Ril’s face registered disappointment, but he left without further argument, so he apparently knew better than to disobey his father.
Camsen began making introductions, first presenting Lore to the group, then presenting an older gentleman with a thick, white beard and a shock of white hair that hung over his forehead. “This is Race Thornbridge, the town’s newly elected mayor. And this is his wife, Dulcie Thornbridge.” He indicated the only woman present, a motherly looking older lady with bright blue eyes and a kindly smile. “Their nephew, Jac Thornbridge, Ril’s father.”
Thornbridge! Lore suddenly remembered why the name was so familiar. That was the name of the leader of the gang that had stolen their wagon and supplies. This couldn’t be the same man!
He’d never seen the bandit leader, and he couldn’t imagine why the head thief would be here with Camsen and Renni, but he did recall that Ril had said he lived with his mother and didn’t know his father. Yet here he was with a man who most definitely fit that role. So many questions to ask Camsen, and so much to have explained, but Camsen was continuing with the introductions. There were two other men and another woman, younger than Race and Dulcie. Lore had missed their names while puzzling over Jac Thornbridge’s identity, but he did get that they were the other members of the town council.
One of those men, he suddenly realized, was speaking to him. “… So if you can identify the men who beat you, we’ll see that they are properly punished.”
“Oh, ah—it happened so fast, I’m not sure I ever got a good look at them. I was trying to defend my horse, and they knocked me down and I hit my head, and lost consciousness.”
“And this happened two days ago? The day we all came back?” The mayor stroked his beard. “Everybody was in shock that day. I don’t think any of us was thinking rationally. That doesn’t excuse what they did, but it might explain it. We aren’t a vicious people, but to end an evening suffering terrible pain, writhing and screaming until we ran out of breath, losing consciousness, and then waking on what we thought was the next morning, feeling fine ’til we discovered we’d been dead for eight years, well, we were all confused and upset, and I suppose more’n a little crazy.”
Lore nodded. “I can understand that, sir.”
“Thing is, if you want to press charges, I’ll understand. And if you don’t want to help us out, I’ll accept that, too. But you can see that after eight years of fields lying fallow and animals left to get by on their own or die, we have a powerful lot of rebuilding and restoring to do. And we need supplies that won’t be easy to come by.” He paused and looked expectantly at Lore. What was he thinking?
Camsen spoke up. “Lore, I told Master Thornbridge that we might be able to help them a bit, but it depends on how you are and whether you’re willing.” Not giving Lore a chance to speak, he turned to Race Thornbridge and said, “I’ll need to discuss this with Lore privately.” And turning again to Lore, “Perhaps you and Renni could return to the wagon. It’s parked at the Carrans’ house. I’ll join you there shortly.”
Puzzled, Lore guessed that Camsen had intervened to keep him from saying more, and that whatever plan Camsen had in mind involved the use of power. So probably Camsen had concealed their powers from these people.
Renni had stayed in the background, remaining quiet, but now she stepped forward. “You’re walking, right? Why not let Lore walk with you, so you can catch him up on what’s been happening? I’ll ride back on Dark Star.”
“If Lore is up to the walk, that would be fine,” Camsen said. “You go ahead.”
She left immediately, relieved, Lore suspected, to get away from him. As Camsen bid the council members goodbye, telling them he’d be in touch soon, Dark Star’s retreating hoof beats let Lore know she’d sped off with the horse at a gallop.
When the sound died away in the distance, Camsen led Lore outside. Jac Thornbridge followed them. That was odd. Also odd was the brief flash of anger Lore had noted on the man’s face when Renni mentioned Dark Star.
The three of them walked away from the house, Lore bursting with questions he was hesitant to ask in front of Thornbridge. They walked in silence for several minutes, until at last Camsen spoke.
“Lore, Jac here is gifted. That’s why he’s with us. I mindsent a request for him to join us. Like you, he’s recovering from injuries, and also like you, his power was gone for a time but has now come back. You heard the council express their need for supplies. It occurred to me that with your ability to transfer yourself to another place, we might be able to obtain some of the supplies they need. If you’re willing to try, we’ll have to delay our departure for Hillcross for a bit, but I think Kyla would understand. These people need help, and if we’re in a position to provide it, well, I think we should do what we can.”
As they walked, Camsen outlined his plan. Lore learned that Zauna had reached Highport, where, thus far unable to find transportation to Pescatil, she’d been supporting herself by using her crystal ball to tell fortunes or answer questions for people. Because Lore’s power also included transferring objects, if he transferred himself to Highport, he and Zauna could purchase bags of seed for planting, grain for the recaptured and reclaimed chickens, grain and salt for goats caught and kept for milking, and also some carpentry supplies. They would have to pool their resources to purchase the items, but with Zauna’s earnings coupled with their remaining funds, they could buy at least some of the badly needed supplies. Lore could then use his power of teleportation to send those items to Camsen, and Camsen and Jac would deliver the items to the council for fair distribution to the populace.
“That will require a lot of power,” Lore observed. “My power is back fully, I think, but even so, I’m not certain I have enough to transfer that distance. And then to send things back? I’d have to rest awhile first and let my power build back.”
“That’s where Jac comes in. And also Renni and I. We’d all have to share power with you. Jac is willing, I am, and I’m guessing Renni will be. So if you’re willing to try, I think we can do a good bit to get this town running again. The people are doing a lot on their own, but they don’t have a way to get supplies.”
“That’s right,” Thornbridge said. “Traders used to come through on a regular schedule, but with most of the population gone, that stopped because no one was left to buy or trade. The few people that were left, like Anya Carran and George Botts, could get by on their own.”
And Maya, Lore thought. Aloud he said, “I’m willing to try, but if you use your power to increase mine, will you have enough left to defend yourselves in case of trouble?”
“We’ll have to hope trouble doesn’t come,” Camsen said, acknowledging the risk they’d be taking.
§
Zauna waited, hardly able to control her excitement at seeing Lore and once again feeling like a contributing member of their mission to get Kyla to Hillcross. Perhaps this was what the Dire Lord meant when he’d told her she had a vital part to play in getting Kyla safely to their destination.
A small park not far from the boarding house where she’d taken a room had benches and a fountain, but also boasted flowerbeds and a stand of trees. In the early afternoon it drew few visitors, but to ensure privacy, Zauna stood within the shelter of the trees and transmitted the message that the way was clear: no one would witness Lore’s appearance out of nowhere.
She waited impatiently, continuing to project a mental image of her surroundings. Should it be taking so long? Camsen felt certain Lore could do this, based on his successful transfer from Marquez to the place where the bandits had left their plundered wagon, even taking Camsen with him. This transference covered a greater distance, but Lore only had to transport himself, and with three people feeding him power, the feat should be well within his ability. If only there were something she could do to help. She told herself she was helping by sending the mental image of her surroundings. She wished she could pull him to her as if pulling a rope. She imagined herself pulling hard on a rope
thrown to a drowning man, slowly reeling him in.
“Whew! That was rough!” Lore spoke as he popped into view and leaned on the trunk of a nearby tree for support. Sweat beaded his brow and his face was pale.
Zauna leaped to him and threw her arms around him. “You did it! It’s so good to see you! Come, sit on that bench and rest.” She pointed to a wrought-iron bench just beyond the stand of trees.
He leaned on her arm as they walked the short distance to the bench, and when they reached it, he sank down and let out a grateful sigh. “I don’t know whether it was the distance or transferring to a place I’d never been. Maybe both. Your mental image helped, but it still felt like I was floundering, caught in a cold, dark place, like a tunnel, only through air, not stone. And then it seemed like something grabbed me and pulled me here. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to feel the rough bark of that tree beneath my hand.”
“You’ll need to rest awhile until your power builds back up,” Zauna said. "When you feel up to a short walk, I’m staying in a boarding house not far from here. You can sleep in my room while I go out and tell some fortunes. I’ve found a small bistro where they let me ply my trade in exchange for food and drink. You’ll be hungry when you wake up, and I’ll bring you a good meal.
He nodded. “My power’s really at low ebb right now. Can you send to Camsen and let him know I got here?”
She immediately did as he asked, adding that he would not be in condition to begin the next part of his assignment before tomorrow. She sensed Camsen’s disappointment at that, but Lore needed more than a short nap to recoup his power. And they would need the proceeds from her fortune telling, first to rent a second room in the boarding house—luckily one was available—and then to purchase the supplies from the list Camsen had sent with Lore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
TESTING POWER’S LIMITS
At first Camsen chafed at the delay necessitated by the time it took for Lore’s power to rebuild after his arrival in Highport. But then at last the bags of seed and boxes of nails and packages of tools began arriving, and with them Zauna had even included a lovely bolt of soft pink satin to reline Kyla’s coffin. Camsen and Jac presented their requested supplies to the town council, and the delight with which the council greeted them made the delay worthwhile. They told the council members that more would be forthcoming only if they accepted the gifts with no questions asked. Despite frowns and puzzled looks, the council members agreed to that stipulation.
Soon Pescatil was abuzz with activity, with fields plowed and grain planted for spring harvest, homes repaired and repainted, their neat, homely appearance restored. Animals attracted to full feed bins once again took up residence in fenced yards, and chickens enjoyed the comfort and safety of coops where nest boxes provided hens a safe place to lay eggs and grain aplenty for their hatchlings.
It bothered Camsen not a whit that the influx of this bounty was attributed to Vito the Dog-God. He answered Renni’s complaints about that attribution by saying that if the Power-Giver wanted the people to know the truth, he would bestow the gift of power on more of Pescatil’s citizens, but so long as the only gifted here were Vic, who would be going on with them to Hillcross; Maya, who wanted to leave if she could find a way; and Jac, who’d decided to remain in Pescatil at least for the present but might eventually return to Marquez; it seemed pointless to speak to them of the Power-Giver and thus introduce an entity of whom they could have no direct experience.
“They’ve experienced being brought back from the dead,” Renni argued. “That’s as direct as you can get.”
“True, but to them that was an act of Vito’s, akin to—though more extreme than—his saving them from perishing by bringing life-saving rains. I think you’d have a hard time convincing them that Vito did not bring the rains, and it follows that it would be equally difficult to convince them that Vito is not responsible for other life-saving acts.”
“Well, but if they knew that you and Jac were responsible for the vision and voice of Vito witnessed by the sculptor who nearly turned Kyla into a burnt offering—”
“That might very well get her or us turned into a burnt offering. No, let them have their belief in their dog-god. And don’t forget that our Power-Giver is not entirely what we claim, either. He is actually a channel for power supplied by a Dire Lord, and wouldn’t proclaiming that cause a lot of confusion among the gifted? Renni, as a former priest I know what a complex and complicated matter religion is. If I had not received the gift of power, nothing would have convinced me to exchange my belief in Ondin for belief in an entity who was a channel for power from a Dire Lord, a being who most Arucadians believe either to be mythical or to be primarily evil.
“The people of Pescatil are content in their faith. Let them be,” he continued despite Renni’s scowl that told him his argument was not convincing her. “We’ve helped them as much as we can, and we’ll be leaving as soon as we’ve replenished our own supplies. That will leave Jac Thornbridge as the only gifted person, and his understanding of the Power-Giver is limited to what he’s learned from us. There’s no basis here for a gifted community.”
“There’s also Maya, don’t forget.”
“Maya!” He made a sour face. He’d met her only once, when he’d accompanied Lore to her poor excuse for a house and after a brief, unsatisfactory conversation had taken a strong dislike to her. He suspected that the feeling was mutual. “She may be gifted, but she denies it and hides her talent. If there were a thriving Community of the Gifted here in Pescatil, she would want no part in it.”
“She doesn’t believe in Vito either,” Renni pointed out.
“I doubt she believes in anything outside herself,” Camsen stated firmly. Renni made no attempt to answer, and their theological discussion ended in thoughtful silence.
§
Zauna had enjoyed considerable success at earning money through imparting glimpses into the future for the people of Highport. But less money was coming in now. Although she had repeat customers, most of those whose curiosity about their future had already paid her a visit. Lore had brought limited funds with him, and those paid for his room and board here. Fortunately, their sole remaining task was to purchase their own supplies for the journey to Hillcross.
After transferring package after box after bag and bale to the Carrans’ barn, from whence it would be passed on to the Pescatil town council for distribution, Lore had grown restless and bored. Zauna urged him to take an evening off, maybe visit the local dance hall and enjoy what entertainment he could find there. Highport had little else to offer in the way of nightlife, so Lore agreed to try it. The dance hall boasted a local band and, he quickly discovered, a few mildly hopeful single ladies too decorous for his tastes. The outdated music and poorly skilled musicians were bad enough, but one young woman’s simpering attention drove him to depart after only a couple of turns on the dance floor.
At this hour in Port-of-Lords, the city would be brightly lit, pedestrians would be streaming to and from restaurants and drinking establishments, theaters would be opening their doors to play-goers eager to see the latest dramatic presentation performed by skilled actors, and in certain quarters ladies of the evening would be offering their charms to lonely gentlemen.
Here the streets were already dark and largely devoid of both pedestrians and carriage traffic. Even so, Lore did not feel ready to return to the boarding house. He headed toward the river, drawn by the pungent aroma compounded of river water, fish, sewage, and water plants. Despite the darkness, he had little fear of getting lost. He possessed an excellent sense of direction, and the boarding house was only three streets from the river road.
Being near the river made him homesick for Port-of-Lords. He couldn’t help contrasting the sounds and smells of the river and this lonely walk beside it with the bustling, noisy waterfront with its splash of ocean waves, its piers where large trading ships docked, most of them under the Carnover logo. He’d been on those ships, but only wh
ile they were docked. He’d never sailed on one. He’d like to take an ocean voyage some day, but right now he’d be happy to be back at his desk job in the Carnover office building.
When he approached the street where he’d turn away from the river to walk two blocks to the boarding house, light appeared for the first time, spilling out from the open door of a bar on the corner to spear the darkness, while a clamor of loud, angry voices shattered the stillness. Lore intended to give that breach of the night a wide berth, but a figure tumbled out of the open door and darted directly into his path.
“Help me!” The sob in the plea halted Lore’s intention to shove the young man aside and hurry on. The man grasped his arms. Two men hurtled out of the bar and headed toward them, one holding a bottle, and the other, in the forefront, brandishing a long-bladed knife. The light falling on the upraised knife showed the blade red with blood.
“Stop!” Lore shouted.
The man with the knife yelled back, “Stay out of this, pretty boy. I’m gonna finish what I started.”
The second man raised a long-necked bottle and hurled it at Lore. Reacting instinctively, Lore used his power to redirect the bottle’s flight, making it crash against the knife-wielder’s head. Letting out a howl of pain, that man whirled on his companion. That provided only a momentary respite, as the bottle thrower shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and pointed at Lore.
Their intended victim sagged in Lore’s arms, and when he placed his hand on the young man’s back, his fingers grew wet. Saying, “I’m getting us out of here,” Lore visualized his room in the boarding house. The two attackers lunged toward them, but faded away, replaced by flowered wallpaper and the quilted fabric of the bedspread on his bed. Sagging beneath the weight of the now unconscious man in his arms, Lore lowered his bleeding burden face down onto the bed. The light of the oil lamp burning on the bedside table revealed what Lore had feared to see. The back of the man’s shirt was soaked with blood. Lore sent a frantic mental call for help to Zauna, who occupied the room across the hall from his. At the same time, he lifted the back of the young man’s shirt to expose the stab wound, a long, deep slash beneath his shoulder blade. He grabbed a pillow, tore off the case, and pressed it against the wound, trying to stanch the bleeding.
Deniably Dead (Arucadi Series Book 4) Page 25