The Seeker (44 page)

“Gahltha,” I sent, forcing through his shield. He whinnied, a high quavering note, the whites of his eyes showing. But he made no move toward the raft.

“He’s afraid!” Jik cried.

Domick jumped into the raft just as the water dragged it from the bank. There was a hard jerk as it reached the end of the tether rope. Still Gahltha stood on the bank unmoving, staring out at us.

“Gahltha!” I sent. “Go back to Obernewtyn.”

He made no response. I saw figures running. “They’re coming. Cut the rope!” I cried.

Domick lifted his small ax.

“Gahltha. Go now, or the funaga will trap you!” I sent forcefully.

He reared violently and plunged into the night. At the same time, Domick let the ax fall. It landed badly, and the rope was not severed. Several armsmen had reached the bank and were attempting to reel the raft in. Domick raised the ax again, and this time it fell true.

At once, the roaring water carried us swiftly away from the bank. Lightning flashed, and in that moment, I saw Gilbert among those who stood watching us. I knew he had been out hunting and realized our poor luck—we had not been followed from the encampment but had been found out all the same.

His eyes falling on me, Gilbert cried out something in evident dismay, but the sound of rain and rushing water made his words impossible to hear.

Then the raft carried us from his sight, and within seconds, we were speeding toward the dark bulk of the mountains. For a moment, it seemed we would be smashed to pieces against the side of the mountain. Then the black gape of a cave opened up before us.

I looked back and caught sight of Gahltha pawing at the raging water as if it were tongues of fire.

“Here we go,” Domick said grimly, and we plunged into the heart of the mountain.

13

T
HE
S
UGGREDOON BORE US
along its ancient course at the speed of a bolting horse.

Domick stood up on the raft, slipping his feet into rope loops, and took hold of the paddle, which gave him rudimentary steering. I was surprised to find a dim light in the cavern instead of dense blackness. The walls glowed gently and eerily, and only when a cloud of insects stirred and rose did I see that the light came from their tiny bodies. A stiff, cold draft blew in my face from somewhere ahead, but I knew we had far to go before we would see the sky again.

It was not long before the way narrowed and twisted, creating the first turbulent stretch of rapids. The water boiled savagely, sending the raft shuddering and careening through foaming torrents, barely missing jagged rocks. Luck as much as steering kept us from being overturned or having a rock smash the raft to splinters.

And there were many such stretches. Each time we began to breathe easy, thinking ourselves lucky to have reached calmer waters, we would hear the familiar hollow roar ahead and would tighten our grips on the raft.

At one point, the entire surface of the river seemed to tilt, and we were as much sliding as being swept by the current. The wind whistled past me, whipping strands of hair wildly in my face.

We knew the Suggredoon flowed down to the lowlands, but I had been secretly afraid that the tunnel it had carved through the stone roots of the mountain might become too narrow for the raft to pass. My heart sank when the walls began to close in around us, and for a moment, the mountain seemed to throb with brooding malevolence.

I tried to ignore the roof drawing steadily nearer and more dim, as if the glowing insects disliked the closeness as much as we did. Gradually, it became so low that Domick could not stand. I needed no empathy to sense Avra’s fear. If the cavern became much more cramped, she would not fit. And we all knew there was no turning back.

But the way began to widen again, and I shivered with reaction. In my wildest fancies, I had never imagined the trip to the coast would be such a road of trials. I had worried only about soldierguards, yet in all that had befallen us, we had not even laid eyes on one.

Hearing a roar ahead, I prepared myself for another battering, but instead the raft flowed round a bend and through a natural stone arch into a vast, dark cavern. If not for the stalactites and stalagmites and the rock columns rising from the water to the roof where some had met and fused, I would have thought we had somehow got out onto the sea at night. The cave was lit by millions of the tiny insects.

The raft slowed but was still drawn along by a deeper current.

Our wonder at this great lake under the mountain dissolved into greater amazement as we drew near to what at first appeared to be strangely symmetrical rows of rocky mounds rising from the water.

Pavo realized first what we were seeing and gasped. I was struck by the wonder in his gaunt face. “This is a Beforetime city,” he whispered reverently.

Squinting, I saw that he was right. The shapes were too square to be natural, but the height of them astounded me. These, then, were the skyscrapers of the legends.

I stared about me as the current carried us between two of the monstrous constructions, along what must once have been a street. There was no way of telling how far below the surface of the water lay the floor of the dead city. Out of the distant past, I seemed to hear Louis Larkin telling me there were certain to be rare niches in the world where bits of the Beforetime were preserved.

And what wonders lay inside these buildings with their thousands of dark windows?

Up close, the surfaces were badly eroded, especially at the water line. One day the currents’ ebb and flow would eat the foundations, and the remnants of the ancient city would topple. Gaps in the rows of buildings suggested this had happened already in some cases.

Many of the smooth façades were crumbled, revealing the great black steel frames inside them, like the bones of some moldering animal. Much of the remaining walls were covered in a livid yellow fungus. The glowing insects either lived or fed on it, for wherever the fungus grew, they were clustered thickly, and their collective light was brighter.

I wondered if the city had somehow sunk into the mountain during the Great White or if the earth had spat the mountains on top of it like a gravestone.

I found myself wishing Matthew could see it. He had long worshipped the Oldtimers with a glib surety that had always troubled me, but the city told a story of people who were certainly great—but people just the same, with flaws that all their brilliance had not helped.

It was a somber and sobering experience. It was not hard
to think of the people who had built such cities as capable of any wonder—or terror. Looking around me, I had no doubt that such a people could create a weapon that would live far beyond their span. The stark reality of the brilliance and insanity of the Oldtimers struck me then as never before.

“This is a bad place,” Avra sent uneasily.

As much to distract myself as the mare, I asked her about Gahltha’s strange behavior.

She whinnied forlornly. “The funaga who owned him almost drowned him when he was first brought to them. It is a funaga way of breaking the spirit of an equine, to use water and fear. They did not break him, for he took refuge in a savage hidden hatred, but since that time he has a dread of water that goes beyond reason.”

“I’m sure he’s safely on his way back to Obernewtyn,” I sent reassuringly.

“He is proud,” she sent. “Too proud to bear such shame easily.”

I stared at her, puzzled. “There is no shame in what happened. No one will blame him.”

Avra sighed in a very human way. “He will blame himself. I do not think he will return to Obernewtyn.”

Hours later, we were still gliding through the ancient city. The immediate wonder having worn off, we lapsed into silence for a time. I watched from the corner of my eye as Kella helped Domick to steer, thinking that the stresses and perils that had beset us since leaving Obernewtyn had eroded the old enmity between coercer and healer. I was imagining what effect their unexpected friendship would have on their guilds, when we suddenly passed out of the big cavern into a tunnel. Immediately, the raft picked up speed, and in seconds we were in rapids again.

Another hour passed with little respite from the ferocious white water, which seemed more frequent on this side of the underground sea. Domick was swaying on his feet with exhaustion.

Then we heard a noise. At first we checked our binding ropes, thinking there was another bout of rapids ahead, but as we came nearer to the source, the roaring became louder, taking on a curious vibrating quality.

I noticed that Pavo was listening intently. There was no fear on his face, only fierce concentration.

“What is it?” I shouted. “More rapids?”

“Let’s hope that is all it is,” Pavo answered.

I opened my mouth to ask what he meant when the raft tilted abruptly sideways. Being tied on was all that kept us together. I heard Kella scream, and then we were falling as the Suggredoon became a giant waterfall, plummeting us into a black void.

My face felt hot and damp at the memory of that fall.

I tried to open my eyes but saw nothing. I lifted my hand to feel if my eyes were open, wondering if I had gone blind.

“Shh, lie still,” Kella said softly.

“My eyes,” I croaked. My throat felt as dry as old paper.

“Your eyes are fine. They’re stuck shut by blood from a cut on your forehead. Wait …”

I heard footsteps on a stone floor and the murmur of voices. It was strange to hear and not see; that was how it was for Dameon. Two sets of footsteps approached, and there was the sound of curtains being drawn. I felt a warm cloth on my face and gasped at the unexpected sting.

“There are lots of small cuts from the rocks,” Kella explained
gently. “Some of them reopened in the night. There now.”

I opened my eyes. I was in bed in a small whitewashed bedroom with sun streaming through a window and birds chirping outside. Kella was sitting beside me on a stool, a bowl of bloodied water on her knees. Her cheek was badly bruised and her arm was bandaged. Behind her was a plump matronly woman I had never seen before.

“I am Katlyn,” she said with a warm smile.

I did not know what to say and looked helplessly at Kella. “Katlyn and her bondmate, Grufyyd, found us washed up on the banks of the Suggredoon. They know we escaped from a Councilfarm,” she said pointedly.

“Dinna worry about that now. Ye need to rest,” Katlyn said, her highland accent strong. “That is the best healer of all, but first I will bring ye some food.”

She went out, taking the stained water with her, and returned in a moment with a bowl of soup.

“That smells wonderful,” I rasped.

She smiled. “It is an old recipe, a special healing mixture. Eat an’ then sleep. Ye can talk later.”

“Where are the others?” I asked Kella as soon as the woman had gone.

“Everyone is fine,” Kella said, and pointed firmly to the soup. “Now eat. If Katlyn says it will heal, it will. She knows so much about healing and medicines. I’ve never seen such an herb garden.”

“Herb?” I asked sharply.

“Katlyn is an herb lorist. She learned it from her grandmother. Apparently people came to the woman’s village from all over the Land, and they used to come see Katlyn before
herb lore was banned. Many still come. I wish Roland could meet her.

“Does she not fear the Herders?”

Kella smiled. “She talks about the Council and the Herders as if they were a collection of naughty boys. She knows what she does is dangerous, but she says it’s her job.”

“How long have we been here?” I asked, anxious that we had stayed too long in the house of a woman who cared so little for her safety.

“Only a day, but without her help, we would have taken much longer to heal,” Kella said sternly, seeing my disapproval.

“I’m grateful for her help,” I said. “But it’s my job to keep us safe and finish this expedition without getting caught by the Council or the Faction—who are a lot more dangerous than bad boys. Now, tell me, where are we?”

Kella shrugged. “We’re not far from Rangorn and the Ford. It’s only the two of them here. There’s a son, but he’s a seaman. They seemed to think we might have heard of him when I’d told them we were runaways. I thought it best not to pry.”