The Farwalker's Quest Page 3

  He yanked the door open.

  “Bellam Storian?” The voice did not match the pounding. It was male, but almost a whisper.

  “Yes, and you’ve interrupted my class.”

  Unabashed, the interrupter strode through the doorway, looking to Ariel like a tall, storm-tattered crow. A stranger, he wore an oilcloth coat with layers and flaps that fluttered about his long legs. His trousers looked like oilcloth, too, rustling stiffly when he walked. Both his coat and his knit cap were wet, as though the storm still raged wherever he’d come from. Chestnut curls escaped his cap at his nape like ruffled feathers, and his dark, widely spaced eyes and sharp nose completed his avian appearance.

  “A word with you, Storian. It’s important.” Those glittering eyes swept the young faces turned toward him. Seeming to change his mind, the stranger took half a step backward. He breathed, “Perhaps better outside.”

  “I’m afraid,” Bellam began coolly, sounding anything but afraid, “that whatever it is must wait until—” He faltered. The stranger had raised one palm to show a bit of glass there. The Storian exhaled into his beard.

  “Very well.” Without a word to his class, he stepped out.

  The stranger’s eyes roved the students. Riveted, Ariel throbbed in fear of that keen gaze stopping on her. Her breath caught as their eyes met. With a soft thump of his heel, the man spun. His coat flapped. The door shut behind him.

  The clunk of the door broke the icy spell on the class. Students surged to the two windows, the largest boys jostling for the best view. Zeke held back to avoid his arm getting banged. He and Ariel exchanged scowls of mutual frustration; then both looked at the door.

  “They’ll see,” Zeke worried as they ran to it.

  “So?” Ariel replied. “He didn’t tell us to stay seated.”

  It was not their stubby old Storian, however, but the crow man who concerned her the most. She didn’t want to attract his attention. Gripping the door handle, she put her face close so a slight gap would be enough. Zeke leaned on her shoulder to peek over her head. A younger girl scrambled to tuck herself beneath Ariel’s chin. Ariel depressed the latch.

  “Wait.” Zeke slapped his palm over the door, keeping it closed. “Where is it?”

  “It’s home.” She knew better than to name it aloud. Yesterday’s surprise might be connected to this one.

  Zeke moved his palm. Ariel eased the door open.

  There were three people outside, not two.

  Canberra Docks welcomed few strangers, but now and again an unknown Fisher sailed in to trade catches or seek shelter from storms. The men standing with their Storian looked more like they’d blown in with a swirl of dead leaves. Next to the crow fellow stood another man in oilcloth, not so tall and built more like a bear. He had ruddy skin, short yellow hair, and a patchy blond beard. A stiff leather hat dangled in one hand while he talked. Ariel did not quite believe the smile fixed on his lips.

  When the blond man finished speaking, Bellam shook his head, adding a few words and a shrug.

  A gust of wind flapped both strangers’ coats. Abruptly, Ariel recalled yesterday’s encounter with Leed Windmaster and his warning about the troubling wind.

  She pressed the door shut.

  “Hey,” complained the girl crouched below her. But other students scattered as well.

  By the time the door opened again, everyone was seated once more. The Storian entered slowly, his hands clasped and his brow wrinkled.

  “Is something wrong?” Madeleine asked.

  “Good question,” Bellam said, mostly to himself. He fingered one hairy ear. “Perhaps. But where were we? Oh yes.” He clapped his hands. “Namingfest.”

  For the next hour, students recited lessons that Ariel had heard every year: What the word “apprentice” meant. How the trades had emerged at the end of the Blind War, and why there were more Reapers and Fishers than anything else. What happened if you failed your test and had to spend a miserable year as a Fool. While her classmates described the symbol for each trade, Ariel thought about all the other marks on her dart. She could hardly wait for lunchtime, when she and Zeke could run to her house and inspect it together at last.

  When the morning could stretch out no longer, Storian checked the weather at the door. The wind whooshed in past him.

  “Come back after your lunches,” he decided, dismissing the class. “We’ll get a few more lessons today.”

  Zeke, who had jittered anxiously the whole hour, jumped up. Ariel got stuck behind somebody slower.

  “Ariel.” The Storian’s voice held a silent command.

  Her heart shivered. “Yes, sir?”

  The other kids stepped wide around her. Whatever her crime, it might be contagious.

  Storian did not go on until they had all filed out. Tortured, Ariel craned her neck, trying to see through the doorway whether Zeke awaited her outside.

  “Did you think I didn’t notice?”

  Ariel’s mind spun. Did the Storian somehow know what they’d found?

  He continued. “You and Zeke did not return after lunch yesterday.”

  She tried not to slump in relief. “No, sir. We were catching pollywogs, and I guess we were late.” It was true, partly.

  “And how did that result in a broken arm?”

  “Well, we climbed a tree, too.”

  “I see.” Storian tapped his fingertips on his leg. “Don’t be late today. The two of you will start our afternoon lesson by reciting the multiplication of numbers from one to fifteen.”

  A groan escaped her. “Yes, sir.”

  By the time Ariel fled outside, Zeke was racing up the hill toward the meadow, his splint hugged to his belly.

  “Zeke!” she hollered. He had already run too far to hear her. She could guess where he was going, however, and he wouldn’t want her there while he talked to his tree. She stamped one foot in annoyance. She wasn’t sure how some silly tree—or even a smart one—could answer questions about strangers or anything else that didn’t concern it. Meanwhile, he was wasting a good chance to look at the telling dart.

  She scuffed through the mud toward home. At least she could finish her copy during lunch. Maybe Zeke would return with time to spare and come find her. She shot a last glance toward the tree line. He’d already disappeared into its shadow.

  Ariel turned the corner of her cottage an instant before hearing the voices. Horrified, she stumbled back out of sight, praying she hadn’t been spotted. The bearish stranger stood at her open front door. Since he didn’t look sick, Ariel couldn’t imagine why he had come—unless it had something to do with her dart.

  Gripping the stone wall of her house, she peeked toward the blond man. He flashed his fake smile at her mother and lumbered away. Luckily for Ariel, he turned his back, not his face, toward her staring eyes at the corner. As soon as he vanished behind the next wall, she dashed for the door and burst in.

  Her mother glanced up from tying herbs by the fire.

  “What did he want?” Ariel asked, breathless.

  “He’s looking for something. He thinks it might be near here.” Luna hesitated. “I told him I hadn’t seen one since I was a child.”

  Ariel collapsed on her stool. Her mother had saved her.

  But her mother wasn’t done talking. “And you have something to deliver to Storian right after lunch.”

  Ariel gasped and leaped back to her feet. “You told him that?”

  “No. I’m telling you that.”

  Ariel’s heart started beating again. “But why? You said—”

  “I know, love, but it isn’t a toy. I just felt our own Storian should have a chance to see it before it went to a stranger.”

  Ariel pushed tears back down her throat and slouched toward the foot of her bed. What might have happened, she wondered, if she had kept her mouth shut last night? Could she and Zeke have held on to their secret once they’d learned the strangers were hunting for it?

  “Why is some old metal stick so important?” she
grumbled.

  “I can’t imagine.” Luna sounded puzzled. “But giving it up is the right thing to do.” She patted Ariel’s shoulder. “Want something to eat?”

  “No.” She pulled the shining dart and her ivory copy from their hiding place. Inspecting her night’s work, she raised the brass shaft to the light to compare. Her fingers, slowly twisting it, halted.

  One of the symbols had vanished.

  She turned the brass barrel the whole way around. All twelve trades had been marked on the telling dart last night, she was certain. Now one of the rows came up short. Bright, unmarked brass filled the space where one symbol had been. Ariel glanced at her copy to confirm which was missing: , the mark for a Judge.

  Her mouth fell open. How could engraved marks disappear? That one may have been fainter than others, but she was sure they’d all been there yesterday in neat, aligned rows. She’d been careful to copy each in order, or she might have believed she had—

  “Wait,” her confused mind muttered. A shape had changed, too. Her mother had pointed out a crosshatched sign that meant danger: . Now a second appeared on the dart in a place where it hadn’t before. The sign that used to be in that spot—the mark she had copied onto her whalebone—had a little swoop instead of one crossbeam: . Surely that swoop made it mean something different, something less threatening than an echo of danger.

  Ariel dropped both hands in her lap, her mind racing. She had no idea how telling darts worked. Maybe changes were normal. She examined both shafts again. Her eyes were not misbehaving. Ariel heartily wished she and Zeke had studied it more closely while still in the tree. She believed her own eyes, but nobody else would, not even Zeke.

  Ariel peeked up. Her mother had gone back to work. With a long, steadying breath, Ariel bent to finish her copy. Fortunately, all that remained was to smooth curves, deepen the shallower scratches, and add a few details to trade marks she knew. She didn’t bother fixing her version to match the brass dart now. She wouldn’t ever forget what had changed.

  Ariel hurried back to class through a sprinkle of rain, chewing one of last fall’s mushy apples on the way. She also bore a small linen bandage with the telling dart folded snugly inside. Her mother had made Ariel promise to turn it over right away. The bone knitting needle was hidden once more at home, and Ariel had made her own vow about that. Her copy would remain secret, no matter what the Storian or anyone else said.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Ariel slipped into the classroom just before Zeke. He was breathless and looked a bit queasy, but the bell had been rung and there was no time for them to speak.

  “Don’t bother sitting,” Bellam Storian said, as the two hurried in. Zeke halted, confused. “Perhaps your friend didn’t tell you,” the old man went on. “Stand in front here and multiply the numbers for us. Ariel, you start. I’ll let you know, Zeke, when you can take over.”

  Zeke cast Ariel a frown. She ignored it. Her fist closed on the wrapped dart. She didn’t want to relinquish it, but doing so now might at least get them out of their punishment.

  “May I approach you with, um, something private?” Ariel asked the Storian. She could feel Zeke’s eyes boring into the side of her head.

  The Storian raised his bushy brows. Many students had tried to bribe him over the years. None had ever phrased it quite like this. Frowning but curious, he gave Ariel a curt nod.

  Zeke grabbed her elbow. She shook off his grip to place her prize on the Storian’s table. Moving her body to block as many curious eyes as she could, she unfolded the linen until the telling dart lay bare.

  The mix of irritation and amusement on the Storian’s face drained away. Pulling the cloth back over the dart, he addressed the rest of the class.

  “The weather is growing nasty again more rapidly than I expected,” he announced. “Your parents will want you home. Class dismissed.”

  The students remained frozen in their seats for much longer than usual. Nobody had gotten a good look at the thing on the table. Many wouldn’t have known what it was if they had. All they knew was that a bribe had finally worked. Amazed, they shuffled toward the door, whispering, “What is it?” “What’s in there?” “Is it gold?”

  Storian waited until everyone but Ariel and Zeke had departed. Zeke shut the door against the weather and returned, his face dark. The Storian looked Zeke up and down. When Zeke just stared back, Bellam shrugged.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked Ariel.

  She glanced toward Zeke for help, but got only a baleful look in reply. She said, “We found it in the woods yesterday.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “Yes, sir. A telling dart. Right?”

  “And how did you know the visitors were looking for one?”

  Ariel opened her mouth, but Zeke was faster. “We peeked out the door this morning,” he said. “We heard them asking.”

  Ariel kept her gaze straight ahead, but she couldn’t breathe. He was taking an awful chance, lying like that, and she couldn’t imagine why.

  Storian raised a disapproving eyebrow at Zeke. “I see. We’ll discuss whether that was appropriate later. Why have you brought it to me, then?”

  Zeke faltered. Ariel borrowed words from her mother. “You’re our Storian,” she said. “If it’s important, you’d know and could decide what to do.”

  The Storian’s eyes narrowed. He drew the dart out of its wrap. Zeke leaned forward, transfixed.

  “Do you know how to use it?” the Storian asked. His voice was suddenly light, as if this were just one more lesson, and the rest of the class were simply out sick today.

  Ariel shook her head. “I know some of the symbols, but—”

  “Do you know how to use it?” asked Zeke.

  The Storian probably should have taken offense, but he didn’t. “Yes. But you see where it’s broken?” He tapped the dart’s point. “That’s too bad. The inside message is lost.”

  “It fell out in the woods?” Ariel asked.

  “No, no,” Storian said. “The dart just won’t unfurl to reveal it. Here’s the idea.” He placed his fingers along the three brass feathers. Ariel had done something similar while fiddling with it the previous night. “If you press these and twist, a seam appears and the dart springs open flat. The rest of the message is engraved on the inside. The barrel could hold something small, too, I suppose. But only the person who was meant to receive it could make it work.”

  “How could a metal stick know the difference?” Ariel asked.

  The Storian smiled sadly. “How I wish I could tell you in detail. Particularly since you show less than avid interest in most of our lessons. But you’ve seen the luminescence in the sea at night, yes?”

  Ariel nodded. She loved to stir the dark water and watch the sparks dance. Some nights the entire sea glowed.

  “Imagine those sparkles not just in the sea or fixed in the night sky, but in and surrounding us all. Those before the Blind War learned to harness this Essence, which shimmers in everything, living and earthen. Your Essence tells who you are, and the darts use it—or they did, before the old things began running down. I would never have guessed a dart might still be working. But it would be blank if it weren’t.”

  Ariel mashed her lips between her teeth. Should they tell him it had been in Zeke’s tree only a few fortnights?

  Before she could decide, Storian shook his head. “Since it’s been broken, however, it likely won’t open at all. They made them that way to stop people from forcing darts that weren’t sent to them.”

  “Was this sent to you?” Ariel asked. Who else but a Storian would know how to use it?

  Zeke didn’t wait for an answer. “What’s the outside message say?”

  Storian studied them, debate plain on his face. “Well, let’s see,” he said. “Even I may not remember some of the symbols.”

  Ariel didn’t believe him. Not much of a liar, the Storian clearly did not want to tell them.

  He tapped the smooth part of
the shaft nearest the blunt end, above all the scored lines. “The mark of whoever sent it usually goes here.”

  “It’s blank.” Zeke sounded angry.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Did everyone have their own symbol?” Ariel asked. “How could you know them all?”

  “Oh, you couldn’t,” Storian said. “But each would be a trade mark, with a few changes to make it unique. You’d recognize the marks of your neighbors and friends, and even if you didn’t, you’d know the dart came from some Storian or Healtouch, for instance. The sender’s mark on this one probably wore off. Because it’s so old.”

  “That lie was easy to spot,” Ariel thought. The dart itself may have been old, but it had flown into Zeke’s tree quite recently, so it must have been sent recently, too.

  Storian’s finger slid down through the most mysterious scratches in the middle. “This,” he said slowly, “is a sort of invitation. To … it might be a party.”

  Zeke grunted. Wanting to elbow him to be quiet, Ariel pushed a cheerful grin to her lips. Did the Storian really think she and Zeke were that thick? That was the part of the message where the mark spoke of danger, not just once now, but twice.

  “Fun,” she said, hoping the rest of Storian’s fibs would be equally obvious.

  He hastily showed the trade marks near the broken tip. “Those tell who else was invited. You know those.”

  Ariel craned her neck for a final glimpse as he rewrapped the dart with the cloth. If his last words were true, the person who sent it had a friend in every one of the trades—until this morning, at least. It was possible, she supposed. But while Canberra Docks had more than its share of Fishers, she’d never met a Finder or Judge. And despite her friendship with Zeke, she knew Tree-Singers were rare.

  “What about that first mark, below the blank part?” she asked, thinking of the lightning bolt.

  “Oh, that shows who it was sent to.” The Storian tucked the bundle into his vest. “Since we have two visitors here to collect it, I suppose that mark is for them. I’m not certain.”