The Farseekers

by Isobelle Carmody

  'I wouldn't taste very good,' I sent uneasily. 'My wounds are poisoned.'

  'Wounds! Did you hear what it said?' sent the other female. I was beginning to be able to tell them apart.

  'She is the one,' Astyanax sent with sudden certainty. Both females looked at him pointedly, then the first returned to its inspection of my limbs.

  'It is dark . . . Hard to tell,' murmured the bird on the ground. It came closer in a curious drunken gait. My fingers closed around a rock.

  'Funaga,' it sent. 'I am Ruatha of the Agyllians and my companions are Illyx and Astyanax. Do you truthtell about these injuries?'

  Bewildered, I nodded. 'I was burned a long time ago. The scars have become infected. I'm sure I would taste horrible. I might even be poisonous,' I added earnestly.

  The bird made a dry croaking noise. 'We do not wish to eat you, Funaga. Agyllians are not eaters of flesh.'

  I relaxed slightly but not too much. The bird hopped lopsidedly closer. 'Injuries are common after the flame-storms. You do not look very important,' it added thoughtfully. 'But perhaps Astyanax is right, and you are the one we seek.'

  My involuntary withdrawal had jarred my legs, and I heard this through a red mist of pain. I fought against faintness.

  'Are you the Seeker?' the bird asked.

  The mist cleared for a moment in shock at hearing Maruman's old title for me. And hadn't I heard it more recently? The effort of sustaining the suppressing stopped me thinking clearly.

  I felt dizzy, dissolving in a bloody, painful mist. I concentrated, shoring up the barrier and, slowly, the tides of pain ebbed.

  The bird had not moved, but the other two had flown to the ground and hovered some way back.

  'Why do you call me that?' I asked.

  'The Eldar sent us to find the Seeker who lay mortally injured in this valley. Many are injured nearby, but the Eldar told that you would be alone, waiting to die. It is hard to know if you are the one. The Eldar said there was no time for a mistake.'

  'What is an Eldar?' I asked, fear giving way to puzzlement.

  This time Astyanax answered. 'Eldar is the name of the High Council of the Agyllians. Eldar are the wisest of our kind, and the wisest of the wise is the leader of the Council - the Elder.'

  Now I was sure I was dreaming, or pain had made me see things. Who ever heard of a Council of birds? Even the dogs and horses who were organized had not gone that far.

  'What is this Seeker?'

  'The Seeker is the one who Seeks and either you are or you are not. I say not, or you would not ask such questions,' Illyx sent with waspish exasperation.

  'Peace,' Ruatha sent gently. 'We will take her.'

  I blinked, forcing back a wave of nausea. 'What do you mean? I thought you said . . .'

  The bird ignored me, hopping up to the cave. One last searching look from ice-coloured eyes, then she thrust her head beneath one wing and appeared to be trying to pick out the feathers there. I watched this with some horror. She withdrew a pouch in her sharp beak, dropped it on the ground and pecked at it until the woven edges parted. Inside was a net.

  'No!' I struggled to maintain the suppressing.

  'The Elder can not leave the Ken, so you must come there,' Ruatha sent calmly, reaching for my leg with one strong claw.

  Pain.

  More pain.

  Darkness.

  I fought against consciousness, frightened of what I would find.

  'You will not die . . .' sent a voice, soft in my mind as a falling leaf.

  Slowly, I let myself be drawn, opening my eyes to a sky so pale and clear it was more white than blue. The wind fanned my cheeks with icy fingers and puffs of cloud burst from my lips and dissolved with each breath exhaled.

  'Dreaming . . .' I thought vaguely, watching another puff of cloud float away. 'All a dream . . . but so real.' I turned my heard slowly to follow it and froze.

  I was having one of those horrible dreams where I seemed to be right on the edge of the highest cliff in the world. Below, visible through a veil of drifting cloud, was a vague greyness that might have been sea or green land.

  Piercing the cloud rose numerous stone columns. First there had been winged horses, then giant birds that thought more clearly than any human, and now I had been transported to the top of the world. I wondered dizzily if these were the dreams that came to the endless sleep called death.

  I turned my head the other way, wondering what else I would find. I seemed to be lying atop one of the immense pillars. A few steps away from me was a cairn of stones. Guanette birds wheeled and flew and skimmed all about the column in an intricate airborne dance. It was one of the loveliest sights I had ever seen.

  I heard the rustle of wings and turned to see one of the birds come to ground. It was a male.

  'You have woken, Funaga. Welcome to the Ken. I am an Eldar. My name is Nerat. Among your kind, I would be called a healer.' It sent these thoughts past my shield without effort, with the same scything ability the other birds had demonstrated.

  He moved closer but slowly, as if his bones were stiff. I looked at his beak with faint apprehension. Even in a dream it might hurt to be eaten alive. Just as Ruatha had done, the bird reached under a wing withdrawing a pouch. Balancing precariously on one foot it took the pouch from its beak, plucking it open with delicate pecking motions. A few grains of yellowish dust drifted on the wind.

  'There will be pain, but not much. The infection in your body is bad but not so bad that Nerat cannot draw it. The real difficulty will be in finding a way to drain off the pain you have allowed to build up behind a mental block. Open your mind to me,' he commanded suddenly.

  I flinched at the hint of strength for here was a mind easily as powerful as my own.

  The bird tilted its head quizzically. 'You find that hard? Dying would be harder. Understand that there is only so much we can do from without. Your body must be taught to repair itself and build its immunities. That is a simple matter of teaching, and can be done even as I drain the mental poisons. But you must open willingly to me. If you resist, the block will crumble. You will die. Open your mind and sleep. Trust me.'

  I swallowed dryly, wondering why even in the midst of a dream, I could not bear the thought of opening my mind completely.

  'That is a question you will answer for yourself in time,' Nerat sent. 'Now, open, before the poison flows too deep. I can do many things, but I cannot bring back the dead to life. You must not die with so much left undone,' he added cryptically.

  I saw a sudden vision of Rushton's brooding face and felt the curious ache his memory always evoked.

  'He thinks of you too,' Nerat said absently, then he made a choking sound, and regurgitated a greyish lump of paste onto the stone.

  'This comes from the substance the funaga call white-stick,' Nerat sent. 'I have mixed it with various salivas and acids I have generated to fight the poisons. We call this substance narma, because it rose from the ashes of the Great White, and is ever a reminder that the poisons in the earth fade. Next time, there will be no narma.'

  I shivered, imagining all the world fused smooth as glass, and black.

  'That is how it will be, the next time,' Nerat sent. It stared into my eyes. 'Open to me, Elspeth Innle, for it is not only your life that hangs in the balance. Leave the block in place until I command you to release it.'

  Slowly, I let my head fall back onto the stone, trying to make my mind a passive vessel.

  Nerat was inside my mind then, swift as a snake, smooth as a single strand of silk. 'Relax,' he sent. 'Dream and I will do my work. I am not interested in the longings and secret thoughts of a funaga.'

  'Release the pain now,' Nerat commanded.

  And again I drifted between excruciating pain and numbness, burning heat and freezing cold.

  And the pain in my legs. The pain. The pain.

  For a time I forgot who I was, and it seemed all my life had been spent in a dream of pain on the top of a mountain.

  Occasionally I was a
ware of Nerat's mind weaving a pattern in my thoughts as complex and intangible as smoke in the wind. Sometimes I smelled flowers and herbs and, sometimes, acrid choking smoke.

  And then I floated for a very long time.

  'She wakes,' came a thought bound with weariness and satisfaction.

  I opened my eyes and found myself looking into pale avian eyes. The bird was so close I could see the fine crack in his beak, thin as a hair. I felt his mind like tenebrous fingers at the edge of my thoughts, then he gave a strangely human bob of his head and hopped away.

  I did not move for a long while, waiting to see where the dream would take me next. Idly, I wondered if I would feel myself plunge into the mindstream when I died. I thought I would like to hear that glorious siren song once more.

  Astyanax appeared. 'You are well, Elspeth Innle. You can get up now, or do you wish to lie there longer?' he sent with all the politeness of a host not wanting to upset a guest. Urged on by the eager expression in his eyes, I lifted my head carefully.

  It is a dream, I told myself. That is why there is no pain.

  Slowly, I sat upright. There was no pain in my feet or legs. I made myself look, prepared to see ruined evil-smelling flesh and black infection. My legs seemed to rise at me from a dark mist.

  Below the skirt they lay before me, pale as cream and utterly without blemish. Even the old childhood scars of skinned knees had vanished.

  My heart sounded like a drum beat as I reached for the laces. They were stiff with congealed blood but I felt no pain. The socks were the same, but when I pulled them down, they came away from the skin easily. The flesh beneath was as flawless as that on my calves. Unable to believe my eyes, I reached one hand out slowly, convinced I was delirious or mad. Nothing could heal so completely.

  The skin felt smooth and flawless beneath my questing fingers. I wriggled my toes experimentally, watching the movement as if it were an exquisite dance.

  I laughed, and my laughter seemed to reverberate off the mountains. No one could heal that fast, and I knew enough of healing to know it was impossible to heal poisoned flesh or banish old, deep scarring.

  'Well, Dreamer,' Astyanax sent pertly. 'You must sup with Atthis - Elder of the Eldar.'

  I climbed warily to my feet and let myself be led across to the cairn of stones and round to face an opening in the other side. I looked forward to the next development of my dream.

  'Greetings, Funaga,' came a thought from within the cairn so clear and gentle it was like a song in my mind. There was the sound of shuffling movement and, slowly, a very old female Guanette bird emerged, its feathers less red than dusty brown alternating with bald pink patches. The end of its beak was broken right off, but strangest of all were its eyes. There was no pupil and they were white and milky opaque.

  It was blind.

  Looking at the ancient bird, a mist of terror crept through my veins with the sudden certainty that I was not dreaming.

  The old bird stopped, eyes turned unerringly towards me. The movement reminded me of Dameon's blind grace. 'So, now you are come, just as was foreseen. You may call me Atthis, and I will call you Elspeth Innle, as did the yelloweyes.'

  I blinked, startled. Did she mean Maruman? Then something else struck me.

  I knew that voice!

  It was the voice that had called to me in Maruman's mind.

  But I'm dreaming, I thought dazedly. That explains everything.

  The old bird stepped closer and a suffocating odour of dust seemed to surround me.

  'Why do you pretend? You know this is no dream.'

  I felt as if someone had kicked me in the stomach, sick and breathless all at once.

  'You made Maruman sick!' I said indignantly.

  'It could not be helped,' Atthis sent gently. 'We could not reach you otherwise, at such a distance.'

  Something else occurred to me. 'You told me I had to go on a journey. Is that why I'm here?' A dark journey, she had said.

  The bird sent nothing for a long moment, but I had the uncanny feeling she could see from those white orbs.

  'I did not know when first I called to you in my dream-travels through the yelloweyes's mind, that we would meet so soon. I did not foresee then that the Agyllians would have some other part to play. Even the wise are sometimes pawns.'

  The old bird came closer, its tattered wing brushing one of my feet. I looked into its blind eyes with faint horror.

  'You do not like the look of my sightless eyes? Well, sight is a facile thing,' Atthis sent.

  It was nearing dusk, and a fleeting final sunbeam bathed the old bird in crimsons for a moment. Beyond the cairn, lay the rim of the world. On one side the sky was night dark and, on the other, the sun shone its final rays. In the west, the moon was rising flat and bright. I looked back to see that the avian face had not looked away from mine.

  'Elspeth Innle . . . The Seeker,' the old bird sent.

  'I don't know why you call me that name. It's just a name Maruman made up. I don't call myself by it,' I sent.

  'All names are not chosen,' Atthis sent. 'Some names are bestowed.'

  'What is this all about?' I said briskly.

  'You know,' Atthis sent, unperturbed. 'Have you not wondered at the coincidences and chances in your life? Have you not felt that there were great forces at work about you - forces for good and for great ill? Have you not felt the purpose in your life burning?'

  Unwished, a vision came to me of the black chasm I had glimpsed while being tortured by the Zebkrahn. I thought of Jik asking if it were possible for it to happen again, and of the Druid and his insane search for Before-time weapon machines, his greed for power and revenge blinding him to all else.

  'You know,' sent Atthis. 'You have always known.'

  'Who are you?' I whispered.

  'You may call me a chronicler and . . . what do your people call it - a futureteller. Long ago I foresaw that the machines which made the great destructions had not been destroyed. I saw that a second and greater destruction would come to the world, if these machines were used. And despite all the funaga did to bury the past, it was inevitable they would be discovered, unless they were destroyed. That will be no easy matter, for the machines have a kind of intelligence, and will protect themselves. Then I dreamed one would be born among the funaga, a Seeker to cross the Black wastes in search of the death machines, one who possessed the power to destroy them.

  'Then, I foresaw a faltering in that life - a moment when you might easily die. I saw that you would be near to death with such mental and physical injuries that only the Agyllians might heal you. And so I sent out my egglings to find you.'

  'If these machines are so far away, might they not be useless by the time anyone found them?' I asked.

  'The machines have slept without harm for hundreds of lifetimes. The danger of their discovery alone would not be enough to make me act. But I have foreseen that there is another funaga whose destiny is to discover and resurrect the machines. Your paths intersect. If you do not get there first, he will succeed. You are the Seeker, he is the Destroyer. If you do not find the machines before him . . .'

  I felt sick. I wanted to tell myself that it was too ridiculous, that I must be dreaming, that prophecies belonged to stories, but too much had happened. I had seen and felt too much, and in my heart, just as the bird said, I had known for a long time that I would find that chasm. The burning of the doors had only been the beginning.

  'Why does it have to be me?' I asked. 'Don't I have any choice?'

  'There are always choices.'

  I shook my head, feeling suddenly bitter. 'If what you say is true, then the future is set out and I have no real choice.'

  'The future is a river whose course is long designed, but which a flood or time of no rain might easily alter. Whatever choice you make will have its own consequences. If I had not chosen to interfere, and have you healed, your death would have been a kind of choice.'

  The sun sank and suddenly it was night, the old bird no more t
han a dust-scented shadow.

  'What do I have to do?' I whispered.

  'For now, only live,' Atthis sent. 'What else comes will come.'

  'You . . . you brought me here for that?' I asked, incredulous.

  The old bird seemed to sigh. 'The time is not yet right for the journey to the machines. You were brought here to be healed, and so you are healed.'

  'I'm afraid,' I said.

  'That is wise,' Atthis sent gently. 'Only a fool has no fear. Yet put aside fear for now. There is nothing here to harm you. Return to your home and friends. Help them in their struggle, for it is worthy and they have need of you. But do not forget that your true path lies away from them and their quests. They will be glad to see you, for now they think you have passed into the great stream of life and mourn you.'

  'Have you . . . foreseen that I will destroy the machines if I go on this journey?'

  Atthis shifted slightly and dust filled the air. 'That, I have not foreseen.'

  A wave of weariness flowed through me, and a kind of hopelessness. I sensed compassion in the mind of the old bird. 'One day, you will learn that it is not always safest to be alone. Until then, happiness will elude you. But perhaps it is best for you to be alone until this quest is ended.'

  'I don't understand,' I sent.

  'I know. You are tired. Sleep and while you sleep, my egglings will transport you to a place where one waits to carry you back to the mountain valley of Obernewtyn.'

  The old bird's eyes stared into mine, and I felt myself falling into them, sinking into the soft whiteness as if it were a feather bed.

  24

  The cold woke me.

  I was freezing and I wondered if it had snowed in the night. I felt a sharp stab of grief and was puzzled by it.

  Then I remembered Jik.

  I opened my eyes.

  It was a night. I frowned wondering at the icy coldness of the air. Perhaps I had slept longer than I guessed, or winter had come early to the White Valley. Even so, it felt too cold for the Highlands. I doubted it had ever been so chill even at Obernewtyn in the dead of winter.