The Wayfinder

by Darcy Pattison

  “I spoke, peasant.” From over the Prince’s prostrate form, the royal hound nodded at Win. “You will not touch His Royal Highness.”

  Lady Kala was speaking to him with mental, not audible, speech. Telepathy!

  “But the Prince needs help,” Win said aloud, not willing to attempt telepathy. “He’s sick, and he’s hit his head. Look, it’s bleeding.” The Prince’s face was as hard and pale as the white jade brush. His breathing was shallow and quick.

  Lady Kala nuzzled Prince Reynard’s neck. “My Prince has the plague,” she said flatly. “He is beyond any help except the Water of Life. Prepare a chamber for our use while you search for the Well.”

  Eli and Mayor Porter crowded behind Win, looking at the fallen Prince, too. Win turned to Eli. “Can you hear her?”

  Eli nodded wordlessly, his brown eyes large in wonder. Win would have been amused any other time. It took a lot to render Eli speechless.

  “I knew he brought the plague with him. We’ll all die,” Mayor Porter said bitterly.

  Win ignored the politician. “Do you know what he did to me?” he demanded of Eli.

  “He gave you the vision of the Well of Life. Do you have a Finding?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t let you go. No one has ever come back from the Rift.”

  From the doorway came a low voice. “You must let him go.”

  Shadows flickered behind Hazel. Instead of her usual soft colors, she wore the red-and-white Finder’s robe of stripes just barely wider than Eli’s. Somehow the Finder’s robes made her aloof, and dancing shadows made her a woman with a mysterious past.

  She entered quietly and studied Lady Kala. “You must go with Winchal. He will need your skills.”

  “No!” Lady Kala lay beside the Prince. “I am the Prince’s Bodyguard; I am a Second in the Kennel Guard. My duty is clear. I will stay with my Prince. Prepare our chamber.” Her mental speech rang with a royal imperiousness.

  Win marveled. She expected obedience as if she were an empress.

  Hazel took over. She ordered Mayor Porter to summon all city officials and all Finders for a meeting in two hours. Eli was commandeered into moving furniture from the Eldras family’s chamber, the only downstairs bedroom in Finder’s Hall, to prepare it for the Prince. She sent an apprentice to fetch a doctor.

  The two Borzois from the caravan had appeared at the door of Finder’s Hall and shoved their way in. Win wondered if Lady Kala had called them telepathically to help her protect Prince Reynard. Or did they have some other sense that told them of their master’s needs? The Borzois stood shoulder to shoulder with Lady Kala, forming a fearsome trio.

  When he arrived, the doctor asked for a small bowl of water and took bandages from his bag of supplies. Prince Reynard’s head still oozed blood from the nasty cut.

  Lady Kala stopped the doctor. “Dare to touch him and they will taste your heart’s blood!” The Borzois growled their agreement.

  The bowl rattled in the doctor’s hand, but he spoke firmly. “Lady Kala, we must touch him to carry him to a bed.”

  Lady Kala snarled but agreed. “Carry him to bed. But you, Doctor, be gone!”

  “He needs help,” Hazel said. She knelt beside the Prince.

  “Mistress Hazel, you alone may tend his needs. Of you, I have heard much. Doctors, bah! They want only to bleed away a man’s life.”

  Content that Hazel would care for the Prince, the royal hound turned her attention to Win. Her eyes burned into him. “You will depart at dawn. Many men did I watch sicken and die from the plague. Lord Bennington, caretaker of the Jamila Kennels, survived seven, perhaps eight days after the fever struck. You will return before seven days have passed.”

  “Win’s not going anywhere,” Eli said.

  “Let’s not argue that right now,” Hazel said soothingly. “Let’s get Prince Reynard in bed. We will meet later and decide what to do.”

  Win sat on the hearth and waited. He knew the arguments were coming. Prince Reynard had given him the Finding for the Well of Life. Eli would forbid him to go; Lady Kala would command it in that royal manner of hers; Kira would hope he would go and get over his fear of Findings. And Hazel—she puzzled him. Did she really want him to go into the Great Rift? Did she expect him to come out alive?

  The Finding called him, and he longed to drink the crystal-clear water. Apprentice Finders had to learn to control a Finding or it could compel them so that even food and drink were forgotten, and Win had learned his lessons well. This Finding was so strong, though, controlling it was difficult. Very strong. The Well was two, no, maybe three or even four days away—if he was lucky and didn’t have to take many side trips to avoid hazards. It was barely enough time to save the Prince. The sound of water splashing pulled him upright. He struggled to master the Finding and forced his muscles to sit.

  He would not go into the Rift.

  THE KING COMMANDS

  “I’ve been in the Great Rift,” Hazel said.

  Her hair flowed long and thick over her shoulders, and she wore a medallion Win had never seen before.

  Complete darkness of a new moon hobbled the city. People could still move about with lanterns, but if you wanted secrecy in your movements—and Mayor Porter certainly didn’t want word of a possible plague to leak into the city and cause panic—you employed Finders. Thus Finders had trickled in for the last two hours, most of them leading the heads of guilds: the tall, well-muscled ironsmith, Cyril Jordan; the fat weaver, Brent Wattle; Will Karpel, the baker, whose flour white hair matched his immaculately clean, white hands; and other guildsmen or noblemen, enough to fill the room—in short, everyone who would have an opinion about what happened in G’il Rim.

  Eli shook his head at Hazel. “No one has ever gone into the Rift and come back alive.”

  Lady Kala’s topknot fell into her face with a rakish look. Her black-tipped hair quivered as she watched the proceedings from the doorway of the bedroom where the Prince slept.

  Hazel stood her ground. “Hear me. Eighteen years ago the Heartland stood under a drought such as this. I was a young Finder, but unlike most Finders, even today, I loved to explore the lands outside the city gates.”

  Win thought, Hazel still likes to explore. Three or four times a year she simply disappeared for a week or so. No one ever knew where she went, and she never offered explanations, letting the mysterious disappearances add to her reputation with the apprentices. Win leaned forward to catch every word. At last they would know the truth!

  Hazel continued. “The drought had lasted four months when I came upon a man outside the gates. He stood at the Rift’s edge, staring at the other side as if he would fly across at any moment. Beside him paced two Borzois. He told me he had a vision and needed to Find a magic bow and arrows that would let him shoot the rain from the sky. He asked if I could be his Wayfinder.” Hazel shrugged. “What could I say? I loved to explore, and the Heartland needed me. I said yes.

  “The tale is long and has never been told in its entirety. All you need to know now is that we went into the Rift and across to the land on the other side.”

  An excited murmur rose from the crowd. “Into the Rift!”

  Hazel continued, “We found a long bow and three quivers of arrows. Each quiver had six arrows, for a total of eighteen. Eighteen arrows, eighteen years of rain. Each spring we have made a pilgrimage to Mount K’il Athma, the tallest mountain in the Heartland. From this peak he shoots an arrow from the mighty bow into the clouds, loosing the rains and bringing a season of plenty to our lands. Eighteen arrows, eighteen years of rain. But the quivers are empty, the bow is silent, and the drought has returned.”

  “Who was the man who accompanied you? We want to ask him if this is true,” Eli said. His face was stoic, and Win suspected he’d never heard this tale from his wife before. Parts of Hazel’s life were just as closed to him as they were to the apprentices. And to Win.

  “It was King Andar.” Prince Reynard clung to the door of his bedchamb
er. His white face was drawn, and his braid was messy from sleeping on it. Even in his illness, though, he was clearly a man of power. The Borzois lay on the floor just outside the room, and Lady Kala on a rug just inside the door. “My brother has told me the whole tale.”

  Win wondered if Eli had known that Hazel met the King each year. Eli’s mouth was in an O. He raised his chin toward Win. Hazel nodded slightly. Eli stared at Win as if he’d never seen him before. Win shrugged, wondering what was suddenly wrong. He looked at Hazel, but she had moved toward the sick Prince.

  The Prince continued, “Mistress Hazel, the Heartland owes you eighteen years of prosperity. But as you say, the quivers are empty. King Andar hoped the rains would come, anyway. Instead the plague has come. He stayed in G’il Dan to bolster hope, fearing that if he fled, the city would fall prey to despair and misery. Wherever he walks among his people, hope still lives. He sends me in his place.”

  Hazel agreed evenly. “It was ever King Andar’s way to put his people first.”

  The Prince went on. “We must have water from the Well of Life or all the Heartland will die. Will you go to search for it?”

  Hazel shook her head, and her hair swung like a pendulum, revealing streaks of gray, then streaks of black. “No. If you’ve heard the whole tale, then you know I fell climbing back out of the Rift. I still limp from that fall. And eighteen rainy seasons have come and gone. I can’t travel very far or very fast. You must send another.”

  Prince Reynard took a step into the room. He faltered and almost fell. Fat Master Wattle offered to take his arm, but Lady Kala instantly leaped between them, growling and baring her teeth. The Prince stepped back to the bedchamber door and leaned heavily upon it. He smiled ruefully. “Lady, I need help. I cannot walk alone.”

  The Tazi stared at the Prince, and Win realized they were talking telepathically. So she can choose to talk to only one person at a time, he thought. That’s why no one heard her before. She wouldn’t talk to peasants unless she had to.

  “Winchal.”

  Win looked up, startled.

  “Winchal, lend me your strength,” Prince Reynard said.

  Win swallowed hard. Leave me out of this, he thought.

  “We can’t. You are part of it,” Lady Kala answered his thought.

  “Get out of my head,” he said fiercely. So she could read his thoughts even when he didn’t want her to. What else could she do? Win wondered. Then he realized no one else understood that Lady Kala was talking to him telepathically.

  “Winchal,” Eli snapped, “help the Prince.”

  Win reluctantly threaded his way through the benches and chairs to the other side of the room. The guildsmen, who had been noisy a moment ago, were silent, watching the Prince and his hounds. Win let Prince Reynard put an arm over his shoulder. Win gasped. The Prince’s body was flaming, the plague raging through him. Win pulled back, but Lady Kala rumbled at him. Win had no choice but to support the Prince as they staggered across the room to the fireplace. Lady Kala paced right behind Win, and he was sure she was ready to tear him apart if he slipped at all. It was small comfort that the Borzois didn’t follow, too.

  Prince Reynard sank into a chair. He nodded to the mayor. “We must Find the Well.”

  Fat furrows wrinkled the mayor’s brow. “My Prince,” he said, and bowed.

  Prince Reynard took a deep breath and turned to Eli. “Eli Eldras, Head Finder of the Wayfinders’ Guild of G’il Rim, in front of these witnesses, I bring you greetings from King Andar. Before, I asked you as a citizen of the Heartland to help me in my quest. Now I tell you it is the King himself who commands you.”

  Eli frowned. “In spite of what Hazel says, the trip into the Great Rift is so dangerous that she and the King are the only persons who have ever survived it. We will not send anyone into the Rift, much less Winchal, who is still an apprentice and has not done a Finding in over six weeks. The last Finding he attempted, his half-sister—my only daughter—she fell. Into the Rift.” Eli bowed his head and ran his hand over his weathered face and through his mane. Win remembered how Eli used to run his large hands gently through Zanna’s curls or caress her cheek. Eli lifted his head and glared at Hazel. “Winchal cannot go into the Rift. I forbid it.”

  Prince Reynard closed his eyes wearily. “I don’t have the strength to argue.” His voice was soft yet Win still heard the royal command. “Winchal will go.”

  “No,” Win cried. Zanna’s face floated in his memory. “No!”

  “No!” Eli echoed. “Give me the vision, then, and I will go myself.”

  “It’s too late for that. I have no strength left to give the Finding again,” Prince Reynard said. He gripped the arms of the chair with white knuckles and pushed himself up. He wobbled for a moment before he steadied himself. Win offered an arm, but the Prince waved him away. Lady Kala escorted him as he paced carefully to his bedroom. Silence blanketed the room as the Prince struggled to move his feet and not fall. Win held his breath until Prince Reynard reached the doorway of the bedroom. The Borzois rose and opened a path into the room. Prince Reynard slumped against the door frame. “You will argue, but in the end you must do as I say. King Andar has given me authority on this matter.”

  “No,” Eli repeated.

  Prince Reynard groaned. “You don’t understand. I saw Winchal in my vision. He must go.” He took two steps into the room and collapsed on the bed. Lady Kala nudged the door shut, and the Borzois settled in front of the door again.

  Pandemonium erupted. Everyone wanted to be heard, and all agreed: Winchal was the wrong person to send.

  Within the noise Win sat in a fog. King Andar himself had commanded that he go into the Rift in search of the Well of Life. How could he disobey the King? The Finding threatened to overwhelm him again but Win struggled to control it. He could not go into the Rift.

  THE GOODBYE

  Arguments about how to deal with the plague continued all night. Lord Melor, representing the noblemen, insisted upon instant obedience to the King. Brent Wattle, the weaver, was all for mounting a huge expedition into the Rift. He proposed long rope ladders hung from the top that could be moved to new moorings as climbers moved downward. Cyril Jordan, the ironsmith, suggested a series of iron spikes hammered into the wall to make a simple, if crude, ladder. Other equally wild schemes were proposed, but in the end all agreed. No one knew how to descend safely into the Rift.

  Except Hazel.

  She steadfastly refused to show anyone the path into the Rift. “Without a Finding to follow, it would be pointless. We must wait for the Prince to wake up. When he has enough strength to give the Finding again, then we can decide whom to send.”

  A new argument broke out.

  “Whom shall we send?” Brent Wattle asked.

  “It’s strictly a Finder’s decision. As head of the Wayfinders’ Guild I will go,” Eli insisted.

  “You are too old. Send a sturdy young Finder,” Cyril Jordan said.

  “We need you here, Eli,” Hazel said.

  “Send a dozen Finders. Then one is sure to make it through,” Lord Melor said.

  Eli had been adamant about one thing: “Win will not go for the Finders. I will not put him through that.”

  “He can’t be trusted,” Mayor Porter said.

  The harsh words would have hurt Win if he hadn’t agreed with them. He wasn’t the right person to send. They needed a reliable Finder.

  Finally they all had lain down in the great hall to sleep, no one willing to leave before a decision was made.

  Win woke with a start. The room was crowded with sleeping forms wrapped in thin cotton cloaks. Gentle snores and easy breathing were the only sounds. What had awakened him? Win stretched his cramped legs, then opened his eyes. Wrapped in a dark cloak and holding out a similar cloak to him, Hazel stood before him. She laid a finger on her lips, cautioning him to be silent, then motioned for him to follow. Threading through the prostrate figures, Win tiptoed over the fat weaver and around the legs of the ta
ll ironsmith. He thought someone moved in the corner. Hazel waved at him to be still, and he froze. For a moment he heard only light snores from the weaver. He searched the room to see if anyone was moving. He thought one of the Borzois outside the Prince’s room was watching him. But when he looked back the dog’s muzzle was resting on his slender feet and his eyes were shut.

  Hazel motioned him forward again. They cracked open the front door and squeezed through. Without a word she handed him a cold biscuit with a slab of cheese, then led the way toward the city gates. She had a pack on her back, and Win guessed they were going out to collect rabbits from her snares for the day’s stewpot. He had helped bait the snares two days ago, and except for the excitement of the caravan’s arrival, they would have checked them last night.

  The early morning was still dark and relatively cool, but the sands were warm beneath his sandals, and the new day would be very hot. They wound through the silent, dusty streets toward the north gate, the only gate in the Finder’s section that led directly outside the town. They slipped out.

  Win munched the dry biscuit. All food tasted like dirt in the drought. He sipped water from a leather skin, then tried to chew the hard cheese.

  He followed Hazel’s silent form almost instinctively. In her dark cloak she was just a shadow among the darker shadows. Their way led through a patch of prickly pear, and he couldn’t stray from the path without hitting thorns. He was watching his feet, so he didn’t notice Hazel had stopped until he ran into her. She stood beside a lone gnarled juniper.

  She shrugged off the pack and handed it to Win.

  “Your journey begins here.”

  He suddenly realized what she was doing. Win chewed the last bit of cheese before answering, “I won’t go.”

  “Prince Reynard will not wake up. Or if he does, he won’t be strong enough to give the Finding again. You are the only hope for G’il Rim and the Heartland.”

  Win stared at the stars. Hundreds twinkled above, but they were beginning to fade as the sky lightened. “Then there is no hope.”