“But why? I mean, what brings her this way?”
Stuffing the bread in his mouth, he mumbled. “Told her you needed her.”
“You told her…” Needed Kellea? Of course… she was absolutely the one person in this world that I needed, and I hadn’t even thought of it. Kellea, the last survivor of Karon’s Avonar, newborn the week before the massacre, was a Finder. Herbs, lost objects, people… given the proper materials to create a link with the thing or person she sought, she could locate almost anything.
The first spark of hope glimmered in my head. “She’s coming to search for Gerick?”
Paulo nodded. “Be here tonight.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in two days. But how, in the name of heaven, did she know?”
He gave me the same long-suffering sigh he used whenever I asked how he knew that a horse wanted to run faster or graze in the next clearing rather than the one we were in. “I told her.”
“I think you’ll have to explain that.”
He took the bread from his mouth, but not too far. “When I come here, she said that every once in a while she’d talk to me, tell me about the horses and Sheriff and all. You know, like she can, that way we can’t say nothing about?” Dar’Nethi-J’Ettanne, as Karon’s people had called themselves in this world-had rarely used their ability to read thoughts and speak in the mind, aware of the potential to abuse such power, especially when living in a world where no one else could do it.
“Mind-speaking? I didn’t think she knew how.” Or cared to know.
“Well, she learned it of that woman”-he leaned close and dropped his voice even lower-“the swordwoman.”
The “swordwoman” was one of the three Zhid who had pursued us to the Bridge in the summer. After his battle with Tomas, Karon had healed the three of them, returned or reawakened the souls they had lost in their transformation. I believed that their healing had been the very act that had strengthened the Bridge and kept the Gates open. Karon had been too weak to take them back across the Bridge to Avonar, and, indeed, they had had little reason to hurry. Their own families and friends had died centuries before, and they were unlikely to find welcome among the other Dar’Nethi whose family and friends they had slaughtered or enslaved. So the three had taken up residence in Dunfarrie under Kellea’s and Graeme Rowan’s protection.
“Kellea taught me how to talk back to her when she was with me in my head,” said Paulo. “Just think real hard about her and what I want to say and nothin‘ else at all for as long as it takes. Thought my head might burst while we were working at it, but I learned how. The swordwoman says not many non-magical folk can do it so well as me.” The rest of the bread and a good measure of ham cut off any further discussion.
“Paulo, I knew it was a good day when you came here.”
The boy wiped his mouth on his sleeve and jerked his head at the door. “Best go now. Got work to do.”
“Yes. Not a single word to anyone about these things. You know that?”
He gave me a bready grin, pulled open the door, and disappeared through the hot kitchen.
My revived hopes were quickly swallowed by grim reality. Throughout the day-the second since Gerick’s disappearance-searchers returned empty-handed. I sent them out again, telling them to go farther, ask again, be more thorough, more careful, more ruthless. Even for a Dar’Nethi Finder, the trail was growing cold.
I wandered down to the library and curled up in the window seat where I had first laid eyes on my son. For half the day I stared at a book of which I could repeat no word. The bright winter sun glared through the window glass…
A rapid tapping startled me awake. Someone had built up the fire and thrown a shawl over me to ward off the evening chill. My book had slipped to the floor. The insistent tapping came again from the direction of the library door. “My lady? Someone’s asking to see you.” It was Nellia. “A young woman. Says she’s expected.”
“Bring her right away”-I jumped to my feet, fully awake in an instant-“and hot wine… and supper. Whatever there is. She’s come a long way.”
The small, wiry young woman who strode into the room a few moments later could almost pass for a youth with her breeches, russet shirt, leather vest, and the sword at her belt. Her black, straight hair hung only to her shoulders. “Here almost before you thought of me, right?” she said, displaying the quirky smile people saw so rarely.
All my grief and guilt and terror, so closely held for two long days, was unleashed by Kellea’s arrival. I embraced her thin shoulders fiercely and engulfed her in a storm of tears. The poor girl… shy, uncomfortable with people, especially awkward with anyone who knew of her talents… Knowing how such behavior would unnerve her, I swore like a sailor even as I wept.
“What is it? Has the boy been found dead or something?” Kellea said, shifting awkwardly as I gained command of myself and pulled away. “I know he’s your brother’s child, but-”
“He’s not Tomas’s son, Kellea…” I drew her close to the fire, speaking low as I told her everything, built up the case again, one point at a time, hoping she could tell me that my fears were overblown.
But when the story was told, she shook her head. “Oh, Seri… and you’ve no way to contact anyone across the damnable Bridge.”
“It could be a year until I hear from Dassine again.”
“You don’t think this Darzid means to arrest the boy, take him to Montevial… to execute him?”
That had been my first terror-that my child might suffer the same horror as Karon had. But I had persuaded myself that a trial was the least likely result.
“Without substantial proof Evard would never harm a child he believed to be Tomas’s son. And how would Darzid explain switching the two infants without condemning himself for condoning sorcery? Darzid must have done the switch; he brought the dead infant to me himself. He has preserved Gerick’s life all these years, knowing what he is. Why would he harm him now?”
Why? Why? Darzid’s motives had always been a mystery. His deeds had taken him well beyond the common reasoning of greed and ambition. In the days of our friendship he had confided in me his dreams of a “horrific and fantastical” nature and professed a growing conviction that somehow he did not belong in his own life. In my months of imprisonment between Karon’s death and Gerick’s birth, Darzid had badgered me to tell him of sorcerers, to explain Karon and his people, claiming that “something had changed in the world” in the hour Karon died… which of course it had. But I hadn’t understood the world back then, and had no concept that Karon’s death had opened the Gates to D’Arnath’s Bridge, renewing an enchanted link designed to restore the balance of the universe. How had Darzid perceived such a thing? The gleeful hunter and persecutor of sorcerers had demonstrated no sympathy, no kinship, and most importantly, no knowledge that might imply that he himself could be one of the Dar’Nethi Exiles. I refused to countenance any such possibility. So what was he?
“Sounds like we’ve no time to waste,” said Kellea. “Bring me something that belongs to the boy, and I’ll try to pick up his trail. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, I’m going to dig into this little feast. Didn’t stop much on the way.”