The Rebellion (82 page)

I sighed. “Miryum, do as I tell you now. Drag him inside the barn and put him into Alad’s spare bed. Take his knife away.”

“That won’t stop him,” Miryum said.

“Look, you have to—”

“It’s too late now for any plan!” she cried.

“Not if you erase his memory of your conversation with him,” I said firmly.

She stared at me in shock. “But that is—”

“Unless you want him to die,” I continued ruthlessly, “you will erase his memory. When he wakes, tell him only that he fainted before you could exchange a word. If you have to, coerce him to believe you.”

“But he will simply ask me the same thing again.”

“He will,” I said calmly. “And you will hear him out. But this time, you will tell him that you have every intention of keeping the oath you made in Sador.”

“No! It is not true,” Miryum cried. “I will not lie.”

“Then speak and watch your precious truth kill him.”

She gulped. “Elspeth … I can’t bond with him!”

“I didn’t say you must,” I snapped. “But he needs to believe you will. Once you have agreed in principle to come with him, you explain that you must first honor a prior oath to Rushton and Obernewtyn. Tell him you swore to serve Rushton until Misfits are safe in the Land. Tell him that you are not free to come until that oath is fulfilled. Say that he has the right to withdraw his offer. With luck he will do so.”

“If he does not?”

“Tell him to return to Sador to wait for you. If he threatens to kill himself over the delay, you might just as well fight fire with fire and tell him that if he does, you will have to do the same.”

“Wha-at!”

“He is besotted with you,” I said sharply. “Do you think he would want you dead?”

She shook her head. “What if he agrees to wait?”

“Then he will spend his life in Sador waiting for his heart’s desire. There could be worse fates. It is more likely that he will change his mind after some time, though, and we can come up with some Land ‘custom’ that will allow him to
withdraw after a period with no hurt to your honor.”

“It hurts my honor to lie to him,” she said sullenly, and added that it seemed she was being punished by my solution. “It is not as if I set this matter in motion.”

“Didn’t you? If you had listened courteously to his offer in Sador and answered him in the same way, rather than hitting him, you would not be in this predicament now.” I pulled the shawl about my shoulders, goaded to fury by her endless talk of honor. “Now, I am going to rejoin the festivities. You can make your own decision whether you do as I have suggested or find your own way of dealing with all of this.”

I turned on my heel and headed back to the orchard, where everyone was now sitting in a semicircle facing a dazzlingly elaborate gypsy wagon I had not seen before. The magi performance was about to begin. The sun hung low in the sky, and the air had grown so misty that when torches were lit about the wagon, the whole scene took on a mystical air. The show began with a roll on the coercers’ own favored instrument, a flat, round, one-sided drum like a tambourine, played with a two-ended club and a wrist-rolling movement. Three empath musicians were seated in a cluster beside the wagon, playing a soft fanfare underneath the rolling grumble of the drums that gradually grew louder, as with thunder approaching.

At their roaring peak, Gevan stepped onto a small platform jutting out from the edge of the wagon and hinged so that it could be swung up when the conveyance was in motion. The Coercer guildmaster wore a smooth black mask now, the eyes and mouth exaggerated with red, demonic strokes. He bowed elaborately, then began to juggle woven balls of flowers that he seemed to pluck alternately from thick wax candles on either end of the stage. Empath musicians
played a popular tune in time to his movements, skillfully embellishing it with all manner of amusing loops and beats. After a time, Gevan switched to juggling hoops and ribbons of silk and finally to balls of fire. He finished by tossing them into the air and apparently swallowing them, belching a cloud of multicolored smoke at those seated nearest.

I smiled, wondering how the Teknoguild had felt to be asked to produce chemicals for such a use. Of course, Gevan could have coerced the fireballs, but the aim was to use as little true coercivity as possible. As far as I could see, they had succeeded. So far, the performance was no more than a sophisticated jongleur might provide at a city moon fair and cleverly fell short enough of brilliance to be unthreatening.

Some of the younger coercers appeared out of the wagon black-clad but for colored, dragonish masks. They performed a tumbling acrobatic dance, again to a familiar tune, while Gevan orchestrated them as if they were music.

The tumblers turned away, baring black-clad backs so that they seemed to be swallowed up by the growing shadows. Gevan stepped through them, now wearing a hideously beaming mask, and gave a flamboyant and nonsensical speech about the known and unknown mysteries of nature; he asked how people behaved when they did not understand a thing.

“Like chickens with no heads! Like clover-drunk sheep! Like fools!” he answered himself.

He began doing more tricks, simple, obvious things one saw at every moon fair and festival. He asked his audience to spot the trick, and before long, he was revealing pockets in his gown and vials of powder and black strings attached to silk scarves. He began taking an astonishing number of objects from an inner pocket. When he brought out a chair,
everyone howled with laughter, for the person passing it to him from behind the cloak pretended clumsiness and was clearly visible.

Gevan berated the assistant, who explained in a tremulous voice that she was afraid the tricks were making use of the black arts. The assistant spoke in such a silly, cowardly way that I had to laugh. It was hard to believe the clowning pair were really the formidable Coercer guildmaster and his guilder Merret.

I glanced about to discover everyone laughing except for Miryum’s coercer-knights. They had drawn apart and were standing together watching without expression as, on the wagon stage, Gevan loomed over his cringing assistant.

“Only when fear is suppressed can we truly see what we see,” he announced.

There was a blaze of fireworks, and he twisted so the cloak covered him and he seemed to vanish. Though the trick was quite obvious, Merret gave a credulous squawk of terror and pretended to faint. Two black-clad coercers dragged her back into the wagon, and her place was taken by three older knife-throwing coercers, who used a trickle of Talent to ensure their knives did not slice off someone’s ear or nose.

As each trick dissolved seamlessly into the next, Gevan appeared here and there, mocking blind ignorance and praising those who stopped their screams long enough to notice the trickery. I could see quite clearly the shape of the lesson evolving, about fear making people foolish.

The show ended in a burst of applause and shouts for more, but Gevan merely made a short speech outside of his flamboyant role, thanking us all for our attention. Soon he was in the thick of an excited press of performers and admirers
all chattering and laughing. Waiting for them to disperse, I walked about the wagon. Truly it was worthy of awe. Almost every stretch of board had been lovingly and minutely carved and smoothed and polished or painted in intricate patterns. Who would have thought that silent Grufyyd would have such a lavish talent? It was funny what could be hidden inside people until some circumstance arose to let it out. Katlyn had said that before this task, her bondmate had merely liked a bit of whittling.

“Phew, these masks make you sweat. They’ll have to have more air holes,” Gevan gasped, mopping his forehead and coming to stand by me. “What did you think of the show?”

“You were all marvelous,” I said. “Merret was so funny.”

Gevan grinned. “She’s splendid, isn’t she? I take it you don’t feel the show holds our abilities up to ridicule as Miryum and her coercers-knights do?”

“I don’t,” I said. “But I saw the knights looking rather disdainful.”

“They can’t see that the Talent of coercing is separate from how it is regarded. I am no less powerful because I use my abilities to make people laugh. You know, as much as I regret the thought of it, I really think I will have to let Miryum form a splinter group.”

“It saddens me to hear you don’t think it can be held together.”

Gevan shrugged. “Oh, I can hold the split off indefinitely, if that’s what you want. But it’s disruptive to feel the knights silently pulling against the rest of us. It’s not as if they disobey me, but a guild can’t be divided in its heart.”

“Just don’t do anything until we see what Rushton says,” I asked.

Gevan frowned suddenly. “Speaking of Rushton, it seems as if you’ll have to fill in for him again after all. It’s time for the Choosing Ceremony.”

Only then did I become aware that we were standing in near darkness, with a single guttering torch left alight by the wagon. All that remained of the day was a few streaks of golden light on the underside of the clouds near the horizon. My heart gave a nasty lurch. Fear for Rushton coursed through my veins.

Gevan squeezed my arm in sympathy and said he was sure there was some good reason for Rushton’s delay; nevertheless, the Choosing could not be put off.

And so, as the sun fell behind the mountains, Valda and several others formally chose the Futuretell guild, a young lad called Kally chose the Coercers, and some teknoguilders were promoted. Both Aras, bursting with pride and red as a beet, and an astonished Zarak were elevated to the rank of ward. Offering congratulations, bestowing bracelets and armbands, and lighting their candles, I waited until they stood with their various guilds before expressing my regret that I must again speak for Rushton. I implied that his delay had been half anticipated, and rather perfunctorily, I enjoined them to strive to be their best in all things.

Now that the sun was gone, it had grown distinctly chilly, and I was shivering in my thin silk dress and shawl. I farsent Miryum, who told me glumly that the Sadorian was yet to wake. I then farsent Gahltha and learned that Avra was in labor but all was going well. He refused my offer to keep him company as he waited, saying there was naught I could do. In any case, as a wild mountain equine, Avra preferred her foal to be born without human presence. His tone was apologetic,
but I sent that I understood perfectly and asked that he give her my love.

I found Jakoby to let her know that I would ride on the morrow with her to the pass. Then I briskly bade her good night and walked away from the light and laughter of the moon fair.

15

B
Y THE TIME
I climbed into bed, my eyes were closing of their own accord, but contrarily, the minute my head was on the pillow, I could not sleep.

“Rushton!” I sent his name in a probe that stretched far into the night, but of course there was no answer.

What if he had been more than delayed?

Fortunately, sheer exhaustion claimed me before my self-control faltered. I fell asleep and eventually into a memory dream of traveling with my father.

“Now, you mind your manners,” my father said, sitting by me on the wooden carriage bench and holding the reins. “This is not our little village where everyone knows everyone else. A city is a hard place, and people who dwell there have grown so to match it.”

“Is that why we live in Rangorn, Da?”

“It is, but it’s not the only reason. Now, that’s enough questions from you. A city is a bad place for idle chatter. You hold your tongue while we’re there and don’t go speaking out of turn.”

Something in his voice frightened me. “Will there be a moon fair, then, Da?”

“There will at that, but it’s not for pleasure that we’re going, lass. We’ll be doing some serious trading and one or
two other bits of business. But you’ll have time enough to hear a few tunes and see a puppet show.”

“And have some sweets?” I asked urgently.

He laughed. “Oh, you’ll fill yer belly with muck just as your brother does and will moan and puke all the way home.”

“Da!”

I sat silently, listening to his thoughts bubble and mutter in his mind like a stream running under the earth. He was worrying about whether he would be able to find a man he needed to speak with. He was thinking he ought not to have brought me into danger but that a child stopped people giving a man the evil eye the way they did a lone stranger. Normally, he would bring Jes, but the boy was fevered. Mother had said to take me, because she didn’t want me coming down sick as well. She would be furious with him if she knew he was still feeding the odd bit of news to his rebel friends in the city. Well, he couldn’t do much else with the responsibility of a family, but cursed if he’d sit back while the filthy priests charged innocent folk so as to steal their lands.