The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [83]
Rushton seemed too tall in the turret room that had once been his own chamber. There were faint shadows under his green eyes that told of the long hours he had been spending at reorganizing Obernewtyn, but he looked remarkably content.
“I heard you want to come to the meeting,” he said.
I shrugged. “Not really. It was a whim. I hear you have plans,” I said.
He didn’t seem to hear me. “I feared you would die or wake up senseless like Selmar.”
I shrugged again, embarrassed at his intensity. “Well, I didn’t,” I said with some asperity. “I never thanked you for helping me with the machine that time.”
He shrugged. “Will you stay?” he asked, rather as Dameon had done.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Did they tell you my idea about the guilds? You could stay and help set it up,” he offered diffidently.
“What guild would I belong to?” I asked, striving for a lightness I could not seem to feel.
“Choose whichever pleases you. You seem to have every ability save empathy.” He smiled. “You are the strongest Misfit here by far, but we’re going to bring others up here, too, you know. In secret. You could help to train them. And when we’re strong enough, we will force the Council to accept Misfits.” He paused. “Stay,” he said again when I did not answer.
“I’ll stay for a while,” I said at last.
“That will do to start,” he said cryptically. He glanced through the unshuttered window at the pale wintertime sky. “It will not be easy, I know, to do what I want. But one day, Obernewtyn will be a force in this Land. I will see to that.” He smiled down at me, and there was a fierce pride in his face that made it strangely beautiful.
He would be a good leader, I thought after he had gone. Guilds or not, he would remain the Master of Obernewtyn. There was a quality in him that inspired trust and a kind of love. He was born to lead.
People like Rushton never thought much about the past, I thought. It made them impatient. It was left to those like me to remember the past—and doubt.
Deep within, I felt again the tingle of the power I had wakened. Such power must have a purpose. I remembered my vision of a dark, smoke-filled chasm. I would destroy the map Marisa Seraphim had left showing its whereabouts, but the chasm would remain, as would whatever documents Marisa had used to create her map. Sooner or later, someone would find the chasm. Unless I found it first.
“The Seeker,” Cameo had called me. Strangely, the name Maruman and Sharna had called me meant exactly that. Perhaps it was my destiny to find the weaponmachines and somehow disarm them. The thought lay in my mind, and all the restlessness in me seemed to flow toward it. A vague idea became resolve. One day, I would seek the chasm I had seen, and I would find a way to prevent the weaponmachines within from being used.
Cameo had believed I was important—that I had something important to do in the world—and so had Maruman and Sharna. What could be more important than making sure the Great White could never come again?
THE FARSEEKERS
for Shane
PART I
REFUGE
1
ROLAND SHOOK HIS head decisively. “I can do nothing to hasten the healing, Elspeth. If you rested them more often …”
I sighed and rubbed the tender soles of my feet. “Kella said a warmer climate might help.”
Roland nodded absently, returning satchels of herbs to his carryall. “It’s true that cold doesn’t help the healing process, but whatever miracles we healers can do, changing the weather to suit our patient is not among them.”
I was startled at the unexpected touch of humor from the dour Healer guildmaster. Hefting the weighty bag onto his shoulder, Roland gave me a piercing look. “If you would stay in your room in wintertime with banked fires instead of wandering around the drafty halls—and beyond …”
“I am mistress of a guild,” I said.
Roland was unsympathetic. “Garth finds no difficulty in remaining in his caves, and the Teknoguild works do not crumble