The Keeping Place by Isobelle Carmody
“I only wish I had not been Master of Obernewtyn when all of this happened. I wish Rushton had not disappeared. I…I miss him so,” I said, and realized I was weeping.
Dameon gathered me into his arms. “My dear girl…Elspeth…I know. I am humbled by your courage in taking charge of all this when he is so mysteriously vanished.”
“Who took him, and why? We still haven’t figured that out. It doesn’t make sense, but if the note was real, then where is he? We did what it bade us.”
“If the note was real, it is possible that whoever holds him is also trapped on the west coast. Or maybe they don’t consider the rebellion over yet.”
“Or maybe they never meant to release him at all!” I was crying so hard now I was almost incoherent.
“Elspeth you are beside yourself with grief and exhaustion. I heard a little of what has been found in the cloister—I am going over there this evening to see if I can help—but you need to rest. Come.”
He stood and took my hand and led me carefully into a nearby chamber. “This is where I have been sleeping. I do not know where other bedrooms are. But sleep here. Later I will bring you some food.”
I let him pull off my coat and shoes and bundle me into bed. He smoothed the covers over me and kissed me on the cheek. Dimly, I was aware that he retained his shield between us, and I realized my grief and guilt were probably hurting him. I made an effort to gather myself and thanked him.
“Sleep,” he said, and withdrew from the room, closing the door behind him.
I did not need Kella’s potion after all. One moment Dameon was closing the door, and the next I was sinking into unconsciousness.
I fell into a dream in which Dameon was leading me through the labyrinthine Earthtemple in Sador.
“This is the way,” he said, leading me as if he were sighted.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Kasanda is here. She has something to tell you.”
I tried to stop, but Dameon held my hand tightly and was drawing me inexorably after him. “Dameon, I can’t come now. I have to find Rushton.”
“It is too late,” Dameon said, only now he was Domick.
“Where have you been?” I asked him.
He gave me a strange, darkling look. “You want to find Rushton don’t you?”
“But…he can’t be here.”
He did not answer, and I pulled my hand free. “Domick, where are you taking me?” I demanded, for now I was realizing that we were not in the Earthtemple at all.
He turned to face me, and though there was no visible source of light, his face seemed to glow with its own livid, greenish hue. “I am not a torturer,” he whispered.
“Where is Rushton?” I asked, but my voice came out as a frayed thread of sound. And then I was alone in a dark tunnel. I heard a sound and realized with a dreamy sense of familiarity that it was water falling into water. Then I saw a yellowish flash of light far away in the distance and understood that I was where I had been many times before.
But this time, instead of going forward, I hesitated.
“Why do you hesitate?” Atthis’s voice asked, deep in my mind.
“I…I’m not ready,” I said, and there was a pleading note in my tone.
“If you hesitate, all will be lost.”
All at once, I felt a grip again. But not Domick’s. It was Ariel.
He laughed when I tried to pull my hand away from his.
“You are not strong enough to resist me,” he said, and began to pull me toward him. I struggled, repelled and frightened.
“Maruman!” I screamed.
Ariel’s smile faded, and his hand squeezed mine painfully. “That creature that protects you will not be here forever. His aura weakens no matter what form he takes on these dreamtrails. And he is too far away to help you now.”
Furious for Maruman’s sake, I tore my hand free. “He will never let you get me,” I cried.
“Not on the dreamtrails, perhaps, but eventually you will have to face me in reality. Then who will save you?” Ariel hissed.
I gaped at him, suddenly realizing what he was saying.
A look of fury passed over his beautiful face. He held up his hand, and a torch appeared in it, the flames leaping high. “Let me give you a token of my regard,” he snarled.
I backed away as he advanced; then I heard the sound of a horse neighing.
Ariel’s eyes went past me, and his face was transformed by terror. He vanished.
I turned to find a half-man, half-horse towering over me.
“You are safe now, ElspethInnle.”
“Gahltha! That…that was Ariel. He…” I swallowed, scarcely able to say what I knew must be true. I had been a fool not to have seen it before.
“Ariel is the Destroyer.”
“Ariel-li is H’rayka,” Gahltha agreed. “He hunts ElspethInnle, but nothing will be decided on dreamtrails. The glarsh wait in the land of realthings. You must wake now. I/Gahltha am not strong on dreamtrails. Not as Marumanyelloweyes.”
“He asked you to look after me, didn’t he?”
“That is so. Marumanyelloweyes is seliga, so Gahltha watches. But Gahltha is Daywatcher. If Ariel had attacked, I/Gahltha might have been unable to defend us/you.”
“You are the Daywatcher, and Maruman is the Moonwatcher,” I murmured, remembering what the Earthtemple overguardian had told me: I would return for the fifth sign accompanied by one of Kasanda blood, with the Daywatcher and the Moonwatcher. Swallow, Gahltha, and Maruman…But where was Maruman? I had not recognized the beastword Gahltha had used: seliga. I thought it meant something like “behind” or “back.”
“Wake,” Gahltha prompted urgently, and I saw that he was fading.
“Ariel is the Destroyer,” I told myself bitterly, and willed myself to wake.
It was dark in the room, and my instincts told me it was deep night. My tongue felt swollen with thirst, and as I pulled the blankets aside, I grimaced at the smell rising from my clothes and body. How had I slept with the foul reek of the cells all over me? Nauseated, I groped about for a lantern and then for a washing bowl and a jug of water. Stripping off my befouled clothes, I cleaned myself thoroughly, longing for a deep barrel full of hot water. When I had dried myself, I found Dameon’s clothing in a bag and borrowed loose Sadorian trousers and a woven tunic.
All the while, I thought about my nightmare. Except it had not been a nightmare. I had been on the dreamtrails. Somehow, Ariel had drawn me there. Ariel. The Destroyer, and a defective Misfit. I should have guessed. And I had no doubt he was mixed up in whatever the Herders were doing.
Gahltha had said nothing would be decided on the dreamtrails. So why did Ariel keep seeking me out on them? Why was he haunting me? The answer came immediately, and it was chilling. He had said it himself: He needed me. Needed what I knew and what I would learn from Kasanda’s signs. Without them, he could not reach the weaponmachines.
A terrible thought occurred to me. What if Ariel had Rushton? And what if he offered me a choice: Rushton’s life for the knowledge that would let him activate the weaponmachines…?
Unable to bear my thoughts, I dragged a blanket from the bed and flung it round my shoulders as a shawl and left the bedchamber.
I expected to be met by the silence of night, but instead I could hear the sound of voices. I made my way to the kitchen and found Ceirwan, Brydda, Dardelan, Reuvan, Jakoby, Bruna, and a number of rebels seated about the table, talking in low, intense voices.
They looked up as I entered, and Brydda bade me join them.
“The clothes of the desert suit you,” Jakoby said.
“I had to borrow some of Dameon’s things,” I mumbled, forcing myself to set aside thoughts of Kasanda and Ariel.
“Tomorrow we will find something more appropriate,” Dardelan promised. “Sadorian clothes are not heavy enough for the Land. In the meantime, you must be starving.”
The rebels bustled about producing bread and honey and cheese, a bottle o
On the morrow, at a public meeting, the citizens of Sutrium would be informed that the rebels had taken charge of the Land and would administer it for one year. During that time, a charter of laws, based on the ones Dardelan had devised, would be formulated with the input of all people in the Land, and trials would be held in which the crimes of soldierguards, Councilmen, and Council collaborators would be addressed. In the meantime, a set of interim laws would be publicized and enforced by the rebels. The people would be told that the west coast was still in dispute, but they would not be given specific details just yet.
After a year, there would be a people’s vote to decide who would lead each community, and these elections would be held every year in the same way at the same time throughout the Land.
I gathered there had been some dissent on this point.
Some of the rebels had wanted leave to rule for longer periods before their community could vote. Still others had opposed the notion of a year limit on the tenure of the chosen leaders. But in the end, Dardelan had argued successfully that to give any man or woman prolonged power over other people was to introduce a system where injustices would be bound to occur. Those who would rule must be accountable to the people they ruled, he had insisted. They must only rule by the will of the people rather than by their own arrogant desires.
It was fascinating to see how the young rebel’s words permeated the conversation ebbing and flowing around the table. He had a powerful ability to wind words together persuasively, and I envied him, for it seemed akin to the empath’s ability to sway people, and in that sense it, too, was a Talent. Dardelan was anything but proud or conceited, and that made him all the more appealing. I was interested to see how many of the rebel leaders deferred to him despite his age.
And what then of Bruna, who, for all her apparent coolness, never shifted her eyes far from his face?
Brydda moved to draw some ale from a stone jug and reseated himself beside me. There were dark rings of fatigue under his eyes, but the eyes themselves were bright. He took a deep pull from his mug. “I never imagined such things as we saw today; though, when I think back, Domick mentioned the cells a number of times.”
“You think he had any real idea what it was like?”
“I think more than any of us gave him credit for,” the rebel said sadly. “Perhaps, in that sense, we failed him.”
When Brydda turned to talk to another rebel, Ceirwan took the opportunity to speak to me. “I heard from Zarak,” he said. “He and Lina are camped outside Saithwold, because the town is bein’ held under siege by Noviny’s people. Apparently, they broke free from their rebel guards an’ locked them in th’ cloister as hostages before taking control of th’ town an’ blockin’ th’ road. Khuria sent to Zarak that Noviny intends to discuss terms with th’ rebels, which is a good sign in its way. But th’ whole matter is lookin’ very sticky, because Vos will certainly complain if we negotiate with Noviny.”
“Does Noviny know Khuria is in contact with Zarak?”
“No. He thinks Khuria is just another rebel.”
“What does Noviny want?”
“That is th’ interestin’ thing. He wants nowt fer hisself. Just a guarantee that his family an’ th’ soldierguards loyal to him will not be harmed, an’ he wants assurances that we are not goin’ to rape an’ pillage Saithwold’s inhabitants. He wants to ken th’ rebels’ intentions.”
“Reasonable enough. Even admirable in its way. Was anyone hurt when they took control?”
“One man got a bump on th’ head, Zarak says. I’d say Vos simply didn’t leave enough guards, because he underestimated th’ old man with his usual arrogance.”
“I don’t see there is any serious problem, then. Noviny is a fair man by all accounts, and his wants seem absolutely modest to me,” I murmured.
“Ironically, that’s th’ trouble. It would have been easier if he were a tyrant. Th’ rebels could simply rush in an’ liberate th’ town. But Noviny is not seen by his people as a tyrant. Indeed, th’ locals are with him, which means that if th’ rebels want to take Saithwold by force, they’ll have to fight ordinary Landfolk.”
“We won’t be doing that,” Brydda said, returning to the conversation. “Dardelan is going to Saithwold tomorrow after he gives his speech, and he will offer Noviny the assurances he wants about his family and the locals. But the soldierguards must be handed over. And, of course, Noviny himself must surrender and face trial for his support of the Herders and his toleration of their atrocities, as all Councilmen will do. Of course, quite a bit of what Dardelan will say is saber-rattling. Privately, he wants to come to an arrangement with the old man, because it will be very useful to have an ex-Councilman recanting the Council’s hold over the land. It will take some clever talking to sort it out, but Dardelan can do it if anyone can. Truly he seems as wise as his father in these matters, which is fortunate.”
I opened my mouth to speak, then sensed Tomash was struggling to make contact.
“What is it?” I farsent, locating him just outside the cloister grounds.
“I…Elspeth, you’d better come,” he sent in a queer tone.
“Why? What is the matter?”
“It’s…it’s Rushton,” he sent shakily. “He…he was one of the people brought from the cells. Kella didn’t recognize him until she was bathing his wounds….”
I was already on my feet. The others about the table looked up at me in astonishment.
“What is it?” Brydda demanded.
“Ruh-Rushton,” I stammered. “He was in the Herder cells. I…I have to go.”
“It’s the middle of the night. I’ll go with you,” Brydda said firmly.
I didn’t care who came. I hurried out into the chill night, repressing a hot slither of fear.
29
WHEN I REACHED the cloister gates, Tomash was waiting.
“Where…where is he?” I panted, hurrying through the gates and into the dark, dew-wet gardens.
The farseeker took my hand and led me wordlessly into the healing center. Once inside, I felt him. Pushing off Tomash’s restraining hand, I passed through the beds in the large hall and entered into a second, smaller chamber. All the beds were occupied, but my eyes went unerringly to the one nearest the window.
Rushton lay on his back in a pool of candlelight, his eyes closed. A blanket was pulled up to his chest, but aside from being pale and slightly thinner, he seemed otherwise unmarked. He bore neither the chemical burns nor the bruises and sores that every other prisoner had in common. His dark hair lay long and black over the pillow, damp as though freshly washed, and I stared in wonder at a streak of premature gray at one temple.
Without thought, I reached out to touch it. Rushton’s eyes snapped open, green and luminous.
“Rushton, my dear love,” I breathed, and cupped his face in my hands.
But instead of smiling, he began to laugh—a terrible howling cackle that threw my hands back and turned my blood to ice.
Kella appeared at my side. Pushing me away, she forced a piece of wadded cloth between his teeth as he began to convulse violently. The blankets slipped away, and I saw with horror that Rushton’s arms and legs were held down with leather restraints.
Kella grasped his head between her hands and focused her healing Talent on him, but still it took a long time for the maniacal struggles to fade. At last his eyes closed, and he was still again.
Panting hard, the healer turned to face me. “I’m sorry. I would have warned you, but I didn’t see you come in.”
“What…what is wrong with him?” I whispered. She reached out to me, but I batted her hand away and repeated my question.
“Physically, very little,” she answered. “Unlike most of the other prisoners, Rushton has not been tortured physically. But his system is full of drugs. I’d say they’ve had him on something for a
“What are you saying?”
Kella’s face was grave and sad. “I am saying that, right now, Rushton is completely insane.”
I was standing on the cloud-road that was the beginning of the dreamtrails, trying to understand how I had got there without creating a body of light as Maruman had shown me. There was no sign of Ariel. I looked over my shoulder and was relieved to find that at least I was not burdened with wings. I was merely my own self, though my skin appeared to be a pallid lilac color and my hair a vibrant blue.
All at once, the old cat manifested before me in his tyger form, his eyes gleaming.
“Did I dream you up by thinking about you?” I sent.
“Maruman is no more tame to dream masters than to any other,” Maruman sent with his usual contrariness. I felt like singing, because his mindvoice was clear and incisive again.
“Where have you been? Ariel has been trying to get me. Did you know he is the Destroyer?”
He ignored my questions. “OldOnes drew you from deep unconsciousness onto the dreamtrails so that I/ Marumanyelloweyes can give their message to you,” he sent, licking a great, tawny paw.
“What message?”
“ElspethInnle must return to barud,” Maruman sent. “Must bring all Misfits back, for one is needed.”
“Needed for what?”
“To help Innle fulfill quest.”
“My…But you can’t mean I am to leave now to seek the weaponmachines?”
“The old Ones said return to Obernewtyn to discover/ possess last sign, else too late.”
“The last sign is at Obernewtyn?” I echoed stupidly. “The fifth is in Sador. Do you mean the fourth sign?”
“Come swiftly/now, or will be lost.”
My mind whirled with questions. “How can the fourth sign be in the mountains? It is supposed to be somewhere I have never been…. And what about the other signs? I haven’t found…”