The Dreamtrails (2 page)

I
T OUGHT TO
have felt momentous, going through the pass and seeing the highlands spread out in the pink-gold morning light, because, for the first time, I was riding down to a Land that was free and where I did not need to hide who or what I was.

Yet it was impossible to feel complacent or even secure, because soon, for the first time, Landfolk would vote for their leaders, who might undo all that the rebels had achieved since overthrowing the Council. And where would that leave Misfits like me? The hatred and prejudice against us, which the Council and Herder Faction had encouraged, had not ended with their reign. The wrong leader could easily fan the flames of resentment and unease into a fire that might yet consume us. But as the rebel leader Dardelan had so often said, there could be no true freedom if people were not able to choose their own leaders.

I let my eyes rove along the neat line of trees that bordered Bergold’s orchards on the left side of the road, trying to take comfort in their order. But my eyes were drawn inexorably to the other side of the road, where the ground dropped away steeply and suddenly into the dense, complex wilderness of the White Valley. I could see clear across the green treetops to Tor, Gelfort, and Emeralfel—the mountains that separated highland from lowland—and to the Blacklands that bordered
the White Valley. It looked untouched and impenetrable, but I knew how many secrets lay hidden there.

It was the way of things, I thought morosely, and it was better not to forget it.

I lifted my face to the sky and closed my eyes, trying to focus on the sun’s warmth and on spring’s sweet green smell, but too many worries crowded in—the looming elections, of course, and the forthcoming trial of the rebel Malik, as well as whatever was going on in Saithwold. But most of all, I was troubled by Maryon’s insistence that Dragon accompany us to Sutrium. Dragon’s presence meant that I must constantly face her fear of me. This was painful, because she had loved me once; however, my invasion of her mind, which had been the only way to save her, had destroyed her trust in me. It had been a shock to discover that, upon waking from her coma, Dragon had forgotten our friendship, forgotten my rescue of her from the Beforetime ruins where she had dwelt as a lonely urchin. I had believed Kella and the other healers when they said Dragon would remember in time, but she had not done so. She viewed me only as one who brought pain, and so great was her fear of me that we had been unable to manage a single conversation since she had awakened. Dragon had been willing to make this journey only because both the healer Kella and the old herbalist Katlyn were going.

In truth, I had proposed the expedition as much to get away from Dragon as to fulfill my promise to return the Twentyfamilies gypsy healer Darius to his people. Then Maryon had announced her support for the expedition, because she foresaw trouble looming on the west coast, and I would be needed to deal with it. Naturally, she had offered no further explanation or details. Almost as an afterthought, she had added that Dragon must go to Sutrium.

I felt a surge of anger and fear at the memory of her foretelling, for it had been just such a journey to Sutrium that had initiated the events that left Dragon in a dangerous coma. A cooler voice reminded me that sometimes good comes from bad. Without the coma and my journey into Dragon’s mind, I would not have discovered that Dragon is the daughter of the Red Land’s murdered queen. And though her fear and hatred distressed me, I now knew that something locked in Dragon’s memories would ultimately help me complete my secret quest to destroy the Beforetime weaponmachines. Perhaps this journey to Sutrium would provide me with this knowledge.

“Why cannot ElspethInnle just accept? Why always thinking/gnawing, trying to change the shaping of things?” Maruman sent the acerbic query to me without shifting his languid position on Kella’s lap in the wagon.

“If you are irritated by my thoughts, you could stay out of my mind,” I sent back tartly.

The old cat did not condescend to answer, but Kella gave me a sidelong look. She had no farseeking abilities, but her healing empathy meant she could not help but feel the emotions flowing between Maruman and me. She turned away at once, not wanting to pry, but her bleak expression told me that her own thoughts were no more happily disposed than mine. Doubtless she was thinking of Domick. He and Kella had been in love, but the coercer’s spying before the rebellion had so tormented and divided him against himself that he had finally rejected her and Obernewtyn before disappearing under mysterious circumstances. Kella blamed herself, and I thought it was as much guilt as the desire to heal that was taking her to Sutrium. But I said nothing. Empathy was the one Talent I lacked entirely, and its want made me awkward
with emotions and reluctant to trust my own feelings, let alone anyone else’s. Besides, what could I say to comfort her, unless it was true that misery loved company.

“One cannot flee from/avoid difficulties of life, ElspethInnle, but perhaps it is possible/necessary to outrun them for a time,” Gahltha sent. I felt a rush of affection for the horse’s passionate nature and laid my hand on his sleek black neck. The flesh quivered with impatience.

“The wagons are not made for speed,” I sent regretfully.

“I/Gahltha am! We will gallop away and then return,” he responded eagerly.

With a laugh, I told Kella that we would scout ahead. Gahltha neighed to Welt and Belya, who drew the wagon, then cantered to the lead wagon where the young farseeker Zarak sat on the foremost bench with Louis Larkin. Zade and Lo whinnied a welcome to Gahltha as I explained I would ride ahead for a time. Dragon was in the back of the wagon with the plump old herbalist Katlyn and one of the two injured soldierguards we were transporting to Sutrium. The other lay on the floor of the second wagon.

“It is a perfect day fer a ride,” Zarak said wistfully.

As though his words were a signal, Gahltha sprang away. If I had not learned from hard experience that he loved to leap into a gallop like this, I would have tumbled backward over his rump. I tangled one hand in his mane and caught the thick black whip of my plait with the other. Joy steamed off his body as heat and a kind of vibration that filled me with exhilaration. How many times had we ridden like this in the high mountains, sharing the rush and the wild freedom of our speed?

My muscles soon protested, reminding me how seldom I had ridden of late. My duties as guildmistress at Obernewtyn
left little time for self-indulgence. Fleetingly, the weight of that role pressed on me, but then the sheer physical demands of the ride emptied me of thought. I let myself merge with Gahltha until I was no more than an extension of the powerful black horse racing along the road.

It was a reckless pace, but the way was clear well ahead, and walkers rarely traveled the lonely stretch between the turnoff to Bergold’s orchards and the pass into the mountains. Aside from the fact that poisons dangerous to the naked flesh streaked the ground and walls of the pass, the rumor that plague had destroyed Obernewtyn had been enough to discourage the curious. Of course, the rebel leaders now knew that Obernewtyn was intact and home to our Misfit community, and I had no doubt that knowledge of our refuge was spreading into the wider community. Even so, I doubted we would have many casual visitors.

Rounding a slight bend in the road, Gahltha stopped and reared suddenly, almost unseating me. I lurched violently onto his neck and saw that a whole section of the ridge had broken away to crumble down into the White Valley, taking a chunk of the road with it. What remained was narrow and badly eroded on one side, and though it would still serve a walker or a careful rider, the wagons could not possibly pass along it. The landslide must have been recent, since the messenger from Sutrium had not mentioned it when he visited Obernewtyn a mere sevenday ago.

“Damn,” I muttered. In drier weather, we might simply have run the wheels along the edge of the roadway, but this soon after the thaw, the ground was soggy and the wagons would sink to their axles. I slipped to the ground and sent Gahltha back to warn the others.

After the black horse had galloped off, I began to cast
about for boughs and flat stones, laying a border to increase the width of the road on its inner edge. The passage between Guanette and the mountain pass leading to Obernewtyn had been eroding ever since I had first traveled it years back as a sentenced Misfit. Since we had taken over Obernewtyn, the Teknoguild had spoken many times of the need to repair it, but fearing unwanted attention in the valley, they had done nothing. For this reason, travel into the White Valley had always been limited to small expeditions on foot or horseback. It was only in recent times that discreet ramps for wagons had been created from scree.

It was hot muddy work, but I found myself enjoying the simplicity of the makeshift repairs. I tried to imagine a life that required of me no more than this and then realized that such an existence could seem desirable only to one who did not have to do it all the time. In truth, I enjoyed being mistress of a guild at Obernewtyn, despite all the meetings and negotiations and the sheer amount of talk required. My role would change now, though, for Misfits no longer needed to be rescued.

When the wagons arrived, Louis, Kella, and Zarak alighted at once to sigh and shake their heads, before unhitching the horses. Dragon climbed down, too, casting a look of violent blue-eyed dislike at me. As Maruman leapt down beside her and pressed against her legs, I wondered somewhat bitterly why she felt no antipathy for the old cat, since I had been able to invade her mind only with his help.

Katlyn and Darius remained in the wagons to watch over the soldierguards, but Garth, the Teknoguildmaster, descended and, upon seeing the broken road, began to mutter about this shoring-up technique and that stress.