The Seeker (58 page)

I dreamed a horse with wings came and carried me to the mountaintops. I dreamed Darga was there and singing to me in Jik’s high, sweet voice. I dreamed of Maruman, his fur ruffled by the winds. I dreamed of a voice inside my mind calling and calling.

I dreamed … of birds.

23

T
HE SOUND OF
a breaking branch in the silence of the devastated valley dragged me from my feverish drowsing. I had imagined myself beyond fear, but the notion came to me that the sound had been made by a predator seeking easy prey in the aftermath of the firestorm.

I stared out of the cave, craning my neck as far as I could to keep from using my legs. I dared not overload my mind with any more pain. Miraculously, the suppressing was still intact, although my vision and hearing seemed distorted.

I could see nothing outside but blackened trees and earth and a drifting haze of smoke. There was no sign of life anywhere, but I felt I was being watched. My scalp prickled, and I groped for a rock to use as a weapon.

“Who’s there?” I called, my voice a dry, frightened croak.

Letting my mind loose in desperation, I was surprised to find myself listening to a mental dialogue.

“What do you think it is?” one mind asked.

“A funaga, of course. What else makes such ugly noises?” came the response.

Astonished at the strength of minds that were clearly nonhuman, I projected, farsending my own thoughts. “Who/where are you?”

“It spoke!” came a third mental voice. Younger than the others and less controlled, I thought. There were quick shushing
thoughts from the other two, who recognized the significance of my mental questions.

I gathered myself, trying to decide if I was dreaming.

Forcing down a mad urge to giggle hysterically, I made an effort to sound normal. “I know you’re out there. There are three of you, and I can hear your thoughts!” Nothing. “Answer me!”

I heard a faint movement and craned my neck, trying to farsense them.

A shudder of branches caught my eye. Squinting, I realized there were birds in the tree. I let my eyes follow the trunk to the ground, thinking the three Talents might well have disturbed them.

No one.

The branches rustled again, and I looked up, wondering what had brought the birds to such a place. Animals generally avoided firestorm-devastated areas for months after, sometimes years. There was no small prey, no insects, and no plant life. No reason—yet there they were, just sitting and staring.

One of the birds extended its wings, and I drew in a sharp breath at the flash of red on its plumage. Guanette birds. I had seen one up close only once, a stuffed trophy. Even dead, the bird had possessed a quality that had enthralled me, a wild sort of nobility.

Looking more carefully, I could tell one of the three was a male, with a straighter beak and smaller body. The two larger, with curved beaks, were female.

I sent a questing probe to the birds. After a moment, the smallest began to fidget, shifting weight from one claw to the other like a sheepish child. I sent a more aggressive inquiry. The male flexed his wings and gave a faint chirrup.

“Will you answer?” I sent directly to him.

There was no response, and I was unsure I had reached the bird. Its mind was oddly opaque, and I felt light-headed and weak. Then I felt a probe in my mind. It had entered with such precise delicacy I had not even been aware of being broached. The finest shield I could create would not bar entrance to such a fine-tuned probe.

“Greetings, funaga,” came the thought shyly, but with undeniable grace.

“I am Elspeth,” I sent. “What name/shape may I call to you?”

“Do not speak to it!” came a sharp, intrusive probe, no less delicate than the first. I wondered if the infection were somehow weakening my natural defenses.

The first hesitated, then spoke again, its presence the merest cobweb in my thoughts.

“My name is Astyanax,” he sent. I heard a brief aside directed to the other mind. “And ‘it’ is a
she.
”

The two females, still side by side on the topmost branch, exchanged a doubtful look, and the effect was so like two old women conferring that I laughed in spite of everything.

All three looked up at the sound of laughter. One of the others addressed me. “Funaga, we of the Agyllians do not give our names lightly. But answer this: Are you a male or a female of your kind? It is not easy to tell your sort of creature apart. You all look so much alike, plucked and naked as an eggling.”

“I am female. What are Agyllians?” I sent, wondering why the strange word sounded familiar.

No one seemed ready to answer, and the two females looked at one another for so long, I sensed they were communicating on some unknown level.

Without warning, the silent communion ended, and the
largest of the three birds dropped from the tree and glided to land near the cave entrance. The bird was much bigger up close, standing higher than a tall man. I drew back nervously, wondering if Guanette birds were carnivorous.

“Is it the one?” the bird mused, apparently thinking to itself. It eyed me intently with beady black eyes.

“I wouldn’t taste very good,” I sent uneasily. “My wounds are poisoned.”

“Wounds! Did you hear what it said?” sent the other female. I was beginning to be able to tell them apart.

“She is the one,” Astyanax sent with sudden certainty. Both females looked at him pointedly; then the first returned to its inspection of my limbs.

“It is dark.… Hard to tell,” murmured the bird on the ground. It came closer in a curious drunken gait. My fingers closed around a rock.

“Funaga,” it sent. “I am Ruatha of the Agyllians, and my companions are Illyx and Astyanax. Do you truthtell about these injuries?”

Bewildered, I nodded. “I was burned a long time ago. The scars have become infected. I’m sure I would taste horrible. I might even be poisonous,” I added earnestly.

The bird made a dry croaking noise. “We do not wish to eat you, funaga. Agyllians are not eaters of flesh.”

I relaxed slightly but not too much. The bird hopped lopsidedly closer. “Injuries are common after the firestorms. You do not look very important,” it added thoughtfully. “But perhaps Astyanax is right, and you are the one we seek.”

My involuntary withdrawal had jarred my legs, and I heard this through a red mist of pain. I fought against faintness.

“Are you Innle?” the bird asked.

The mist cleared for a moment in shock at hearing Maruman’s old title for me. Innle meant “seeker” in beast symbols. And hadn’t I heard that name more recently? The effort of sustaining the suppressing stopped me thinking clearly. I concentrated, shoring up the barrier, and slowly, the tides of pain ebbed.

The bird had not moved, but the other two had flown to the ground and hovered some way back.

“Why do you call me that?” I asked.

“The eldar sent us to find Innle,” Astyanax said, “the Seeker, who lay mortally injured in this valley. Many are dead nearby, but the eldar told that you would be alone, wounded and waiting to die. It is hard to know if you are the one. The eldar said there was no time for a mistake.”

“What is an eldar?” I asked, fear giving way to puzzlement.

This time Astyanax answered. “Eldar is the name of the high council of the Agyllians. Eldar are the wisest of our kind, and the wisest of the wise is the leader of the council—the Elder.”

Now I was sure I was dreaming or delirious with pain. A council of birds? Even the dogs and horses who were organized had not gone that far.

“What is this Seeker?”

“Are you the one we were sent to find?” Illyx demanded with waspish exasperation.

“Peace,” Ruatha sent gently. “She cannot know she is the one. We will take her.”

I blinked, forcing back a wave of nausea. “What do you mean?”

The bird ignored me. One last searching look from ice-colored eyes, then she thrust her head beneath one wing and
appeared to be trying to pick out the feathers there. Instead she withdrew a pouch in her sharp beak, dropped it on the ground, and pecked at it until the woven edges parted. Inside was a net.

“No!” I struggled to maintain the suppressing.

“The Elder cannot leave the Ken, so we will take you there,” Ruatha sent calmly, reaching for my leg with one strong claw.

Pain.

More pain.

Darkness.

I fought against consciousness, frightened of what I would find.

“You will not die …,” sent a voice, as soft in my mind as a falling leaf.

Slowly, I let myself be drawn, opening my eyes to a sky so pale and clear it was more white than blue. The wind fanned my cheeks with icy fingers, and puffs of cloud burst from my lips and dissolved with each breath exhaled.

Dreaming …
, I thought vaguely.
All a dream … but so real
. Another puff of cloud floated from my mouth. I turned my head slowly to follow it and froze.

I was having one of those horrible dreams where I seemed to be right on the edge of the highest cliff in the world. Below, visible through a veil of drifting cloud, was a vague grayness that might have been sea or land.

Piercing the cloud rose numerous stone columns; I seemed to be lying atop one. First there had been winged horses, then giant birds that thought more clearly than any human, and now I had been transported to the top of the world. I wondered dizzily if these were the dreams that came to the endless sleep called death.

Guanette birds wheeled and flew and skimmed all about in an intricate airborne dance. It was one of the loveliest sights I had ever seen.

I heard the rustle of wings and turned to see one of the birds come to ground. It was a male.

“You have woken, funaga. Welcome to the Ken. I am of the eldar. My name is Nerat. Among your kind, I would be called a healer.” It sent these thoughts past my shield without effort, with the same scything ability the other birds had demonstrated.

He moved closer but slowly, as if his bones were stiff. Just as Ruatha had done, the bird reached under a wing, withdrawing a pouch. Balancing precariously on one foot, it took the pouch into its talons, plucking it open with delicate pecking motions. A few grains of yellowish dust drifted on the wind.

“The infection in your body is bad, but not so bad that Nerat cannot draw it. The real difficulty will be in finding a way to drain off the pain you have allowed to build up behind a mental block. Open your mind to me,” he commanded.

I flinched at the hint of strength, for here was a mind easily as powerful as my own.

The bird tilted its head quizzically. “You find it hard to open your mind? Dying would be harder. Understand that there is only so much we can do from without. Your body must be taught to repair itself and build its immunities. That is a simple matter and can be done even as I drain the mental poisons. But you must open willingly to me. If you resist, the block will crumble. You will die. Let me in and sleep. Trust me.”

I swallowed dryly, wondering why even in the midst of a dream, I could not bear the thought of opening my mind completely.

“That is a question you will answer for yourself in time,” Nerat sent. “Now, do as I say, before the poison flows too deep. I can do many things, but I cannot bring the dead back to life. And you must not die with so much left undone,” he added cryptically.

I saw a sudden vision of Rushton’s brooding face and felt the curious ache his memory always evoked.

“He thinks of you, too,” Nerat said absently; then he made a choking sound and regurgitated a grayish lump of paste onto the stone.

“This comes from the substance the funaga call
whitestick
,” Nerat sent. “We call it
narma
. I have mixed it with various salivas and acids that I have generated to fight the poisons. Narma rose from the ashes of the Great White and is ever a reminder that the poisons now in the earth fade. Next time, there will be no narma.”

I shivered, imagining all the world fused smooth as glass, and black.

“That is how it will be, the next time,” Nerat sent. He stared into my eyes. “Come now, ElspethInnle, for it is not only your life that hangs in the balance. Open to me, but leave the block in place until I command you to release it.”