The Seeker (25 page)

Sharna turned to me, his own eyes gleaming. “Do not go until I tell you. While you wait, find with your eyes the place
you must go.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to the door, nosed it open, and began to make an odd, low thrumming sound that vibrated in his throat. Beyond the door, I saw the red eyes withdraw.

“Sharna, what …?” I began, but suddenly the old dog launched himself from the door and raced across the yard toward the wolves. Only then did I understand that he had not meant to persuade them to let me pass.

“Sharna!” I screamed. “Don’t—”

“Go!” he commanded. The primitive snarling of the wolves sent a primeval shudder through my body. I heard Sharna taunting them, calling them away from my exit.

Trembling so hard I could scarcely walk, I stepped into the courtyard and stood for a moment, paralyzed with fear at the sight of the wolves falling on Sharna.

“Go!” he shouted again into my thoughts. A madness of terror roared through me as one set of red eyes turned to me and the beast uttered a growl. I flew across the courtyard, tore away the drain cover, and flung myself into the round opening behind it. Terrified one of the wolves would follow, I wriggled mindlessly along the pipe, imagining snapping jaws closing on my foot and dragging me backward.

I heard a howl of pain and stopped my mad flight. I was horrified to realize that I had left Sharna to his savage brethren.

“Go!” Sharna cried yet again, and I felt him weakening. I knew then that even if I could turn and go back, I could not help him. He had sacrificed himself for me, and I had not realized it until too late. Sick with shame and despair, I continued, but more slowly, for aside from the narrowness of the tunnel and the darkness, I was half suffocated by my tears.

In the end, I had to stop and gather myself before I could
go on. The crawl through the network of pipes was such a long, cold, exhausting journey that, by the time I reached its end, sorrow and guilt over Sharna had given way to sheer dogged determination to make use of the chance he had paid for with his life.

My trousers had shredded at the knees and my palms were so raw and painful that I did not even realize I had reached the end until I tumbled out into the soft, cold snow. Gasping, I lay in the drift for a long moment, panting and weeping, but it was too cold to stay there long. My tears were already freezing on my cheeks. I managed to stand and look about, but it was impossible to tell whether it was still night, for there was nothing to see but the blinding white of the flying snow, which was a kind of darkness, too. Squinting, I tried to make out the shape of the silo, but I could not see more than two steps in front of me, and I dared not move away from the wall.

In the end, I had no choice but to climb painfully back into the hated drain, wrap myself in the coat Rushton had given me, and wait until I could see the silo. It was only slightly warmer inside, and because I lay there motionless, the icy cold soon crept into my bones. I thought of the fever I had only just thrown off, and prayed it would not return.

After a long time, the snow seemed to lessen. I still could not see the silo, but made out a shape that seemed to be the back of the milking barn. Far better to be inside it than in the drain, I decided, and I slid out into the snow. My limbs felt stiff and unwieldy, and when I tried to step forward, my legs were so slow to obey me that I fell headlong into the snow. Cursing and weeping with frustration, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to rise again. Then I began to hobble carefully toward the barn. The snow slowed, and for a moment, eerily,
the moon reflected on it. Or perhaps it was a veiled sun. I saw then that it was not the milking barn ahead, but another, smaller shed I did not recognize.

It began to snow hard again. I did not change direction, because I knew that I could not be outside for much longer without falling into a deadly lethargy that would have me lie down and die, imagining I was in a warm feather bed. Reaching the shed, I found that snow had blown against it in great drifts. I had stumbled all around it before I realized with despair that the door must be buried in snow.

“Who is there?” called a voice. I staggered in a circle, trying to see who had called out.

“Is someone there?” the voice called again, marginally closer.

“I am here,” I called, all at once terrified of being left alone. I saw a flash of light and broke into a shuffling run toward it.

“Who is it?” asked the voice, much closer now. Suddenly a face appeared in front of me out of the swirling whiteness. I knew him. It was an unsmiling Misfit my age named Domick. I had sometimes seen him with Rushton, I remembered, and the thought reassured me.

“Elspeth Gordie?” He held the lantern up to my face. “What are you doing here?”

I stood in the midst of the storm, my mind reeling. What could I say? What possible reason could I have for wandering around on the farms? The silence between us lengthened, and I saw suspicion form on Domick’s face.

At last he said, “Well, you had better come back with me. We’ll talk where it’s warmer.”

He struck off to the right, and I followed him closely until we reached a squat, sturdy building I had not seen before.

“What is this place?” I asked through chattering teeth.

Domick bundled me through the door. “The watch-hut,” he said shortly, and hustled me across to the fire. He hauled off my snow-crusted coat and threw a thick blanket around my shoulders, then he piled more wood on the fire.

“Are you numb anywhere?” he asked. Wordlessly, I pointed to my feet. He wrestled off my boots, grimacing at the bloody mess of my knees. Both feet were white and bloodless.

“Frostbite,” muttered Domick, and he began to rub them vigorously. In a short while, sensation returned with burning, painful clarity. Only when I was writhing with pain did he stop.

“You were lucky. Don’t you know anything about frostbite? You could have lost a foot if you’d left them that way,” he scolded.

I shuddered.

He gave me a bowl of warm water to bathe my knees and palms, and when I had finished, he pressed a mug full of soup into my hand. Then he fixed me with a disconcerting stare. “Well, what are you doing out here?” he asked.

I sipped at the soup, then looked up at him. “I’ve run away,” I said, for there was no other answer.

He nodded. “How did you get past the maze?”

I sipped again at the drink, trying to think what to say. Though I had seen them together, I couldn’t risk giving away Rushton’s part in my escape.

“I … found some drainpipes that go under the maze,” I said at last, lamely.

Suspicion hardened in his face. “I will have to report you,” he said coldly. “But there is the storm. I’ll lock you in until someone comes from the house.”

He put me into a small room and locked the door behind
him. I decided I would stay until the storm abated and Domick slept, then I would open the lock and find my way to the silo. In the meantime, there was a sacking bed in one corner. I climbed onto it gratefully, and not even my fear and despair at all that had happened could keep me awake.

24

I
SLEPT MORE
deeply than I’d intended, but it was a healing sleep. When I woke, I felt rested and alert, and I lay still, enjoying a feeling of well-being and warmth. Outside I could hear the whirling roar of the wind. The storm had worsened, and though it prevented me from leaving, it might also mean I was safe for the moment.

I heard a knock at the hut’s main door and sat up, terrified it was Ariel. Had I slept too long? Perhaps the soup Domick had given me had been laced with sleep potion.

“Who is it?” Domick asked from the other room.

“It’s me. Roland,” said another voice. I did not know the name. I heard Domick unlatch the door.

“Is Louis here?” asked the newcomer. I crawled out of the bed, crossed quietly to the door, and listened.

“He hasn’t come yet,” said Domick. “Where is Rushton?”

“He didn’t turn up, though I near froze my eyebrows off waiting,” said Roland, sounding aggrieved. “Alad says there is some sort of search going on at the house. Guess who has run away now?”

“Elspeth Gordie,” Domick said. My heart began to thump wildly. There was a surprised silence.

“How could you know that?” Roland demanded.

“Because she’s here,” said Domick. “I was out getting wood when I saw her stumbling about like a blind ewe. I locked her
in there. She says she came through the drains under the maze, but I don’t know how she could know about them.”

“She could not have come that way,” said Roland. “Alad said Ariel’s beasts are out, all around the house.”

“From the look of her knees, it is true just the same,” said Domick. “You might take a look at them when she wakes. They could use healing.”

“We have other concerns,” said Roland impatiently. “I want to know what we are to do about the Druid’s man. He was supposed to meet with Rushton, but he turns up dead. How are we going to explain that?”

“Rushton will have to tell Henry Druid the truth,” said Domick. “The man got himself caught. The question is, did he mention Rushton?”

Roland gave a grunt. “Fortunately, we won’t have to explain anything to the Druid until spring, for tonight’s snowfall will certainly close off the pass.”

“I wish Louis were here,” Domick said.

“That old nutter,” Roland snapped.

“Well, he was the first to help Rushton,” Domick said defensively. “And I know he has spent some time with her.” I imagined him gesturing toward my door.

There was another silence.

I debated what to do. It sounded like these two and Louis Larkin were allies of Rushton. But where did the Druid fit in? Was Rushton working for him? He had told me that he had no interest in digging up the past, but Alexi had indicated the Druid was after the same thing he was.

“We ought to look for Rushton,” Roland said.

“He said to wait and do nothing,” Domick said.

“If Rushton’s in trouble, I’m not going to sit back and do nothing.”

“We don’t even know if he
is
in trouble,” Domick insisted.

A log in the fire cracked loudly, and I heard the sound of boots outside. There was a knock, and the outer door opened.

“Louis!” Domick sounded relieved.

“Where’s Rushton?” Roland asked swiftly.

“They’ve taken him prisoner,” Louis said in an angry growl. “Alexi and Vega and that demon’s whelp, Ariel. They think he helped Elspeth Gordie to escape.”

My heart plummeted. Impulsively, I unlocked the door.

For a moment, all was still, like a wax display. Louis, warmly clad with snow melting and dripping in a pool at his feet, and Domick and a man, Roland, near the fire. We all stared at one another, then Domick made a little warding-off movement that unfroze the tableau.

“I locked that,” he said faintly.

“You!” Louis said, and to my astonishment, a look of anger filled his face as he stepped threateningly toward me. “You have some explainin’ to do!” he growled. “Why do th’ Council seek ye?”

“The Council?” Domick echoed.

Louis flicked him a quick quelling glance. “Aye, th’ Council. Two Councilmen came up tonight. They have a permit to remove Elspeth Gordie. They said th’ Herder Faction wanted to question ye as well.”

I felt my face whiten. The Council wanted me, but I dreaded the fanatical Herders, who had burned my parents, far more.

But there was Rushton to think about. “I had a brother. He was involved in some sedition, and they think I can tell them the names of his accomplices,” I said, leaving out a world of detail.

Louis squinted his eyes and looked at me skeptically, but I pretended not to see.

“You say they have Rushton? Where?” I asked.

No one answered.

“Look, Rushton
did
help me tonight,” I said urgently. “He told me to hide in the silo, but I got lost in the storm.”

“Why would he help you?” Roland asked sharply.

I looked at him helplessly, for I did not know that myself.

“She is not important now,” said Domick. “We can deal with her later. I don’t know how she undid that lock, but I’ll tie her up in there and then we can talk.”