The Farwalker's Quest (5 page)

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.

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.”

“Sure,” Ariel thought, “if they were identical twins. Or the
lightning bolt stands for the storm they arrived in.” She stuffed back the sarcastic thoughts, along with questions she knew wouldn't be answered. Clearly the dart or the strangers made the Storian nervous.

He ushered his two students toward the door.

“I wish I could keep it,” Ariel sighed.

Storian looked at her kindly. “I understand,” he said. “Old relics are charming. A discovery like—” He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe, interrupting himself. “You might make a good Storian, eh?”

Before yesterday, Ariel couldn't have imagined anything more boring. Now she wasn't so sure. Storians seemed to have secrets.

“Well, hold on,” he added. “I might have something for you.” He retreated into his private half of the cottage.

Zeke stuck his head back inside. Rain dripped from his hair.

“What are you waiting for?” he hissed. “I have things to tell you.”

“Me too!” she replied. “But—”

The Storian reappeared, his story abacus in one hand. Each bead in the eye-catching loop helped him remember a story. He untied the cord and slipped beads off one end, dropping them in his pocket. He removed beads of wood and silver and shell, a stone with a hole, a red knot of yarn, and other lumps Ariel couldn't identify.

“Here's the one I want.” Storian's fingers reached a clear, greenish blob. One side was pinched narrow where the hole had been pierced. It reminded Ariel of a water droplet or a pollywog made of glass. When he passed it to her, it weighed heavy in her palm, smooth and cold. Flecks of gold sparkled deep in its belly.

“The Storian before me owned that bead,” Bellam told her. “He never shared its story with me, and I've never found one that fit. So it's yours.”

“For me?” Ariel squeaked.

“I wouldn't want you to learn that wondrous finds should be hidden, or that sharing them goes unrewarded.” He began restringing the beads in his pocket.

“Thank you, sir,” she breathed. Gazing at the green and gold bead, she stepped toward the door.

“One more thing,” he called. “You still have multiplication to recite. But tomorrow will be soon enough.”

She blinked, having trouble believing he still cared about that. When he neither smiled nor winked, she nodded reluctantly, closed her fingers over the bead, and ran out.

“My mother made me,” Ariel blurted before Zeke could start. They huddled under the eaves of the classroom, although without much success. The wind blew the rain sideways.

“How come she knew? You were supposed to keep it a secret.” He didn't sound mad anymore, though. Just sad. “Too late now. Maybe it doesn't matter.”

“What do you mean? Why did you run off at lunchtime?”

“I'm freezing,” he said. “Let's get somewhere inside.”

As they ran toward her house, Ariel gripped her new treasure tightly. It might not be as intriguing as the telling dart, but it was pretty. Perhaps she could string it into a necklace.

Just before they arrived, they spotted a strange horse tied under a tree. He held his nose low, his ears flat, and his hindquarters pointed into the wind.

“It's probably theirs,” Zeke muttered, although Ariel couldn't give up the idea that the strangers had blown into Canberra Docks on the wind.

“Where do you think they went?”

Zeke scowled. “Not far enough.”

Even once they were inside, with cups of hot milk to warm them and Luna away out of earshot, Zeke wouldn't explain what he meant. He would admit only that his maple had hinted of trouble.

“Three bad things are going to happen, but I can't understand what,” he moaned. He told her two would be soon, before the strangers left town. The last would come right as they left.

“Can't you just ask your tree what she means?”

“I tried.” Frustration pinched the skin near his eyes. “I couldn't find the right questions, I guess. She kept answering, but not with anything that made sense.”

A twinge of sympathy seized Ariel's belly. She imagined how overwhelmed she would feel if someone terribly sick arrived needing help when her mother was out.

“Maybe you should tell your father,” she said.