The Seeker (38 page)

I was deeply concerned by what such a block must mean.
We had long heard rumors of Council and Herder interest in Misfits with special abilities, but to most of the Land we were thought to be harmless defectives who might occasionally have a meaningful dream. The Druid must know otherwise.

Somehow, Rushton had to be warned that he had mind weapons. What would happen if the rogue Herder discovered we were Misfits?

Or did he already know that, too?

Behind, Louis grunted in astonishment at the size of the walled encampment visible through the trees. The wall itself was no more than a barrier of thin, dark-stained striplings set upright in the ground, reaching high enough to obscure all but the tops of thatch-roofed buildings and a number of gently smoking chimneys.

Rounding the outer wall, we came to a wide gateway that was firmly bolted. A ruddy face appeared at an opening in answer to the red-haired woodsman’s call. “Who is that wi’ ye, Gilbert? I diven’t know them faces.”

Gilbert gestured impatiently at the door. “Open up, Relward.”

“Bain’t he a gypsy?” Relward inquired, staring doltishly into my face. He chewed his lip ponderously, then, unlatching the gate, planted himself firmly in the gap.

“Step aside, fool! You try my patience,” Gilbert snapped.

Relward shook his head. “I canna let strangers in. Take him”—he nodded at me—“an’ them others to th’ compound. Her can come in,” he added, nodding at Kella. Despite the seriousness of our situation, I felt indignant at being taken for a boy.

“I’ll decide where they will be taken, Relward,” Gilbert said through gritted teeth. “I’m not sure we should have a gatekeeper too blind to know the difference between man and maid.”

The bumpkin’s eyes widened. He stared at me accusingly, as if I had deliberately transformed myself to confound him. Then he gaped, seeing the robed man. “Master,” he bleated. “I dinna know ye was there.” He tripped over his feet in an effort to get out of the way. The robed man ignored him and swept into the camp.

Gilbert grinned covertly over his shoulder at me. “Do not think we are all such fools as that—or so blind,” he murmured in a low voice.

There was nothing makeshift about what lay within the walls. It was a complete and settled village with graveled streets and stores. There was even a blacksmith and extensive holding yards and stables for horses.

People came out into the street to watch us pass, their eyes curious. Almost everyone seemed to wear arms, including the women and older children. The prospect of escape seemed dim.

At the very center of the settlement was a wide green expanse and garden beds. I was oddly reassured to see children playing on a swing, though they stopped their game to watch us pass.

Only one building edged on the square, a big stone house that reminded me vaguely of the main Councilcourt in Sutrium. Broad stone steps led up to the entrance, and double wooden doors like those at Obernewtyn stood open, revealing a long hall with a shining timber floor and a high sloped ceiling. Two young men emerged from one of the many doors leading off the hall. They smiled at Gilbert, but their good humor faded when they saw the rest of us.

“Gypsies,” one spat. Gilbert frowned but made no comment, shepherding us through a door into an unadorned room.

The other men continued farther into the building, leaving
us alone except for Gilbert. I tried again to breach the block but with no success. It was incredible to think such mental blindness was considered normal.

“Gypsies, eh?” Gilbert said, leaning against the door. “Where were you really headed? The main road would be much quicker than any so-called Olden way.”

I stepped up to him boldly. “I told you already, or are you as deaf as that gatewarden was blind? We are to meet my father in Arandelft.”

Instead of becoming angry, Gilbert threw back his head and laughed with real amusement. “I wondered why a scrap of a girl was the leader over grown men, but now I see you carry the sharpest weapon in your wicked tongue.”

“Why have you brought us here?” I demanded.

Gilbert smiled. “I am the one asking the questions. Tell me, where have you come from, if you insist you are going to Arandelft?”

I hesitated. “We have been in the high mountain country.”

I heard a smothered gasp from Kella, but fortunately Gilbert was too intent on my answer to register it.

“Then … you must have seen Obernewtyn?” he said.

I shrugged carelessly. “Of course.” From the corner of my eye, I could see Matthew looking at me as if I had gone mad.

“Why did you go up there?” Gilbert asked guardedly.

“Why does a gypsy travel anywhere? For silver. My father said there would be winter lodgings there and work to trade for it. He wanted to try trapping a snow bear. One sold in Sutrium last moon fair for a Councilman’s ransom.” I smiled as if the thought of such wealth excited me, then I let my face fall.

“But everything went wrong. There was a curse on that place, and we laid another in leaving. A firestorm had all but laid it to waste. There was nothing left but a few rough huts
made of the ruins. The people remaining had no room or food to spare. Then my cousin fell sick, and I had to wait for him while the rest went on without us. And now this,” I snorted petulantly.

“So, there
was
a firestorm,” Gilbert murmured.

“We were supposed to meet the troupe at Arandelft in time for the harvest of eben berries,” Matthew said.

Gilbert looked at him and grinned. “So, you
can
speak. I thought you were all mute, having this grubby wench speak for you.”

I held my breath, hoping Matthew would have the sense to see he was being deliberately needled. He only shrugged sullenly and fell silent.

The robed man returned, and Gilbert spoke to him in a low voice. His pale eyes rested thoughtfully on me.

“Take the men to the compound, the boy to the other children, and the girl to Rilla,” the robed man told Gilbert. “You will come with me,” he instructed me coldly.

He led me down the hall to another door.

“… but how can we have missed it …” A deep voice floated out as we entered. I blinked, dazzled by the sunlight streaming from a huge window. The room was an enclosed fern garden. There was a long table covered in books and papers and surrounded by chairs. A number of robed men and several dressed like Gilbert clustered around the head of the table.

“Forgive me, lord,” said the man who had brought me there.

Those bending over the table drew back to reveal a white-bearded man seated in their midst. He wore a plain cream-colored robe like the others, yet there was an aura of authority about him. He had the thin face and body of an ascetic, but his features were curiously mismatched—a beaky nose, a jutting
chin, and beetling silver brows. His eyes were his sole visible beauty, dark and strangely compelling. Such eyes might easily see into a person’s mind. I met his penetrating gaze uneasily.

“Who is this?” he asked in a low, sweet voice.

“This is the gypsy girl I mentioned a moment ago. But I had not realized then that she and her family have been in the high mountains,” he added pointedly.

The old man’s eyes glittered. “You have been to Obernewtyn?”

I nodded, wondering if I had made a mistake in mentioning Obernewtyn. I told them what I had told Gilbert. “Why have you brought us here?” I asked at last. I wanted to impress on them that I was a gypsy, interested in nothing but my own skin.

“Tell me what you saw at Obernewtyn,” the old man invited.

“I’ve told you everything. They wouldn’t let us stay because there was no room. Some of them were sick.” I let distaste show in my eyes.

“My acolyte told me you were looking for a Beforetime pass.”

I nodded.

“There is no pass,” the old man said. “Now, what is the truth for your avoiding the main road? I suspect you were trying to leave the highlands without being seen. Gypsies are known for being light-fingered.” I hung my head to hide my relief. He thought we were thieves trying to reach the lowlands without being arrested!

“What are you going to do with us?” I asked, hoping to encourage his assumptions.

“What was the name of the Master of Obernewtyn?” the old man asked.

A chill ran down my spine. “There was a youth in charge, if you would call him master. He seemed half out of his wits if you ask me. Kept raving about Obernewtyn belonging to him and wanting to restore it. Who would want to bother with such a ruin?” I chewed my lip as if trying to recall. “Rafe … Rushton, I think his name was.”

An unreadable look flickered over the old man’s face.

For a long moment, there was silence in the room, and I heard the muted sounds of children at play. The old man rose slowly and came round to stand in front of me.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

My heart sank. If he would tell that openly, he had no intention of letting us go. “Are you … the Druid from the old stories?” I asked shyly.

The old man gave me a quick, rather beautiful smile. “I am,” he said. “It pleases me to know my name has not been forgotten. And what do gypsies know of Henry Druid?”

“My father told me the Council and the Herder Faction forced you into exile. He said you were not dead no matter what was said and that you would one day return.”

A fanatic gleam flashed in the old man’s eyes. “Your father is wise, for I do mean to return.”

The door opened suddenly, and a pretty blond girl entered. She scanned the room lazily, her eyes stopping on the Druid. “Father, you promised to come to midmeal. We are all waiting.” She pouted.

The Druid smiled indulgently. “I will be there very soon, Erin. In the meantime, take this girl to Rilla for me.”

“Another gypsy?” she inquired disparagingly. Without waiting for an answer, she gestured languidly for me to follow.

The Druid’s voice followed us into the hall. “And, Erin, tell
Rilla the two girls will attend nightmeal with us tonight. See that they have some suitable clothes.”

Erin nodded and closed the door behind us. She led me wordlessly out of the building, across the green, and down a number of streets to a square building near the edge of the settlement. A delicious smell of cooking food flowed out the door. My mouth watered, but we bypassed the door, going round a narrow path to another building at the rear. The less appetizing smell of soapsuds met my nostrils. I cast a regretful look over my shoulder.

Erin glanced at me with as much interest as if I were a piece of cheese. Her eyes were hard and bright like pieces of blue glass.

A woman came out to meet us. Plump and pretty, she introduced herself as Rilla.

Erin looked bored at this exchange. “This one needs a good scrubbing. I don’t wonder Relward mistook it for a boy. Still, do what you can. Both these gypsies are to come to nightmeal at the Druid’s table tonight.”

“Your friend is already bathing,” Rilla said when Erin had gone. My stomach growled loudly as if defining its own priorities, and Rilla laughed. “Ye’d nowt be let into th’ kitchen lookin’ like that. But bathe quick and ye can have yer fill before yer tum gives up growlin’ an’ takes to bitin’.”

The bathhouse was filled with billowing steam. I squinted, making out a number of tin barrels all round the walls with fires burning beneath. In the center of the room were two vats. Kella’s head popped above the rim of one, and Rilla pointed me to the other.

“There now,” she said kindly, handing me a drying towel.

I turned to set the towel down and caught sight of myself
in the mirror. I gaped. My face was barely visible for filth—I scarcely looked human. My clothes were stiff with dirt, and my long hair was one lank rat tail. I had not bathed since Gahltha’s riding lessons. With a grimace, I stripped off my clothes and slid into the soapy water. I scrubbed thoroughly, massaging gritty dirt from my hair and ears. Kella handed me a thick calico robe like the one she wore as I clambered out.

“Was it the Druid?” she asked worriedly.

I nodded. “Did you notice anything else since we came here?”

Kella sighed. “You too? I hoped your powers would be strong enough not to be affected. What do you think it is?”

“Some sort of machine, but no one mentioned it. Maybe this is how they test people to find out if they are Misfits. Yet I’m almost certain they believe we’re real gypsies.”

“Rilla won’t be long. I think she’s been told to keep an eye on us. What are we going to do?” Kella asked urgently.

“I’m going to try breaking through the barrier as soon as I have a moment alone. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to get to the machine and damage it or switch it off somehow. If only Pavo were here. I wonder why we’ve been separated?”

“Didn’t they say anything to you about this nightmeal?” Kella asked.

Puzzled at her tone, I said, “We’re to eat with the Druid. What else should I be told?”

“We are to eat with the Druid and all unbonded men,” Kella said pointedly. “Have you noticed how few women there are around here? Rilla let it slip. Tonight we are going to be looked over like batches of scones. For bonding.”

Rilla returned carrying a green dress in one arm and a blue one in the other. “These will match your eyes,” she said. Her own eyes widened. “Well, ye do clean up nice an’ proper.”

I had never seen such fine clothes before, let alone dreamed of wearing them. But where had such finery come from, if not Sutrium? And how would an exiled Herder priest obtain such luxuries?

“These will make ye pretty fer tonight,” Rilla said, holding out the dresses.

“Pretty as lambs to the slaughter,” I murmured sarcastically. I held mine up as if it were a shroud cloth. And well it might be, for I had no intention of being bonded to anyone.

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