The Seeker (29 page)

Once Rushton arrived at the mountain valley, he learned that Michael Seraphim had died. Still puzzled as to why his mother had insisted on him bringing news of her death to a stranger, he had accepted Madam Vega’s offer of employment as overseer with the aim of finding out more about Michael Seraphim. Alexi had guessed the truth the moment he saw
Rushton, and they meant to keep him close in case the truth about Stephen Seraphim was ever revealed. Madam Vega had done her best to ingratiate herself with him, though she had not told him the truth about his father. It was Louis Larkin who had done that. Rushton had stayed on, hoping to meet his half brother, who was kept mysteriously out of sight. Finally, he had discovered the truth and knew that he had a legitimate claim to Obernewtyn.

But by now he had developed an alliance with Domick and Roland and other Misfits with forbidden abilities, and he had conceived of turning Obernewtyn into a secret refuge. So he had to be very careful about how he established his claim. He must control the process. He also needed to resolve his bargain with Henry Druid. He did not want to find himself at odds with the old man, so he had decided to provide him with several valuable books from the library before severing contact.

But would that satisfy the former Herder? If he was as voracious about forbidden knowledge as he sounded, he would not easily give up his search for weapon-machines. My thoughts shifted to the magnificent carvings on the doors to Obernewtyn. It was a great pity to destroy such craftsmanship, but I could see no other way to get rid of the map they concealed.

“What about the doctor?” I asked.

“I don’t think Rushton is quite sure what to do with him,” Dameon said in an amused voice. “He really is rather harmless. It turns out he was using garbled herb lore on the people he treated, and the worst he would have done is give someone a bad bellyache. Roland is trying to teach him some real herb lore, but the doctor is slow and Roland is so impatient.”

Looking at my friends, I thought this business had wrought a change in them, too. Dameon seemed quieter and older, while Matthew carried the scar left by Cameo’s death
in the sadness I sometimes saw in his face. Yet they were more certain of themselves, more purposeful. Perhaps because Rushton had offered them a place in his world.

I found myself yawning and knew I did not really want to go to the meeting. I grinned at their relief when I said so.

“Will you stay?” Dameon asked.

“It will be some time before I can think of leaving,” I said, sidestepping the question.

Dameon did not press me. In truth, I did not know what I would do. I did not think I would stay at Obernewtyn, for I had a yearning to travel, to see the great sea and the western coast. But it would be as difficult as ever to move from place to place in the Land, even if Rushton provided me with a Normalcy Certificate, as he had promised any of us who wished to leave the mountains.

“Ye mun stay!” Matthew cried, looking disappointed. “Rushton said you’re stronger than all of us. He has the notion of starting his own council!”

Dameon nodded, sensing my curiosity and incredulity. “He wants to govern Obernewtyn with the help and advice of a council elected from our ranks. He wants us to work at our abilities and to train others to be better at what we do.”

“He wants us to form groups, guilds organized by special abilities,” Matthew added.

“And this council will be a sort of guild merge,” I quipped.

Dameon’s mouth twitched. “A good name. I will suggest it,” he said.

I laughed. Then another question occurred to me.

“Speaking of councils, what happened to those Councilmen and the soldierguards that came up here?” To my surprise, Matthew only laughed.

“
There’s
a story,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Madam Vega made the mistake of leaving the Councilmen to Ariel’s tender mercies. He fed them drugged wine and threw them in one of the underground storage chambers.”

I gaped.

“By the time they were discovered, it was all over. Rushton got them out and told them what had happened—with a few omissions.”

“A few omissions!” I gasped.

Matthew grinned widely, enjoying his audience. “He told them Madam Vega and Alexi had been plotting against the Council, and that they had organized to have the Councilmen knocked out and murdered in case they found out that Stephen Seraphim was defective and their prisoner.”

“And they believed him?” I asked.

“With a little empathy,” Dameon said with a sly, slow smile.

“Rushton gave them the impression the whole revolt had been meant to free them,” Matthew continued. “They were sick to their stomachs from th’ stuff Ariel had given them, and they were only too happy to believe anything they were told by the man who rescued them. Those with empath abilities have been preparing them to rush back to Sutrium after the thaw, and ye can be sure Rushton will have no trouble getting his claim accepted after they prepare the way.”

I laughed aloud at the thought of the self-important Councilmen thrown into a storage cupboard. Then I sobered. “What about me?”

“What about you?” Matthew inquired pertly. “You’re dead. You ran away during the battle and were almost certainly tragically devoured by wild wolves.”

Domick poked his head around the door. “Rushton’s coming up.”

Dameon and Matthew moved to depart.

“Wait. Don’t …”
Don’t what?
I wondered.
Don’t leave me alone with the person who risked his life to help me?
I shook my head at the absurdity, and they went.

Rushton seemed too tall in the turret room that had once been his own chamber. There were faint shadows under his green eyes that told of the long hours he had been spending at reorganizing Obernewtyn, but he looked remarkably content.

“I heard you want to come to the meeting,” he said.

I shrugged. “Not really. It was a whim. I hear you have plans,” I said.

He didn’t seem to hear me. “I feared you would die or wake up senseless like Selmar.”

I shrugged again, embarrassed at his intensity. “Well, I didn’t,” I said with some asperity. “I never thanked you for helping me with the machine that time.”

He shrugged. “Will you stay?” he asked, rather as Dameon had done.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Did they tell you my idea about the guilds? You could stay and help set it up,” he offered diffidently.

“What guild would I belong to?” I asked, striving for a lightness I could not seem to feel.

“Choose whichever pleases you. You seem to have every ability save empathy.” He smiled. “You are the strongest Misfit here by far, but we’re going to bring others up here, too, you know. In secret. You could help to train them. And when we’re strong enough, we will force the Council to accept Misfits.” He paused. “Stay,” he said again when I did not answer.

“I’ll stay for a while,” I said at last.

“That will do to start,” he said cryptically. He glanced
through the unshuttered window at the pale wintertime sky. “It will not be easy, I know, to do what I want. But one day, Obernewtyn will be a force in this Land. I will see to that.” He smiled down at me, and there was a fierce pride in his face that made it strangely beautiful.

He would be a good leader, I thought after he had gone. Guilds or not, he would remain the Master of Obernewtyn. There was a quality in him that inspired trust and a kind of love. He was born to lead.

People like Rushton never thought much about the past, I thought. It made them impatient. It was left to those like me to remember the past—and doubt.

Deep within, I felt again the tingle of the power I had wakened. Such power must have a purpose. I remembered my vision of a dark, smoke-filled chasm. I would destroy the map Marisa Seraphim had left showing its whereabouts, but the chasm would remain, as would whatever documents Marisa had used to create her map. Sooner or later, someone would find the chasm. Unless I found it first.

“The Seeker,” Cameo had called me. Strangely, the name Maruman and Sharna had called me meant exactly that. Perhaps it was my destiny to find the weaponmachines and somehow disarm them. The thought lay in my mind, and all the restlessness in me seemed to flow toward it. A vague idea became resolve. One day, I would seek the chasm I had seen, and I would find a way to prevent the weaponmachines within from being used.

Cameo had believed I was important—that I had something important to do in the world—and so had Maruman and Sharna. What could be more important than making sure the Great White could never come again?

PART I
R
EFUGE

1

R
OLAND SHOOK HIS
head decisively. “I can do nothing to hasten the healing, Elspeth. If you rested them more often …”

I sighed and rubbed the tender soles of my feet. “Kella said a warmer climate might help.”

Roland nodded absently, returning satchels of herbs to his carryall. “It’s true that cold doesn’t help the healing process, but whatever miracles we healers can do, changing the weather to suit our patient is not among them.”

I was startled at the unexpected touch of humor from the dour Healer guildmaster. Hefting the weighty bag onto his shoulder, Roland gave me a piercing look. “If you would stay in your room in wintertime with banked fires instead of wandering around the drafty halls—and beyond …”

“I
am
mistress of a guild,” I said.

Roland was unsympathetic. “Garth finds no difficulty in remaining in his caves, and the Teknoguild works do not crumble because of its master’s inactivity,” he said.

The Teknoguild was concerned with studying the Beforetime and researching the effects—past, present, and future—of the Great White. I had little interest in such things, but I had met secretly with Garth only that morning. I wondered if Roland knew.

“Garth … is Garth,” I said with a smile. Roland’s lip twitched.

There was a knock at the door, and Kella entered, carrying a jug.

Roland waved his ward in impatiently as he addressed me. “Soak in that, then rub some of the salve into the soles. And stay off your feet!” he growled, slamming the door behind him.

Kella poured the liquid in a flat pan, smiling ruefully. “He’s angry with himself, because your feet aren’t healing properly.”

I lowered my feet gingerly into the shallow pannikin. A sweet scent rose from the water. “Herb lore?” I guessed.

Kella nodded. “A recipe given to us by the Master of Obernewtyn himself.”

I smiled, never quite able to accept Rushton’s grandiose title. When I had first met him, he was an enigmatic farm overseer only a few years older than myself. No one had been more astonished than I to discover he was the legal owner of Obernewtyn.

Kella was staring into the fire, its orange glow playing over her cheeks. “Rushton has not come back yet from the highlands,” she said, a faint line of worry between her brows. I wondered idly if the healer was attracted to Rushton. It would be a pity for her. His brooding singleness of purpose made him blind to anything but his complicated plans for the future. I smiled wryly.