The Rebellion Read online

  Rushton rose and began to pace about the room.

  The futureteller made a graceful gesture with her long fingers. “I saw many things. A journey over th’ great water; a gray stone fortress wi’ a Guanette bird flying o’er it.” Maryon spoke these words in a high oratory tone, but now she dropped into a more normal voice, and its very flatness gave her words greater power. “I saw yon gypsy woman mun be returned safe to her people within a sevenday fer th’ sake of Obernewtyn.”

  “Seven days!” I cried. Futuretellers often came up with obscure deeds they said must be performed for this reason or that, or for no reason at all that they would divulge. But this was the most dramatic I could remember in some time.

  “Futuretellin’ is nowt an exact study,” Maryon said. “There is much to see that defies understandin’. But I did see that th’ gypsy’s people may be found in Sutrium.”

  “Sutrium!” That was almost worse than not knowing.

  Sutrium was the largest town in the Land—and the most dangerous, being the base of the main Councilcourt.

  Belatedly, I realized no one else had reacted to the mention of it—they already knew this. I wondered why Rushton had not waited for me before telling what was to be told. It was not as if I had delayed coming or had been difficult to find.

  “Given that they are gypsies, I dinna know how long her people will bide there,” Maryon was saying. She shrugged. “All I can tell ye is that they are there now.” She broke off suddenly and there was an awkward silence.

  “Are we voting on whom to send with the gypsy?” I asked at last.

  “There will be no voting on this matter. You will take her,” Rushton said tersely.

  I was genuinely astonished. Rushton had managed to convince the guildmerge to ban guildleaders from trips to the lowlands, because there was too much risk. Now he commanded me as if I was a novice to make a journey to the most oppressive city in the Land, with an unconscious gypsy fugitive!

  “I will impose a sleepseal on her,” the Healer guildmaster said in such a way that let me understand this had been discussed, too. “It will slow down her heartbeat and her dying. Kella can remove the seal in Sutrium, just before you hand her over.”

  “Why am I to take her?” I asked slowly.

  Rushton’s green eyes stared into mine for a moment; then he turned to Maryon. “Tell her.”

  The futureteller drew herself up to her considerable height. “Fer Obernewtyn’s sake, Elspeth, th’ gypsy mun be returned to her people. This was the futuretellin’ fer which I sent to recall ye from the city under Tor. But yesterday, when I fell into a second an’ deeper trance, I learned another thing: You mun be th’ one to take her back. Nowt fer Obernewtyn’s sake but fer yer own.”

  “Mine?” I echoed.

  Maryon went on, her face grave. “On th’ journey, you—an’ only you—will have th’ chance to learn what the word swallow means. If ye fail, I have foreseen … that ye’ll die afore th’ next Days of Rain.”

  4

  ON THE SIDE of the road were patches of scrub and a few of the immense white-trunked ur trees that characterized lowland terrain. Matthew had not seen many of them before, but the trees had grown in great profusion around my childhood home in Rangorn.

  I thought fleetingly of picking berries in their shade with my mother. Then I sighed and shook myself.

  Rushton, Dameon, and Ceirwan had seen us off at first light, the gravity of the expedition diverted at the last minute by a hysterical tantrum of the young empath-coercer Dragon, whom we had rescued on a previous expedition. She had suddenly realized she would not be going with us, and it had taken all of Dameon’s empathy to prevent her from flinging herself after us as the gypsy wagon pulled away in the gray mountain dawn.

  My last sight of Rushton had been of him frowning after me, arms folded across his chest.

  Thunder rumbled now, and I looked up at the lowering sky, wondering if we would reach Sutrium before the storm broke. We had not long passed Glenelg Mor, its sodden earth invisible beneath a veil of mist.

  I sent a brief command for Matthew to take up the reins, rather than letting them hang down loosely. “It will look odd if someone comes along and sees no one is steering the wagon.”

  “Gypsy horses are trained to stay on the road while their owners sleep. Besides, who in their right minds would be out so late with a storm brewin’?” Matthew grumbled, but he did as I bade.

  A few minutes later, a horse galloped around a bend behind us. I gave Matthew a pointed look, though in truth he was right about seldom meeting anyone on the road. He did not notice, because he was all agog at the sight of the exotic-looking gold-skinned rider—wrapped in a purple cloak and bent low over the horse’s neck—who thundered past and out of sight around a bend in the road ahead.

  “That were one of them Sador tribesfolk,” Matthew said excitedly. “I’m goin’ to visit Sador someday.” His eyes glowed at the thought.

  The road to the remote region had only just been opened up in the last year, as the Blacklands taint along the eastern shore of the Land faded, allowing a slender, and some said dangerous, passage along the coast.

  The Council had always maintained the Land was all that remained unpoisoned of the world, while the Herders preached it was all Lud had seen fit to spare of the corrupt Beforetime. Seafarers had long known this to be a lie, but they had a rigid code of silence imposed by the Council. Even so, word had leaked out, initially as gossip and rumor. But with Sador suddenly accessible and known to all, it seemed more likely than ever that there was a world beyond the Blacklands.

  Looking before us to where the Sadorian rider had disappeared, I remembered Gahltha, who was scouting ahead for danger. I asked Matthew how long the horse had been absent.

  “Nowt long. He won’t go too far with you here.”

  I ignored the questions implicit in his tone. There was no way of explaining Gahltha’s transformation from a vicious human-hating fury into my devoted guardian without relating the whole fantastic story of my deliverance from death by the Agyllians. It was Atthis who had called the black horse to carry me down from the high mountains, and whatever the ancient bird had said to keep him waiting through the long months of my convalescence had altered Gahltha completely. Gahltha now believed utterly that I was to rescue beasts from their long slavery to humans. No surprise that he and Maruman both had insisted on accompanying me to the lowlands.

  I sighed, sick of living my life at the directive of the vague whims of fate and futuretellers.

  At the conclusion of our impromptu meeting the day before, Rushton had suggested I say nothing of Maryon’s predictions concerning myself to the general population of Obernewtyn. I had been only too glad to agree. Success would simply add to the myth surrounding me, and if I failed, it would not matter what had been predicted. Matthew had been told that the purpose of the journey was to return the gypsy to her people, which was true enough, and that while in Sutrium we would inspect the safe house and inquire as to whether Brydda Llewellyn’s rebels would accept us as allies. Rushton still had no answer since his visit to Sutrium, and he feared missing an opportunity to ally ourselves with those who could very well be the next rulers of the Land.

  If only they would accept us.

  I glanced back over my shoulder to where the gypsy lay on one of the wooden pallet beds, Maruman curled fast asleep at her feet. I judged her to be about forty years of age. Her features were too strong for beauty, but she was handsome and her hair was as black as my own. One sleeve had ridden up to reveal the potmetal bracelet she wore above her elbow.

  Her stubborn resistance to healing had begun to take its toll. Despite Roland’s sleepseal, there was an unhealthy pallor to her skin.

  “She’s nowt dead yet,” Matthew said defiantly.

  I frowned at him. “Let’s hope she lives until we get to Sutrium and that we have no trouble getting her through the gates.”

  “We have papers,” Matthew said.

  “Yes. False ones
. But, Ludwilling, the soldierguards will not have a description of her yet—or of me.”

  The farseeker paled. As usual, he had given no thought to the realities of the situation in his dreams of heroic deeds.

  “I wonder where th’ gypsy who shot them arrows in Guanette rode to in such a rush. I dinna see him very well through the trees, but he were tall and well-muscled. He had gray hair in a gypsy plait, an’ he were wearin’ a blue shirt,” Matthew said dreamily. Beyond his sloppy shielding, I caught a glimpse of a vision in which a tall gypsy hero thanked us regally for the return of his companion.

  “There’s no possibility of us chasing after this gypsy and just handing the woman over as if it were a public play,” I said sharply.

  Matthew flushed and his shield slammed into place. “Ye said ye’d give her to her people, an he mun be one of them.”

  “And so I will, but discreetly.” If she lives, I thought. And if I can find them.

  Matthew let out a formless exclamation of surprise, dragging me back from my worries. We had reached the top of a long rise, and Sutrium lay before us in the blighted light of the gathering storm.

  It had grown much bigger than I remembered, spreading farther west until it joined up with settlements along the side of the Suggredoon River and stretching east and north into straggling outlying districts and farmlands. Beyond the city lay the great sea.

  In some ways, Sutrium was not unlike the coastal town of Aborium. We had journeyed there on the very expedition that had led to the rescue of the empath-coercer Dragon. Whether it was my imagination or the knowledge that Sutrium was the home of the main Councilcourt, it seemed a dark and menacing place.

  Unlike Aborium, there were no watchtowers. It was too big for such things to be of any use. But in any case, there was no need, since there were three huge soldierguard camps on the city outskirts. One lay slightly inland on the banks of the Suggredoon; another closer to the sea, near the ferry port; and the third to the east, among the farmlands.

  How would the very first Councilmen, who had sworn not to follow in the steps of the Beforetimers, view the sprawling city? I wondered. Surely all their fears that humans might tread the same doomed path of progress would be realized at the sight of it. In my mind’s eye, I saw for a moment the shadowy, half-drowned city beneath Tor.

  Thunder sounded again, and as if it were some heavenly signal, Gahltha emerged like a shadow from a thick copse of Ara trees a little way down the slope. He waited, a dark shape against the pale speckled trunks and tremulous clouds of foliage, until Jaygar brought us close.

  “The way to the funaga-li barud is not watched by danger,” the black equine sent in his stringent mental voice. “Funaga” was the closest rendering of the beast thought symbol for human. The form used by Gahltha was subtly derogatory, for though the old acid bitterness had vanished from his nature, there were still traces of it when he considered humans outside of Obernewtyn.

  “It would be wise for ElspethInnle to ride this equine,” Gahltha sent. “Only the funaga walk without shackles/burdens in this place.”

  “Wait a moment,” I sent, and climbed into the back of the cart to change my skirt for trousers. Coming out again, I stood up on the wagon’s bench seat, and the black horse came alongside, allowing me to transfer smoothly to his bare back.

  Sensing his approval at the ease of my mounting, I felt smug. Gahltha had taught me to ride as gypsies did. And there had been many times during his painful lessons that I had felt certain they were simply a sadistic way to murder me. Yet I had survived, and there were few now at Obernewtyn who could match my skill. In fairness, that was because few rode as frequently. None among us rode a horse except at its invitation, since all thinking beasts were regarded as equal to human-folk. I would as soon ask Matthew to carry me as ask one of the equines. Horses took part in expeditions at their own choosing, masquerading as beasts of burden. They never carried humans otherwise, except at great need.

  Gahltha was the exception.

  After bringing me from the high mountains, he had insisted on going back into them often; whether out of nostalgia or to remind himself of his promises, I never knew. Each time he went, he asked that I ride on his back. At first I had refused, disliking the way it increased the mystique my activities had already woven about me, but his determination had worn me down. And like him, I had come to love the headlong gallops over the whispering grasses, flattened to his back and feeling as if the two of us were, in those moments, a single wild spirit.

  This had the unexpected result of causing the proud Obernewtyn equines to question whether carrying humans must always be a sign of slavery. More than one of the beasts had suggested that a time might come when it would be useful to have Misfits who rode well. The matter was still under discussion among their kind.

  “We must be nearin’ th’ outer gate,” Matthew sent as we reached the first shingled dwellings at the outer edge of the sprawling city. He got into the back to cover the woman’s face, and I concentrated on summoning the mental focus I would need to coerce the soldierguards at the city gates if there was any difficulty.

  I reached out to take Gahltha’s reins in my fingers as Matthew returned to his seat. My hands and body, like his, were stained a light gypsy tan. Brydda Llewellyn’s mother, Katlyn, who had come to live at Obernewtyn, was a skilled herb lorist, and to aid our most common disguise, she had perfected a dye that simulated gypsy skin tone and that would not wash off easily. Despite prevailing prejudices, it was far safer to move about the Land as homeless gypsies than to pretend to be normal Landfolk, for they rarely traveled.

  I concentrated on the disguise, enhancing it slightly with coercion so that people would see a boy in the gypsy clothes—just in case news of the incident at Guanette had spread to Sutrium.

  With a mental apology to Gahltha, I pulled the reins tight. They did not drag at his mouth, being a modified bridle that only looked as if it would control and direct a horse. The old bit and bridle were anathema to human and beast alike at Obernewtyn, but even so, I wondered if it would not have been wiser to use it on expeditions that would take us into the heart of Council territory, where spies would be watching for any deviations.

  Well, it was too late now.

  To my relief, there was a crowd at the gate; traders and farmers and the odd green-clad jack returning after a day’s work trading outside the city. The number of people lined up to show papers would mean a longish wait but less individual attention.

  Approaching the end of the line, we fell in quietly behind the rest, ignoring cheeky signals from a cluster of children. Such a reception was so common for gypsies that we would have stood out if we had reacted to it.

  For the most part, the people about us were grim-faced and sour-looking, and many bore the ugly marks of plague survivors. There was no chatter or end-of-day banter, only a brooding silence. People did not look into one another’s eyes, and the few words spoken were punctuated with wary, sliding glances.

  It was a timely reminder that Sutrium was a dangerous city, filled with a treachery that must not be underestimated. The main thing was to get past the gate without any sort of fuss that would draw attention to us.

  I looked up at the dark clouds, willing the storm to break. The soldierguards would scarcely glance at us if it was pouring rain on their heads.

  Jaygar’s mental voice speared into my mind without warning. “I will kill/trample funaga-li!”

  As if suddenly mad, the horse began to push his way through people in front of us, dragging in his wake the wagon containing the unconscious gypsy, Maruman, and a helpless Matthew.

  5

  I SENT OUT a coercive mental bolt, forcing Jaygar to a halt. Then I looked around frantically, trying to see what had provoked the normally placid equine to such a dangerous outburst.

  I did not need to look far.

  My own fury swelled at the sight of a small mare ahead of us trembling under the weight of a load of wood. But what made my blood boil and what ha
d surely incensed Jaygar, was the sight of a fat youth sitting on top of the load, unconcernedly eating a bun.

  Even as I watched, the mare staggered sideways under the weight of her burden, and the lout cursed her unsteadiness, whacking her with casual cruelty over the head.

  “Release me!” Jaygar raged. “You have no right.”

  I did not loosen my mental hold. “I have the right to restrain any beast/funaga who endangers the rest,” I sent, quoting from the expedition charter Rushton had made us draw up over long guildmerge sessions. Jaygar knew as well as I did that Avra had approved it on behalf of the Beastguild. “Now will you obey/calm?”

  The horse snorted angrily. “You would risk us/all for an unknown funaga but not for this beast?”

  “Risk comes from acting in thoughtless haste,” I gritted. “I will help the beast my own way. Now, will you obey, or must I waste more time in arguing with you?”

  Chastened, Jaygar agreed, and I asked Gahltha to come up beside the mare. To my astonishment, he refused.

  “I will not let you endanger yourself,” he sent. “This equine is one alone, and your life’s purpose will save/help many more than one life.”

  “She is your kind,” I sent. “Surely you don’t set my life above hers?”

  “Protect Innle before/above all,” Gahltha sent.

  “Is that what Atthis told you?” I fumed. “Well, I am not Atthis’s servant/slave. I won’t spend my whole life waiting to perform a single deed, Gahltha. Not for you, nor for Atthis. I will do what I can now, because tomorrow might never come. Now take me up beside the mare, or I will get down and walk!”

  After a long moment, Gahltha moved forward, but there was an offended stiffness in his bearing. I wished I had the empathy to show him what I felt. So often words said only half of what you wanted to say, even words sent directly from mind to mind. But empathy was the one power I lacked utterly.

  As we drew level with the mare, I made myself calm down. I did not want to show an interest that would be remembered later. From the corner of my eye, I noted the exhausted sag of her head and the scars on her knees and fetlocks from previous falls. Taking a deep breath to quiet my outrage, I reached out a probe to examine the bindings on her load. When I detected a weakness, I began to work at it with my mind, backward and forward.