Orson Scott Card - Pathfinder

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition November 2010

Copyright 2010 by Orson Scott Card

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Designed by Mike Rosamilia

The text of this book was set in Cochin.

Manufactured in the United States of America

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Card, Orson Scott.

Pathfinder / Orson Scott Card.1st Simon Pulse hardcover ed.

p. cm.

Summary: Thirteen-year-old Rigg has a secret ability to see the paths of others pasts, but revelations after his fathers death set him on a dangerous quest that brings new threats from those who would either control his destiny or kill him.

ISBN 978-1-4169-9176-2

[1. Science fiction. 2. IdentityFiction. 3. Psychic abilityFiction. 4. Time travelFiction. 5. Interplanetary voyagesFiction. 6. Space coloniesFiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.C1897Pat 2010 [Fic]dc22 2010023243

ISBN 978-1-4424-1427-3 (eBook)

To Barbara Bova

whose boldness made everything possible:

I miss you every day.

If a Tree Falls

Saving the human race is a frantic business. Or a tedious one.
It all depends on what stage of the process youre taking part in.

Rigg and Father usually set the traps together, because it was Rigg who had the knack of seeing the paths that the animals they wanted were still using.

Father was blind to ithe could never see the thin shimmering trails in the air that marked the passage of living creatures through the world. But to Rigg it was, and always had been, part of what his eyes could see, without any effort at all. The newer the path, the bluer the shimmer; older ones were green, yellow; the truly ancient ones tended toward red.

As a toddler, Rigg had quickly learned what the shimmering meant, because he could see everyone leaving trails behind them as they went. Besides the color, there was a sort of signature to each one, and over the years Rigg became adept at recognizing them. He could tell at a glance the difference between a human and an animal, or between the different species, and if he looked closely, he could sort out the tracks so clearly that he could follow the path of a single person or an individual beast.

Once, when Father first started taking him out trapping, Rigg had made the mistake of following a greenish trail. When they reached the end of it, there were only a few old bones scattered where animals had torn the carcass many months ago.

Father had not been angry. In fact, he seemed amused. We need to find animals with their skins still fresh, said Father. And a little meat on them for us to eat. But if I had a bone collection, these would do nicely. Dont worry, Rigg.

Father never criticized Rigg when it came to his knack for pathfinding. He simply accepted what Rigg could do, and encouraged him to hone his skill. But whenever Rigg started to tell someone about what he could do, or even speak carelessly, so they might be able to figure out that he had some unusual ability, Father was merciless, silencing him at once.

Its your life, said Father. There are those who would kill you for this. And others who would take you away from me and make you live in a terrible place and make you follow paths for them, and it would lead to them killing the ones you found. And, to make sure Rigg understood how serious this was, he added, And they would not be beasts, Rigg. You would be helping them murder people.

Maybe Father shouldnt have told him that, because it haunted Riggs thoughts for months afterwardand not just by giving him nightmares. It made Rigg feel very powerful, to think that his ability might help men find criminals and outlaws.

But all that was when Rigg was still littleseven or eight years old. Now he was thirteen and his voice was finally changing, and Father kept telling him little things about how to deal with women. They like this, they hate that, theyll never marry a boy who does this or doesnt do that. Washing is the most important thing, Father saidoften. So you dont stink. Girls dont like it when boys stink.

But its cold, said Rigg. Ill wash later, just before we get back home.

Youll wash every day, said Father. I dont like your stink either.

Rigg didnt really believe that. The pelts they took from the trapped animals stank a lot worse than Rigg ever could. In fact, the stink of the animal skins was Riggs main odor; it clung to his clothing and hair like burrs. But Rigg didnt argue. There was no point in arguing.

For instance, this morning, before they separated, they were talking as they walked through the woods. Father encouraged talking. Were not hunters, were trappers, he said. It doesnt matter if the animals run from us right now, because well catch them later, when they cant see us or hear us or even smell us.

Thus Father used their endless walks for teaching. You have a severe case of ignorance, boy, he often said. I have to do my best to cure that sickness, but it seems like the more I teach you, the more things you dont know.

I know everything I need to know already, Rigg always said. You teach me all kinds of strange things that have nothing to do with the way we live. Why do I need to know about astronomy or banking or all these languages you make me speak? I find the paths of animals, we trap them, we sell the furs, and I know how to do every bit of it.

To which Father always replied, See how ignorant you are? You dont even know why you need to know the things you dont know yet.

So tell me, said Rigg.

I would, but youre too ignorant to understand the reasons why your ignorance is a fatal disease. I have to educate you before youll understand why it was worth the bother trying to tan your brain. Thats what he called their schooling sessions: tanning Riggs brain.

Today they were following the trail of an elusive pench, whose pelt was worth ten otters, because penchfur was so thick and the colors so vibrant. During a brief lull in Fathers endless teaching, during which he was presumably trying to come up with another problem for Rigg to work out in his head (If a board fence is nine hands high and a hundred and twenty yards long, how many feet of four-inch slat will you need to buy from the lumbermill, knowing that the slats come in twenty- and fourteen-hand lengths? Answer: What good is a nine-hand-high slat fence? Any animal worth keeping inside it can climb it or jump over it or knock it down. Then a knuckle on the back of his head and he had to come up with the real answer), Rigg started talking about nothing at all.