The Sending Page 7

  ‘Link?’ I echoed flatly.

  The futureteller looked at me so searchingly that I wished I had held my tongue. She said, ‘Some lives are linked, fer good or ill, Elspeth. The bindin’ is easier to see in visions than in life. A futureteller might foresee an encounter between two people which repeated scrying reveals is likely to happen. But a futureteller might also discover a hundred possible futures in which the same meetin’ takes place. It might be in a different village, or on a different street, or it happens at night instead of in the daytime, or slightly different words will be spoken, or different people will be nearby. This suggests that there are threads binding th’ two that canna’ be seen in events alone nor even in actions, which will draw them irrevocably together. Such it is with you an’ Ariel.’

  ‘It sickens me to think of being linked with him,’ I said, and heard the loathing in my tone.

  ‘There are many kinds of links formed between people,’ Maryon said. ‘Strong emotion – fear or hate as well as love or loyalty – can forge a link between two people, or even a group of people, or a shared experience of a traumatic or transcendent event. Yer bound to Rushton by a link of great love, fer example. Ye’d have felt a backwards shadow of it th’ first time ye set eyes on one another, I’d guess. There are more rare an’ potent links even than love, though. Th’ one between you an’ Ariel is such a one, as is th’ link between him an’ Dragon.’

  I gaped at her. ‘Dragon is linked to Ariel?’

  Again the futureteller did not address my question directly. ‘There are people we call keystones – people who, for some reason or another, live lives that will affect the course of many.’

  ‘Dragon …’

  ‘Is a keystone. Her activities and choices affect the lives of many, as do Ariel’s. Such people are rare, an’ if born in th’ same time, th’ likelihood of their interactin’ is very high. They are like two weighty stones on a blanket. Their weight mun carry them towards one another, an’ it will draw all lesser stones on th’ blanket towards that meetin’ as well.’

  ‘Do you know who Dragon is?’ I asked.

  ‘She is th’ daughter of th’ queen of the Red Land, betrayed an’ murdered by her prime consul,’ Maryon answered. ‘I saw it when I focused on Dragon, after I foresaw her travelling with ye to Sutrium. There had been no mention of the bairn accompanyin’ ye an’ I wondered why I had dreamed it. At first, I dinna scry back into her past, but forward into a future where she dinna gan with ye. I came to a vision of th’ future darker than any I have ever seen, darker even than the desolation of the plague-racked west coast. I saw the world laid waste, all life upon it dead and gone. I saw a barren wind blowing over barren lands and dead waves breaking on dead shores. I scried again and again and though I could see no details at all of what would cause this future to come to pass, I saw that it would come if Dragon did not travel with you when you left to go to Sutrium.’

  ‘Did you see that this dark future would be averted if Dragon arrived in Sutrium?’ I asked.

  ‘I saw that it might come to pass even if she went to Sutrium, but every single future contained that dreadful vision if Dragon did not gan with ye from Obernewtyn,’ she answered. ‘It was the two of ye leavin’ Obernewtyn together that mattered. Thus I kenned that there was somethin’ she or you or both of you mun do or see or learn on the way there or maybe someone either of ye mun meet that would weigh against that dreadful black future. I judged it important enough to warrant speaking out to make sure she would travel with ye. It was only after ye had both gone that I scried again, focusing on Dragon, an’ this time going backwards in time. That was when I kenned the truth of her past.

  ‘It was when I was weary from tryin’ to see more of what brought her from the Red Land that I lost control of my probe and was thrown forward into the future vision where an armada of Gadfian slavers was coming from the Red Land to our waters. Hundreds of greatships swarming along the strait, full of fearsome warriors intent on enslaving us, even as they have done to the Redlanders. I delved until I found a vision where they dinna come, an’ traced that back to four ships leaving from the Land one morning ere the end of the Days of Rain …’

  I licked my dry lips and forced myself to say, ‘So you saw the invasion only because you were looking into Dragon’s past?’

  She nodded. ‘Chance can play as much a part in futuretellin’ as in life.’

  I nodded and took a deep steadying breath. ‘Is Ariel in the Red Land now?’

  ‘I saw him on th’ Black Ship with Salamander, speakin’ of the Red Land as his destination,’ she said, her mouth twisting. ‘His words revealed that he expects a warm welcome. He spoke of you, too. He longs to do ye harm, an’ it eats at him that he might have had his desire but dared not, because there is somethin’ he needs from ye. He speaks of your coming to th’ Red Land as a certainty.’

  ‘He must have foreseen it,’ I muttered, my heart sinking.

  ‘Maybe so, but even if he did, no futureteller can ever be completely sure that what they see will come to pass or that it will unfold exactly as they have imagined. Besides, Ariel may be a powerful Misfit, but any Talent he possesses will be distorted because he is defective. That is his greatest weakness. That an’ his inability to ken how other people will act. He kens only how he would act, so his decisions about others are always based on what he would do in their place.’

  ‘Did he speak of Dragon?’ I asked. ‘Does he know about her?’

  ‘I have seen the likeness of her mother carved on public walls in th’ Red Land, an’ it might be Dragon’s face, so much does the daughter resemble the mother. I think the likelihood is that Ariel will know who she is, if he dinna ken it already,’ Maryon said.

  ‘I suppose I am a keystone, too,’ I murmured.

  Maryon shook her head slowly, her clear dark eyes holding my gaze. ‘I dinna ken what you are, Elspeth Gordie. Whenever I focus a vision on ye it is like lookin’ into th’ heart of a storm. A great knot of possibilities forms about yer every choice, great an’ small. Ye affect an’ alter the lives of all ye encounter. Yer more than a keystone, an’ ye draw them both to you.’

  The door opened without warning and a slight young man with flyaway ginger hair and vague brown eyes entered. He set down two large cloth-wrapped packages on the table, bowed and left without saying a word.

  Maryon raised her brows in a mixture of resignation and amusement. ‘That was Lief. His aunt brought him up from Darthnor two sevendays past. She said if rumour were true an’ Obernewtyn was to become a settlement for freaks an’ Misfits, her nephew belongs with us. As it transpires th’ lad has a formidable Talent for futuretelling but only in small matters. For example, I dinna ask him to bring these to me. I imagine he simply foresaw that I would summon him an’ ask him to bring them, so he brought them.’

  ‘What are they?’ I asked, not sorry our previous conversation had been interrupted.

  ‘Gifts. Open them,’ Maryon said.

  I wanted to refuse, for the gifts of futuretellers always seemed to be freighted with unsettling meaning, but I unwrapped the smaller parcel to find a pair of beautifully made boots dyed a dark leaf green and reeking pleasantly if potently of the rich pungent oil Grufyyd created to waterproof cloth and fibre. A delicate leaf and flower pattern had been woven into the material but the soles were thick and well-ridged. I noticed there was a small sheath built into the lining of the boots, where a little knife fitted. Travelling boots like these would not be much use on the wet slippery deck of a ship, but no doubt they would serve in the Red Land. The second gift was a hooded travelling coat of densely woven grey cloth lined with a softer fabric, also pungent with recently applied waterproofing oil. Again it was too heavy for a journey on a ship and I did not see that it would be much use in the hot Red Land, but I thanked Maryon awkwardly.

  The futureteller nodded composedly and said there were other gifts. ‘I will have Lief bring them to yer chamber when they are ready. An’ now there is another matter I wi
sh to speak about. Since Dell has made it clear she will nowt return to Obernewtyn, I wish to elevate a senior novice to ward at the Choosing Ceremony during the moon fair.’

  ‘That seems reasonable. Just let Gevan know for the armbands,’ I said, wondering why she would mention the matter to me since it was completely within her province as guildmistress to make any futureteller appointment.

  Maryon continued. ‘I would further ask that you would propose Dell be appointed mistress of Oldhaven at the next guildmerge. It is needful that her position be formalised.’ She dropped her eyes to her sewing for a moment to check her stitches.

  I wondered what she had foreseen to prompt her to speak, but I merely said, ‘I will propose it, for Dell is the leader of the settlement in all but name.’ I drew myself up. ‘And now there is something I want to ask of you. I want you to scry for Maruman.’

  The futureteller looked up without surprise. ‘I will try, but you know he is nowt the easiest beast to find if he dinna want to be found.’

  ‘I am worried about him,’ I admitted.

  ‘I ken it, but I think I would have seen if any harm had come to him. Yet as ye ask it, I will make the attempt. If I locate him, I will send word at once. There is something else?’

  I nodded, suppressing a sigh. ‘There is. I need to borrow your guild’s dream-books. I have my guild sifting through all of the dream-books for information about the Red Land.’

  Maryon nodded and promised to send it as soon as the latest entries were dry.

  ‘Well, I had better go. Again my thanks for the gifts,’ I said rising. Then another thought came to me. ‘I don’t suppose any of your people have lately dreamed of Miryum or Straaka.’

  The futureteller frowned. ‘I recollect there were one or two dreams a while back, an’ I might have missed more recent entries that refer to them. What makes ye ask?’

  I told her the whole of what Bruna had said of Straaka and Miryum and she looked intrigued. ‘I have never communed with the spirit of a dead person. I would not have thought it possible. But mayhap the tribeswoman misunderstood what th’ Temple guardian told her. Maybe the seer saw that a past-dream would come to ye of Straaka, which would reveal what happened to him an’ Miryum.’

  Ceirwan had made a similar suggestion and all at once I felt relieved, certain they were right. In truth I had no desire to seek out the dreamtrails, given Atthis’s warnings, and especially not without Maruman to guide and guard me. Gahltha could have served as a guardian in the old cat’s absence, of course, but he had not Maruman’s gifts in that strange realm.

  ‘Just the same, I would be glad if you would try scrying for Miryum again,’ I said. ‘It is hard to imagine she could be anyone’s captive all this time without any of your guild seeing it, but you said yourself futuretellers do not see everything.’

  Maryon nodded thoughtfully.

  I went to the door, turning as I opened it to say, ‘There is one other thing. It is only idle curiosity but I have been wondering what you foresaw that made you change your mind about allowing Jacob Obernewtyn’s tomb to be opened.’

  Maryon laid aside her sewing and rose. ‘I had a past-dream of Jacob Obernewtyn puttin’ th’ journal into th’ grave,’ she said simply.

  I stared at her. ‘You saw his face? What did he look like?’

  The futureteller tilted her head, thinking. ‘He was a tall, lean, slightly bent man with grey hair and a kindly, much-lined face. He spoke a few words to himself as he closed the tomb. He had a strong highland accent.’

  ‘What did he say?’ I asked, curiously.

  ‘He asked Hannah to forgive him,’ the futureteller answered.

  I nodded and went out, shamed by how relieved I was to close a door between us.

  ‘Any news of Maruman?’ Ceirwan asked when I farsent him to say I was leaving the Futuretellers hall. He had finished his midmeal with Freya and was on his way back to the Farseekers hall.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘But they will scry for Miryum and for Maruman. In the meantime, Maryon is sending over the Futuretell dream-books. You might bid Sarn remind the other guilds that have not yet sent over their dream-books to do so.’ Sarn was elderly and her Talent limited but she had proven to be a very able researcher and her scribing was excellent, all of which made her an obvious choice for the team I had working on the book of information on the Red Land, to be presented to Rushton before the expedition.

  ‘We don’t have much time, even if the four ships are to depart before the end of the Days of Rain and not before they begin, as we were originally told in Sador,’ I went on. ‘If the time was not so short, I would wish we were to go before the Days of Rain. Do you know that shipfolk call them the Days of Storm?’

  ‘I have heard that, but by all accounts the journey to th’ Red Land will take so long that ye’d still be at sea during th’ Days of Rain even if ye left tomorrow,’ Ceirwan observed. ‘By the way, Fian is havin’ a bite to eat before he sets off fer th’ White Valley. Did ye want me to send him to ye afore he gans?’

  ‘I need to show him something but I will get it and then go to the kitchens to see him,’ I said decisively. ‘I could do with a bit of rowdy life after the rarefied atmosphere of the Futuretellers hall.’

  ‘Greetings, Guildmistress,’ Fian said eagerly, getting to his feet as I approached his table with a bowl of stewed mushrooms and some fresh-baked bread. ‘Have ye read the journal?’

  ‘A good bit of it,’ I said, sitting down at the table opposite him and gesturing him to eat. ‘Are you really going to set off in this downpour? The road will be awash down to the pass and the White Valley will be a swamp. Why not wait a day and see if it stops? It cannot be pleasant living in cloth houses in this weather,’ I said.

  The young teknoguilder shook his head eagerly. ‘Garth bade me come back as soon as I could. But we dinna live in the cloth houses any more. Dinna anyone tell ye that th’ Teknoguildhouse in the White Valley is finished?’

  I was astonished. The last time I had seen the Teknoguildhouse, the building had possessed neither windows nor a floor. Indeed, it had been more of a decoy to stop travellers getting close enough to Tor to see the entrance to Newrome than an actual dwelling, and given the teknoguilders’ reluctance to interrupt their research for practical matters such as food or shelter, I had thought it would remain a shell for years to come.

  ‘It was Bergold’s sister’s doin’,’ Fian said. ‘That Analivia who was spying on us afore ye went away. She turned up at our camp one day in summer an’ she has been visitin’ regularly ever since. She asks questions of Garth about Newrome an’ the Beforetimers an’ the things we find there. She has even dived down into th’ lake to see th’ drowned Beforetime towers. Then one day, she brought some of her brother’s workers down to th’ White Valley an’ said they were to finish th’ guildhouse.’

  I could feel myself gaping. ‘Garth permitted that?’

  Fian laughed. ‘Better to say that tryin’ to tell Ana what to do is like tryin’ to order th’ wind around! Seeing her an’ Garth arguin’ is like watchin’ a storm bluster at a great heavy stone! Ye think th’ stone is stronger yet ye ken that in time, th’ wind could wear away a mountain. Garth says “No” an’ “Absolutely not” an’ “Over my dead body”, an’ Ana just gans on an’ does what she wants. The guildmaster groans every time she comes.’

  I laughed, picturing the massive Garth being faced down by the feisty yellow-haired woman who had once saved me from a whipping at the hands of one of her father’s sadistic followers. ‘These workers of Bergold’s, did they know before they arrived that they were going to be working for Misfits?’

  Fian shrugged, pushing his empty plate aside, and eyed the platter of bread and butter I had brought to the table. I motioned for him to have some, and taking a slice, he bit into it and said with a full mouth, ‘Ana told them, an’ truly I think they were none too keen on comin’ to th’ White Valley, but since we dinna read their minds or talk to one another without speaking or do anyt
hing they’d call uncanny, th’ workers have got over their worritin’ about us teknoguilders. They think our interest in th’ past is ghoulish, of course, but they dinna say so openly because Ana is interested, too. She is so fierce they are all scared of her. I was scared of her too, to begin with, but not now. She says she an’ her brother will come up to Obernewtyn fer the moon fair an’ they might even move here once it is a proper settlement.’

  ‘Garth never sent a word of this,’ I said, feeling a bit dazed.

  ‘Well he wouldn’t, would he?’ said Fian, grinning mischievously.

  I knew I ought to scold the lad for disrespect, but since I dispensed with formalities whenever possible, I could hardly fault him. Besides, I liked Fian’s cheek a good deal more than the stultifying reverence with which many at Obernewtyn regarded me. I thought about his news and wondered why Analivia or her brother would want to come to live at Obernewtyn when they had a lovely home on the edge of the orchards. Bergold loved his fruit trees and he was still struggling to replace the workers lost when the road to the west coast reopened and the miners of Darthnor were able to return to their previous labour, producing ore for the smelters in Aborium and Morganna. But perhaps Analivia had only meant they would keep a winter residence at Obernewtyn, when the orchards were under a blanket of snow.

  Dismissing the matter, I asked Fian about the gypsies Aras had mentioned.

  ‘I dinna see them,’ he said regretfully. ‘But Fedan told me they’d set up camp near th’ memorial th’ Twentyfamilies erected to honour those that fell when Malik betrayed us. He said th’ woman drivin’ the wagon had two different-coloured eyes. Garth says it must be that halfbreed gypsy you rescued.’

  I nodded. ‘I expect so. Did Fedan ask why they came up to the White Valley?’

  Fian shook his head.

  ‘Well then, I might ride down and find out for myself when the weather clears a bit.’

  He gave me a quizzical look that made me realise I had spoken my thoughts aloud but, rather than explain, I took out the rubbing I had made of the markings on the stone sword and handed it to Fian without a word. Like any good teknoguilder, he immediately forgot his meal, pushing the food away so that he could examine the parchment. After a moment he looked up at me curiously to ask what the markings were.