The Wayfinder [NOOK Book]

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Chapter One

The city lay swaddled in F'giz, the densest mists of the year; they swirled up out of the Rift at the city's back, covering everything with a thick blanket of damp fog. Yet preparations continued for Ironmaster Cyril Jordan's fiftieth birthday party. Plans, announced weeks ago, included entertainment of jugglers, minstrels, and belly dancers. Sweetmeats and dried fruits had been brought in the last caravan to G'il Rim from the capital city of G'il Dan and stored in cool cellars, along with the finest meads and ales. Because of the fog, Wayfinders were kept busy throughout the day, escorting tradesmen delivering waxed wheels of yellow and white cheeses, loaves of fragrant breads, and roasted rabbit, duck, and goat. Nothing could keep Mayor Augustus Porter--or any other citizen--from attending the party, not even the F'giz.

Head Wayfinder Ell Eldras warned Cyril early that evening, "This is the worst F'giz I've seen in twenty years. I don't know how we can make it through the night without someone lost." He ran a hand through his iron gray mane. "To make it worse, we may have to use apprentices to make sure everyone makes it to the party on time. I'll supervise them myself, but--"

"Fine, fine." Cyril agreed, then turned to discuss ballads with the minstrels.

As the afternoon wore on, the F'giz grew deeper still, the Rift mists flowing thick over stone roofs, creeping under thresholds, and stalking through abandoned streets. An hour before Cyril's party was to begin, the Wayfinders were edgy, pacing around the dining room of Finder's Hall. Then the moment foraction arrived. They scattered into the night, red-and-white robes disappearing into the fog and cries muted.

"May you have a prosperous night!"

"Good Finding!"

The mayor's hand weighed heavily on Apprentice wayfinder Winchal Eldras's shoulder. Win concentrated to keep from shrugging it off. His shoulder would ache tomorrow, but that was the price of being a Finder: sore shoulders, tired feet, and fat purses.

"Are we lost?" said the mayor for the tenth time.

Win took pity on him. They took two more rapid steps; then Win said, "Look."

Above their heads hung the Forge and Hammer, the Ironworkers' Guild sign. From here on huge lanterns hung on iron spikes every ten feet along an iron fence, dim beacons in the choking fog. Beyond their circle of light loomed a shapeless hulk, the Ironworkers' Guild House.

The mayor dropped his hand with a sigh of relief,then quickly slapped it back on Win's shoulder. The Finders' Guild told stories of folk losing their way Just ten feet from a house and waiting hours for a Finder to Find them. Or worse, wandering around until they wound up outside the city gates, standing in awe at the sense-staggering edge of the Rift. The clouds coalesced into forms so substantial a lost soul was tempted to step out onto them. A fatal mistake.

During the fogless dry season even cowards scoffed at the stories. But this was the wet season. The mayor dared not take a chance on his own in the F'giz. His hand clutched Win's shoulder in a death grip.

Elaborate wrought-iron gates swung open easily at Win's touch. They entered a courtyard, and the great stone house towered foundationless over them.

"Who goes there?" called the gruff voice of the doorkeeper.

"Apprentice Finder Eldras escorting Mayor Porter."

"Apprentice Finder Angelus escorting Mistress Porter."

Win grunted. Kira had made good time, too, even escorting the mayor's pampered wife.

Within a few steps the house's windows materialized, complete with wrought-iron grillwork. Bright beams of light trickled a few feet before dissipating in the fog. Muffled music seeped under the doorway.

Coins dropped into Win's hand, then Kira's hand. The mayor and his wife stumbled up the steps into the welcoming light and laughter.

Eli, Win's stepfather, appeared in a pool of light. He slapped them both on the back, then drew the red-and-white pin-striped robes of the Head Finder closer against the chilly mists. "Good Finding!"

"Everyone else is here?"

"Yes, the mayor will get his grand entrance. And maybe, just maybe, we'll make it through this night." He pulled at his chin. "The mayor shows his trust in our guild by letting our best apprentices escort him and his wife. You did well for the guild by making such good time. Well done."

The apprentices grinned.

"We can Find anything, anywhere, anytime," Win said, and Kira agreed. In the fog the white halves of their apprentice robes disappeared, leaving only the red sides in a lopsided look that disoriented strangers. Win was neat and tidy, from his immaculate apprentice's robe to closely cropped black hair to clean fingernails. The bright light from the house threw his face, especially his aristocratic nose, into sharp profile. At eleven he and Kira were the oldest apprentices in Finder's Hall. They were equally matched, except that Win's fear of heights kept him away from the edge of the Rift, while Kira was comfortable anywhere in the city. After five years of training, they hoped their flawless execution of duties this evening would clinch their positions as fullfledged Finders.

Kira, a large girl, reached up to unbind her blond hair, which had been plaited and twisted into a massive knot on the nape of her neck.

Ell said, "Let's get back to Finder's Hall for a few hours of rest before we return to escort everyone home."

"Race you," Kira said to Win. She shook her head, further loosening the locks that were already starting to frizz in the damp air.

"Done," Win said, then loped away on long legs into the murk.

"Slow down," Ell called after them, but it was a goodnatured admonition. He'd been a young Finder once, flush in the knowledge that he could speed through fog that held most people immobile.