The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [129]
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