The Keeping Place Page 14

  I felt the blood churn in my cheeks. What was he saying? What was I thinking? “You hate me. Us.”

  “There is no us, Elspeth. There is only you. And I do not hate you. I need you.” He laughed again, and his laughter grew and thundered around me.

  “Leave me alone!” I screamed.

  He smiled and stepped toward me. Then, all at once, his face changed. He glanced over his shoulder furtively, then vanished.

  I was falling again, struggling to use my wings to right myself.

  “Go down/wake!” Maruman’s voice was so urgent that I obeyed instantly, angling downward and letting myself pick up speed. Reaching the region of amorphous color, I felt my physical substance dissolve into the floating etheric light shape. Now I could see the silver thread running away from me, and I willed myself along it as if it were a rope.

  In seconds, if time can be measured in such a state, I was hovering over my sleeping form. I knew I must resume my body to be safe from Dragon, but I hesitated, afraid for Maruman. What if the beast turned on him? To my amazement, thinking of the old cat transported me instantly to the Healer hall where Maruman’s body lay with Dragon’s. The real shapes of things were again only vaguely apparent beneath their shifting halos of color, but these auras seemed far less stable than the ones in my turret room. They lurched and swayed in constant dizzying movement, mingling weirdly at the edges so it was difficult to be sure where one thing began and another ended.

  The center of the disturbance was the boiling mass of red and orange light shot through with livid streaks of dark red and yellow, which could only be Dragon’s aura. I was literally seeing the effect of her mental disturbance. The tumultuous swirling of fiery light about her slight form was creating a suction that violently disturbed all auras within range. Obviously, the effect would diminish the farther things were physically from her, but it was no wonder our dreams had been disturbed.

  I turned to study the human forms by Dragon’s bed. The aura of the nearest person glimmered pink and gentle lavender, flecked with misty blue. Strands like spider-webs ran between this form and Dragon’s. Without thinking, I reached out a hand to touch them. I had no sense of flesh meeting flesh, but as my hand of light entered the pale strands, I knew the form belonged to Angina and that some sort of link had been forged between Dragon and the Empath guilden. There was another thickish thread of light running away from Angina and out of the room. I dipped my hand into it and learned that it was an etheric connection to his twin.

  The form alongside him had a very pure blue-white aura that reminded me of moonlight on snow or sea foam at night. I did not need to touch it to guess that it was the futureteller Dell. Beside her was yet another person with an aura of green shot through with a single festering streak of red, shading to purple at the edges like a faded bruise. I reached into the green light and discovered it belonged to Kella. The streak of red was her sorrow and guilt over Domick.

  I located Maruman’s shape within Dragon’s sickly dominant aura. At first, I was frightened by the way the two auras appeared to merge, but even as I thought of the old cat, his aura sharpened and became more distinct. There were whorls of opalescent color in it and pure threads of silver, but livid streaks of yellow also tangled with the other colors. His intermittent madness, I guessed. There were seams of black, too, but before I could touch them to find out what they were, Dragon’s aura began to flow around me.

  Alarmed at the thought that the dragon beast might even now be flying toward me, I willed myself to my turret room and let the silver thread of light draw me back into my flesh. Picturing my hand plucking away the thread of light and flinging it loose, I felt a sharp stinging pain, and then it fell away as I rose to consciousness like a cork bursting explosively to the surface of water.

  I gasped and opened my eyes.

  I was in the chair by my hearth, my skin clammily cold. I sat up with a groan. The room seemed incredibly drab after having seen it with spirit eyes.

  I forced myself to get up, marveling at the extent of my exhaustion. Traveling the dreamtrails was much harder work than traversing any true road. I threw a few sticks of kindling on the fire, hooked a pot of water over it to boil, then pulled on my jacket. Resuming the chair, I held my fingers out to the flames and wondered anew at my strange adventure. I was fascinated at the way in which auras revealed not only the nature of the thing they shaped, but also even what ailed it. Surely a healer who could use the dreamtrails would be better able to treat illnesses.

  It was some time before I remembered the purpose of the night’s adventures. With an exclamation, I groped in my pocket and withdrew Dameon’s crumpled letter, unfolding the paper and gaping at the streaks of charcoal on it. Maruman had insisted that what happened on the dreamtrails could have an impact in life, and now here was the proof of it.

  Drawing the candle near with shaking fingers, I flattened the letter carefully. Of course, I could no more read the rubbed letters now than when I had been on the dreamtrails, but I could see I had managed to get a good, clear imprint of them. Whether it was clear enough to translate, only time would tell.

  The water began to boil. I laid the pages aside and set about preparing an infusion of herbs. Feeling weary, I coerced a small mental net to trap my fatigue so that I would not unwittingly fall asleep. Dragon was sure to be waiting. It hurt me to think of the killing hatred I had seen in her eyes as she attacked me. Ironically, every time I evaded her, it increased her feelings of abandonment. Yet I could not stand and let her kill me to prove I loved her.

  I shuddered, and the movement rustled the charcoal-rubbed pages of Dameon’s letter on the table. I remembered I had yet to read it. Stirring honey into the scalding liquid, I settled myself back in the chair.

  11

  THE PRICKED WORDS on the previous page had been obliterated by the rubbing, but the last page was untouched. It began halfway through a sentence:

  the Sadorians have offered to make me an honorary member of their tribe. An asura. This will allow me to become privy to all that is known to the tribal leaders and to the Temple guardians. Fian has probably said as much to you, but he will not have told you that the overguardian is dying. Fian does not know it, nor does Jakoby or anyone outside the Temple. Traditionally, such knowledge is kept within the Temple community, and it says much that I have been given access to it. That is the true reason for my delay in returning to Obernewtyn. The overguardian tells me that one day his successor will simply appear in his stead to the tribes. There is no beauty or peace in his dying, and maybe that is why they choose to shroud it in secrecy and ritual. He will suffer great pain before the end, which no drug will be allowed to alleviate. Other guardians use a spice drug that gives them pleasant dreams when the pain of their deformities is beyond enduring. But he cannot have recourse to it, because in the worst extremity, he is supposed to see a vision that will reveal his successor. Maybe it is true, but the thought of his suffering horrifies me, for already he undergoes certain agony. That is why I could not refuse him when he asked if I would stay with him at the end. He asked it in a time of terrible pain, and it was as if a child begged me. He is frightened of what he must endure, and he knows I can empathise a calmness and acceptance in him, without affecting his clarity of mind. It will mean sharing his suffering, and truly I fear it for this reason. Yet I will endure it. Witnessing his dying fills me with the determination to learn why the boy and the other Temple guardians are so terribly afflicted. I have asked him openly about their deformities, and he says that I may know the truth of that only when I am named asura. So I am patient, or try to seem so.

  I must finish this now. But it lightens my heart to think I will see you and Obernewtyn very soon, and I pray that all is well there.

  My love,

  Dameon

  I sighed, my fingers lingering on his name. Given what we had learned about Dragon, I wished more than ever that the empath was on his way to Obernewtyn.

  There was a knock at the door, and I opened
it to find Roland with Maruman in his arms. As the Healer guildmaster set the old cat carefully down, I noticed with alarm that his hind leg was heavily bandaged.

  “What happened?”

  “We don’t know,” Roland said soberly. His eyes met mine. “Claw marks, left by no animal that exists. I fear they can only be the dragon’s doing….”

  I bit my lip at the memory of Maruman leaping between Dragon’s beast and me, and of the odd black streaks I had later noticed in his aura. Claw marks!

  “It is my fault he’s hurt,” I cried.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Roland growled impatiently. “To blame yourself for this…”

  “Roland, last night the dragon appeared in my dreams and tried to attack me. Maruman was with me, and he deliberately got in the way.”

  Roland stared at me. “This cannot go on. Dragon must be taken away from Obernewtyn.”

  “It may not be necessary. Maruman said Angina’s music had an effect. I know it didn’t stop Dragon last night, but perhaps, given time…”

  “One more night may be all it takes to cause some irretrievable harm.”

  “At this stage, I am the only one in danger. Dragon wasn’t attacking Maruman last night. She was after me.” I told him that I would eat firstmeal and then seek out Angina.

  He nodded and took his leave, but he stopped at the door. “By the way, Dell said she needed to speak with you today. Or to put it more exactly, she said she had foreseen that she would speak with you today.”

  After he had gone, I lifted Maruman gently into my bed. The cat gave a soft buzzing snore, and I rubbed his soft belly and rested my head beside his on my blanket.

  Even before I was washed and dressed for firstmeal, dark clouds had blotted out the sun, and the smell of rain was in the air. If the morrow was like this, most of the outdoor events and displays planned for our moon fair would have to be canceled. On top of Dameon’s absence, it was almost too much, and when I reached the kitchens, I saw that I was not alone in thinking so. The tables were surrounded by gloomy expressions.

  Spotting Angina next to Miky, I went over to join them. He looked exhausted and downcast. “I feel so bad about Dragon scratching Maruman,” he told me. “I had the beast mesmerized, but then I fell asleep.”

  “That is very good news,” I said. “If the dragon attacked only when you stopped playing, we know it can be controlled.”

  “We’ve been talking about it,” his sister said eagerly. “Last night, I dreamed Angina was playing his gita beside a big gray wall of stone. The dragon was sitting atop the wall, but after a while, it came and laid on the grass beside him, listening. It was only when the music stopped that it flew away.” She frowned. “I saw Maruman, too.”

  “Maruman?” I was startled to think mine were not the only dreams the old cat wandered through.

  “He was watching the dragon, too,” the empath explained. “He looked like a big striped cat with queer shining eyes, but I knew it was him the way you do in dreams. He went away before Angina stopped playing.”

  “Do you and Angina often dream of each other?”

  “We dream next to each other,” Angina said cryptically. Seeing my puzzlement, he went on. “I can go into Miky’s dreams if I want, and she into mine. Sometimes we just dream together, but it’s not always easy to tell whether we’re dreaming of one another, or if we’re sharing the dream. Not until we wake up and talk.”

  One of the kitchen helpers interrupted us to bring bowls of steaming oatmeal. I poured creamy milk over my oats and added a dollop of honey, wondering what the effect would have been if I had entered the twins’ dream. Would the music have counteracted the creature’s violent response to me, or would the sight of me inflame it enough for it to brush aside the music?

  “What do you think of a rota of musicians playing to her constantly?” I asked.

  Angina shook his head decisively. “The others might not be able to hold her. I don’t mean to sound conceited, but it’s very difficult. You have to…to reach her somehow, as I’ve done. It’s not just the music.” He paused, and suddenly I thought of the strands I had seen linking his aura to Dragon’s. “Miky and I have talked about it, and we’ve decided it’s best if I keep watch and play my gita. Some others can take turns watching me so I don’t fall asleep, and a healer can draw off a little fatigue if I get too tired.”

  “You can’t do that forever,” I said. “You will need to sleep sometime.”

  “I will sleep in the daytime,” he answered. “After all, the dragon can’t get into someone’s dream unless they are asleep.”

  As I left the kitchen, I debated going the longer way round to the Futuretell wing, under cover, but in the end, I pulled my cloak over my head and ran across the yard. I burst into the futuretellers’ hall at a run, startling a young man and two girls sitting around a frame that hemmed a splendid tapestry.

  Each year, the futuretellers made a tapestry depicting a part of our Misfit history and presented it to Obernewtyn at the first moon fair following wintertime. Usually, Rushton unveiled the work and made a speech about our future.

  I averted my eyes as the futuretellers covered their work, but I had seen enough to know that they were depicting the Battlegames. I let myself be patted down with a towel and fussed over, trying to recall the names of the embroiderers. The two girls were sisters who had sought refuge with us after being freed from an orphan home by the farseekers scrying out their forbidden Talents, and the young man had been sent to us by Brydda the previous year to save him being dragged to the Councilcourt and sentenced as a dreamer. His mother had begged the rebel leader’s help.

  Valda! His name came to me at the same time as the memory of gossip that he was paying court to Rosamunde, who had once loved my brother, Jes.

  Like many condemned to Obernewtyn in the old days, Rosamunde was unTalented, but her association with Jes had cast enough suspicion on her to have her tried by the Councilcourt. Since then, she had always regarded me with hostility. I was never sure whether she saw Jes in me and it pained her, or if she hated me for meddling with her mind when we were both at the Kinraide orphan home. To my surprise, she had elected to stay on after Rushton took over Obernewtyn. To begin with, she had worked in the kitchens, but now she dwelt in the Futuretell demesnes.

  The three futuretellers were regarding me with the discomfiting intensity of their kind.

  “Maryon said to ask you to go up when you arrived,” Valda said.

  Repressing a flash of irritation, I thanked them and made my way up a flight of stone steps to the guildmistress’s turret room. But when the door opened, it was Dell who looked out at me. She said that she had just brewed choca, and, cheered by this, I allowed myself to be ushered into the turret room that was a mirror image of my own.

  “It is not often you come here, ElspethInnle,” Dell said.

  I was startled at her use of this form of my name but decided to make nothing of it. “Roland said you wanted to see me.”

  “Did he say that?” She smiled, a slow quirk of the lips. “Well, it is true in any case. We have a gift for you.”

  “A gift for me? But why?”

  “Does there need to be a reason fer a giftin’? Can it nowt simply be of itself?” Maryon asked, gliding from behind the stone wall that divided the chamber.

  “A gift can be for no reason, I suppose, but seldom are they, or so I have found.”

  Dell’s smile deepened, but Maryon’s face remained gravely courteous. “Nevertheless, our gift is fer no reason other than that it pleases us.” She reached for a basket under the table and drew from it an astonishing swatch of red-dyed heavy silk of the sort lately shipped from Sador. I was coerced by its loveliness to stroke it.

  “We procured it last year and embroidered it throughout this winter just past,” Dell said. “Only yesterday did we finally sew the fringing on.”

  As she spoke, they spread it out, and I saw that it was a shawl worked in silken thread. Here and there, mirror beads and glass ba
lls glimmered like sunlight dancing on water. But it was the design that thrilled me more than the exquisite fabric, for it featured a multitude of intertwined beasts. A tyger with flaring eyes, a rearing black horse and a small pony, a dark dog and a white one, three silver-eyed wolves, and, most astonishing, a dragon hovering over all the rest. The fringe was long and moss-green, and this color found an echo in the delicate subtheme of interwoven leaves behind the beasts.

  “It…it is the most lovely thing I have ever seen,” I whispered, overwhelmed.

  “Th’ design came to me in a trance,” Maryon said, and even now, the remoteness in her tone stopped me from expressing the warmth her gift deserved.

  Yet this gift did not serve life’s purpose and could come only out of some specific individual wish to please me. I did not understand and admitted to myself that knowing Maryon’s past did not truly explain her nature. I watched her fold the shawl with graceful economy that reflected her desire to have no gush. She restored the lovely thing to the basket, saying offhandedly that her people had also made me a moon-fair dress and slippers to complement the shawl, and they were in the basket as well.

  “I thank you, Maryon, and all who had a hand in this magnificent gift. It is a work of art whose skill even the Twentyfamilies must envy,” I said, determined to thank her properly, even if it had to be very formal.

  Maryon inclined her head and then nodded to Dell, who poured choca into three small silver goblets. Taking one, I asked how she had fared in her night vigil over Dragon.

  “You know about Maruman being wounded, of course,” Dell said, handing one of the goblets to her mistress. “And of Miky’s dream of the beast listening to the music?” I nodded. “Then you know everything.”

  “You didn’t dream anything yourself, then?”

  Her eyes flickered, but she said, “I regret sleeping very much. I made the mistake of forgetting how powerful Angina’s ability is to empathise through music; his gentleness is the secret of his strength.”