The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [119]
The kitchen was almost the exact replica of Gilaine’s but without cooking smells or flowers. It reminded me of an orphan-home kitchen before Council inspection.
Seated at a scrubbed timber table were Gilaine, the two musicians I had seen at the Druid’s nightmeal, and an older heavyset man I had not seen before.
For a moment, they looked up at me with collective appraisal. Then Gilaine rose. Smiling welcome, she touched my arm. “I am glad you came. See? I am getting better at this strange way of communicating. But Lidegbaby does not like it. You know Saul. I think you have seen Peter and Michael.” She gestured at the musicians. “And last is Jow, the brother of Daffyd.”
“This is dangerous,” I said aloud.
Gilaine nodded gravely. “You told me this afternoon that you meant to escape. We want to help, but you must answer questions first,” she sent.
From the expressions on the faces of the others, I guessed they had been less eager to help than Gilaine. I wondered what she had said to convince them—especially to Saul, who made no pretense of liking my presence and was prowling back and forth like a caged animal.
“The others with you—Misfit also?” Gilaine asked.
I nodded, aware we would not get out of the camp without help. I had to take the risk. And I did trust Gilaine. I guessed she was reporting my answers to the others but could find no trace of their communication, though her hand rested on my arm. She seemed not to need physical contact to farseek with the others.
She looked back at me. “Have you really been to Obernewtyn?”
I nodded, and again told the story I had told the Druid, with one difference. I told her we had welcomed Pavo’s illness as an excuse to split off from the rest of the troupe. “It was getting too dangerous for us to stay. Most gypsies hate Misfits.”
“Then you never meant to rejoin your father?” Saul asked accusingly when Gilaine had relayed my answer. “You say Obernewtyn is a ruin. How can we believe you?”
I shrugged. “Believe what you want. Why would I bother to lie?”
It was odd how everyone seemed to know that the firestorm story was a lie, though no one but our own people had been up to the mountains since Rushton had staked his claim to Obernewtyn. I decided to ask my own questions.
“How did you discover your powers?”
Gilaine smiled. “It happened the night Lidgebaby was born,” she sent.
The baby coercer had woken the entire group to operancy. Gilaine sent a graphic impression of the night the baby was born. She had been in bed asleep when the sound of a baby screaming woke her. She was in the street in her nightgown before she realized the cry she was hearing was inside her mind. She had gone back inside and dressed quickly, her mind reeling at the effort of fighting the summons. Only when she reached the street outside the birthing house did she begin to understand what had happened, for she was not alone. They had all answered the call: Saul, acolyte apprentice; Jow, an animal handler; his younger brother, Daffyd; and the two musicians.
Daffyd had sobered first to the peril of such a gathering, and they had dispersed at his urging, planning to meet again in less dangerous circumstances. It would prove the first of many such meetings. They all understood two things at once, though. They would never again be alone in their own minds, for Lidgebaby was with them constantly, linking them irrevocably to one another. And they were in terrible danger.
In that dramatic birthbonding, Lidgebaby had forged an indelible emotional link between himself and the group. None could ever consciously harm the baby. All were coerced to love and protect.
Little monster, I thought, keeping my mind shielded. No wonder I could not hear their communication. They talked through the baby, using their own powers only to maintain contact with Lidge. It was the combined network of minds, and the child’s mental overflow,