Borzois before. But beside the driver was—

  Win rubbed his eyes. Was he imagining it? Beside the driver was a Tazi, a large, long-haired gazehound. Tazis were pictured on everything from money to the royal crest. Win had never seen a real one before, but she was unmistakable.

  The Tazi had black-tipped fawn-colored hair that fell in rich, silken waves to bright silver-haired feet. She carried her head proudly, and when she moved, her silky topknot swept along her powerful jaw. Her loins were tucked up in a promise of speed, and her feathered tail was curled at the end like a scorpion’s tail. Her almond-shaped eyes were a transparent obsidian. Her bearing was both regal and proud, the result of years of breeding. Tazis were royal dogs, and only someone of royal birth was allowed to care for one. Only someone of royal birth deserved such an exquisite creature.

  Win pulled his eyes away from the Tazi to a horseman who cantered up to the wagon. Was he the royal one, the nobleman who had written Eli a letter? The one who wanted to go into the Rift? The horseman wore supple leather breeches and forest green robes of a soft fabric that fell gracefully from his broad shoulders. He had thick black hair pulled back into one long braid. He gripped the reins with powerful, lean hands. He is a man used to controlling others, Win thought.

  “You!” shouted the horseman.

  Win looked around.

  “You, there!” the horseman repeated. His green eyes glittered brightly.

  Win pointed to himself.

  “Yes, you. Are you a Wayfinder?”

  Win stepped forward and bowed low. “My lord, may I be the first to welcome you to G’il Rim. I am a Finder. May I help you?”

  “Yes, I need to see the Head Finder, someone named Eli Eldras. Can you lead me to him?”

  Win groaned. It was the nobleman. This evening was bad enough just having to work, but now he had to escort the nobleman himself. What if he made a mistake? He trembled.

  “This way, my lord.”

  The nobleman swung down nimbly from the saddle. He spoke quietly to the wagon driver, who set the wagon brake and started unhitching the mules. At a word from the nobleman, the Borzois sat stiffly at attention beside the wagon as though they were royal soldiers guarding a treasure. The Tazi gave them each a glare, then leapt lithely to the ground and fell in step with the nobleman.

  Win thought, I’ve never seen a creature so beautiful.

  The nobleman laid a stur
dy hand on Win’s shoulder, making sure he didn’t get lost in the darkness or the crowd. Win wove his way through the wagons back to the K’il Rus Gate. At least he didn’t have to draw on his Finding skills this time. Eli would be waiting with the mayor just inside the gate. Knowledge, instead of skill, was sufficient for this job.

  Eli and Mayor Porter were deep in conversation but stopped at the sight of the stranger. Win said, “My lord, may I present Eli Eldras, Head Wayfinder of G’il Rim, and Augustus Porter, the Mayor of G’il Rim.”

  “I am Reynard Ottar Kort, Prince of the Heartland, brother to King Andar.” Then, the nobleman introduced the Tazi. “This is Lady Kala.”

  Win raised an eyebrow. Hazel once told him kings and princes did strange things. But introducing a dog as if she were a person? Perhaps court etiquette decreed that you always introduced Tazis, but it was a strange custom to witness.

  Mayor Porter and Eli bowed deeply. “We welcome you to G’il Rim, my lord.” They bowed to the Tazi, too. “You also, my lady.”

  “I crave an audience with you, sir,” Prince Reynard said to Eli. The words might be politely framed, in the manner of court etiquette, but the Prince’s stern voice left no room for refusal.

  “This way.” Eli bowed again and waved his hand forward.

  Win slid in behind the party and planned to follow.

  Eli glared at him. “Everyone works, remember? Get back to the caravan.”

  “Yes, sir.” Win was disappointed he wouldn’t learn more about the Prince and his Tazi.

  Lady Kala turned and inspected him. Win couldn’t decide if she was looking at or through him at memories of ages past. Then she tilted her head toward the nobleman.

  Prince Reynard looked back, too. “I want him still,” he said to Eli.

  Eli glared at Win again. “The boy needs to work.”

  “I’ll pay for his services, so you won’t lose anything.” The Prince jingled coins in his hand.

  Eli shrugged. “As you wish.”

  Win followed them as they wound up the steep streets and through the K’il Bell Gate and on to Finder’s Hall. The old house was lit with lanterns in each window downstairs, giving the stone a golden red glow. Win opened the door, and warm, garlicky air rushed out. Hazel had left the stew simmering. Win’s stomach growled.

  Prince Reynard sat on the stone hearth, his tall figure regal and elegant. “Let me rest a few moments before we talk,” he said to Eli and the mayor.

  “Something to eat or drink?” Eli asked.

  Prince Reynard shook his head.

  Eli poured mead for himself and Mayor Porter while Win slipped around the crowd, dipped up a bowl of stew, and disappeared into a corner to eat.

  Lady Kala pranced to the Prince’s side and laid her head in his lap. He pulled a carved white jade brush and comb from a small bag. She settled on the hearth rug and allowed the Prince to groom her sleek coat. Beginning at her feet, he brushed the fur backward, from the foot upward. Then, covering the back-brushed fur with one hand, he raked down small layers with the brush. He continued to brush back the hair, working up the leg, slickering bits back into place, and working his way up to her spine.

  Win understood why only nobility was allowed to own the Tazi; they were too magnificent for mere commoners.

  Prince Reynard crooned a childhood lullaby in rhythm to his brush strokes. The effect of the elegant dog, the Prince’s devotion, and the crooning was hypnotic. The lullaby was a common one, and soon Eli and Mayor Porter were humming along. Prince Reynard gently tugged at a tangle in the fawn-colored hair under the Tazi’s chin until the brush slid through the knot.

  As the lullaby ended, Lady Kala stretched a dainty paw and yawned, the delicate pink inside her mouth and her gleaming white fangs showing. She rose gracefully, sedately circled the hearth rug a few times, and settled down for a nap.

  Prince Reynard looked at Win, “Perhaps a cup of mead would be good now.”

  Win jumped up and filled a tankard. “Stew also?”

  “Just the drink, thank you,” the Prince said, and emptied the contents in one long swallow. He set the empty tankard on the table and rose to face Eli and Mayor Porter. “I have a sad tale to tell you about your kinsmen who live in G’il Dan. I wish I could soften what I say or give you time to trust me before I thrust these things upon you. But there is no time. G’il Dan had been visited by the plague.”

  THE PLAGUE

  “The plague!” The mayor croaked the awful words.

  “Yes, it began just six weeks ago with the death of Mayor Baldor himself.” Here Prince Reynard bowed to the mayor.

  Mayor Porter shrank away from the Prince. “Have you brought the plague to our city?”

  “That is possible. I know not how the illness spreads. But even knowing I brought the plague, I would have come, anyway.”

  “Why would you bring us the plague?” Eli demanded.

  “I walked through the street on the day after the mayor’s death. Children who bore red marks were sitting on doorsteps, turned out of their homes. Men and women were sitting in the dust, beating their shoulders hoping to beat the plague out of their bodies. Every street was full of weeping and wailing. G’il Dan is my home. I love the city and my people with a passion only surpassed by the King’s. I wept with them.”

  “The point?” A frown darkened Eli’s face.

  Prince Reynard nodded and drew a ragged breath. “I locked myself in my room with only Lady Kala to advise me, and I fasted for three days. On the evening of the third day, a fresh rain fell on the city. I walked out in the streets again, and Death walked beside me, showing me his handiwork. I came to the G’il Cyra Gates and climbed to the guard tower. The guard lay still and silent at his post, stricken by the plague. As I looked out over the city, I heard a voice speaking to me. ‘Go and seek the Well of Life and bring back some of its water to heal the Heartland.’

  “‘Where do I find the Well of Life?’ I cried.

  “Suddenly the clouds split, and a shaft of light fell on the tower. I saw a vision of the Well of Life. Then the voice spoke again. ‘Go to G’il Rim, and there you will meet a Wayfinder who can lead you through the Rift to the Well of Life.’”

  Through the Rift! The Prince doesn’t understand the difficulties, Win thought. Then a flash of hope sprang up. If the Prince went into the Rift, maybe he could find Zanna and bring her back. Fool, he told himself, she can never come back. But what if she were alive somehow, just waiting for someone to Find her? Win lowered his head and stared at his bowl of stew. He pictured Zanna’s face and waited for the Finding to take him.

  Nothing.

  But maybe she’s there, anyway. Maybe if he were at the bottom of the Rift, the Finding would come.

  No, there was no way in or out of the Rift. The Prince simply didn’t understand.

  Prince Reynard spoke. “At dawn Lady Kala and I will go into the Rift, with or without your help. Unless I find the Well of Life, everyone in G’il Dan will perish. And it won’t stop there. It will spread throughout the Heartland.”

  “You have brought it to the very gates of G’il Rim!” Mayor Porter said.

  Prince Reynard brushed a hand over his eyes. “Will you help me? Will you send a Finder with me to Find the Well?”

  Win looked up at the anguish in the Prince’s voice. The Prince’s eyes met his: they were too bright, his face too flushed. The Prince strode to the fireplace and shivered for a moment before stretching out his hands to warm them. Win wondered how he could be cold when it was still so warm from the day’s heat.

  Mayor Porter and Eli were conversing in low voices. Prince Reynard sat on a bench across the table from Win. “Another tankard of mead, please.”

  Win poured the mead, and the Prince sipped it while they waited for the decision.

  Finally Eli stood. “Prince Reynard, we are flattered you have come to G’il Rim seeking help. Our devotion to your brother, King Andar, is well known. We will offer every assistance we can, but”—he paused and cough
ed. “But we will not send anyone into the Great Rift. No one has ever gone into the Rift and returned to tell about it. We don’t know how to go into the Rift.”

  Prince Reynard nodded. “I thought that would be your answer.” Suddenly he reached across the table and grabbed Win’s shoulder with his left hand. With his right hand he put his thumb on Win’s chin and index finger on Win’s forehead. Win sat still, shocked by the sudden grip. Then he twisted sharply, trying to wrench his shoulder away.

  “No, don’t give me the Finding!”

  “Stop!” Eli cried and sprang forward to help Win.

  But it was too late.

  Win saw the Well of Life: a deep well, with water lying dormant within black granite stone. It smelled pure and clean. He cupped his hand to drink, but his hands closed on air. He groped blindly for a moment before his senses cleared. He was back in Finder’s Hall, smothered once more with the warding stench of garlic. He closed his eyes again, suddenly overwhelmed by the powerful Finding. It was stronger than any he had ever felt, and he knew he must Find the Well—or die trying.

  Win stared up into Prince Reynard’s eyes. “What have you done? Why did you choose me?”

  “I saw you in my vision.”

  Prince Reynard swayed and fainted.

  THE LADY

  No one was close enough to top the Prince’s fall, but Win leaped around the table toward him. Lady Kala already stood over the Prince’s chest in a fighting posture. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, her long teeth glowing in the lantern light. She growled, protecting her Prince.

  “Let us help,” Win said. He stretched out a hand. Lady Kala snapped at him. Win jerked his hand back just in time.

  “Dare to touch him and you die!”

  The voice reverberated through Win’s mind. “Who said that?” He looked back at Eli and Mayor Porter in confusion. But it couldn’t be one of them. It was a woman’s voice, not a man’s.