I shook my head and glanced at Matthew. “I'll stay here.”
“I'll stay with him,” Caleb said. “The air will do you good. I promise to send for you should his condition change.”
“You've already done so much for us.” Surely this town's patience, its kindness, couldn't hold forever.
The smile left Caleb's face. Suspicion returned to his eyes. “We have done what people do. Would your town have done differently, Liza?”
My town did only what it needed to survive, but shame reddened my cheeks. This town had survived, too, after all.
“Let me know when you're ready for dinner,” Caleb said, “and I'll take your place in that chair.” He left without looking at me again. Allie followed a moment later.
Matthew still seemed to be asleep, but I turned away from him to dress, pulling on wool underwear, sweater, and leather pants. I pulled my boots and belt over that, stopping to stare thoughtfully at my knife. They trusted me as well if they'd left me my knife. Evening sun reflected off the blade. The glare hit my eyes, so fast I couldn't turn away, and by that light I saw—
A man with clear hair and silver eyes, standing amid fire-blackened trees, ash falling like snow to his outstretched hands. A dead hawk lay at his feet, and the horizon glowed with flame—
A small inky shadow rising from a bone-covered hillside, flowing over earth and around trees, while somewhere far away a baby cried—
Mom reaching toward the surface of a huge curving mirror, clutching the metal disk she always wore andwhispering a few words. Moonlight reflected off the disk, off the mirror, off the tears on her cheeks. At last the mirror parted like water, and she stepped through—
I reached after her. Someone cried out. Pain sliced through my palm, and the vision was gone. I fell to my knees, clutching the knife's blade so tightly I feared to let go. I knew there'd be pain when I did.
Another hand touched mine. Caleb unfolded my fingers from around the blade, one by one. Allie knelt beside him. As Caleb drew the knife away, she pressed a strip of yellowed sheet from Before against my hand. My palm and fingers throbbed as I watched bright red blood spread through the bandage. Allie pressed another strip over the first. Blood stained Caleb's fingers and dripped from the blade he now held. I stared at him, knew him: the young man in my visions who'd walked amid the dead trees.
He set the knife down on the dresser and put a hand on Allie's shoulder. “Do you want to heal this, or shall I?”
“She's my charge.” Allie's voice shook, but her hand, pressing the bandages to mine, was steady. Matthew reached for my other hand and squeezed it hard. When had he gotten out of bed? Allie pressed the sheets harder against my palm. I flinched as pain flared through my hand. She lessened the pressure and said, “You grabbed hold of that blade so tight. Why?”
Caleb said, “Healing first. Questions later. Always.”
Allie nodded and touched the bandages lightly. I felt the faintest of shivers. As I watched, the bright blood darkened and dried, its metallic scent giving way to something older and mustier.
“Good. You stopped the bleeding first.” Caleb's steady voice reminded me of Father's the first time he'd set a bow in my hands.
Allie unwrapped the bandages. I bit my lip as dried blood tore away from my skin. “Sorry,” Allie muttered. She ran her cool fingers over two angry red gashes, one across my palm, one along the inside of my knuckles. “It's not very deep.” She shut her eyes, scrunching her face in concentration. Her fingers grew colder. Slowly she traced the first cut, and the cold seeped through my skin, numbing it. Silver light trailed from her fingers. Beneath that light my torn skin wove itself back together, stretching uncomfortably around first one wound, then the other. The cold moved deeper, chilling bone. Just when I thought I'd have to cry out, Allie drew away. Two silver lines danced over my hand, then sank beneath the skin.
The cold spread out, became part of my hand, became right. I saw no blood, felt no pain. I traced my finger over two faint white lines like old scars. I remembered a dream of silver light. I looked up at Allie in wonder.
She opened her eyes and grinned. “That was fun.”
“Well done,” Caleb told her.
“It was easy. Liza doesn't fuss, not like the time Jared gashed his knee.”
Caleb nodded solemnly, then turned to me. “You were lucky. If Matthew hadn't called out, if Allison and I hadn't come—that wound could have been far deeper. You could have cut through to bone.”
“I know,” I said, avoiding his eyes.
“Such luck does not hold forever. Let's have the source of this so we can deal with it and your shadow both. Tell me what you saw.”
I stared at my palm, wondering how he knew I saw anything. Yet Matthew had known, too, even though, like Caleb, he couldn't see my visions for himself. I shivered, remembering the soft fall of ash from a burning sky. Healing was one thing, but visions of death and fire, visions in which Caleb himself played some strange part? I opened my mouth to speak, felt my throat tighten around the words. No. I couldn't share this, neither with strangers nor with those I knew. I feared that if I spoke, the visions would turn real.
Caleb frowned, his eyes bright in the fading light. “Magic and trouble have one thing in common. Neither grows smaller if denied. We will speak of this again soon.” He turned away, helping Matthew back into bed.
Allie folded up the bloodied bandages, her grin fading. I knew she wanted answers, too, but she only said, “You're still coming to dinner, aren't you?”
Caleb had set my knife on the dresser. I took it, wiped the blade carefully on a spare bandage, and slipped it into my belt. Allie frowned at that. I glanced at Matthew, hesitant to leave him alone.
Tallow emerged from beneath the bed, stretching and yawning. Caleb turned to me again, eyes narrowed. If I stayed here, he'd only ask more questions. I took the old cat in my arms and followed Allie from the room.
Samuel joined us downstairs. Together we stepped outside into a twilight town much like my own: dirt path, whitewashed houses, open fields. The sky was heavy with the wet dishrag smell that came before rain. Yet beyond the houses and fields I caught glimpses of a green hedge, taller than a grown man. The Commons was the largest building in town. A cracked sign above the door read Coffee Pot Café. “That sign used to light up pink and green,” Samuel told me as we stepped inside. “Tack iest thing for miles around. I sure miss the coffee, though.”
A few dozen people sat in a room lit by bright lamps much like those in Samuel's house. In one corner, someone played a tarnished old flute while others listened as they ate. Mom used to play the flute, Before, but who had time for such things now? Didn't players and listeners both have work to do, in this town as much as in mine? The listeners here included a toddler with clear hair that curled about her shoulders, but no one seemed concerned, any more than they seemed concerned about Karin or Caleb.
In a kitchen beyond a rusted metal counter, Samuel, Allie, and I served ourselves bowls of fish and bean stew from a cauldron over a hearth. Allie also handed me a round green fruit, which she called an apple. I wondered why any town would risk harvesting fruit. Corn and beans were dangerous enough, and they didn't grow on trees. Unless, of course, the apple trees listened to Karin the same way mulberry trees did.
Another couple joined us at one of the room's steel-and-plastic tables. They had a girl Allie's age with them, as well as a boy a little younger. I felt everyone's eyes on me as I ate, but no one asked any more questions. For a while Allie's gaze kept straying to my knife, as if she feared she'd find me clutching steel again at any moment. Then Tallow twined around Allie's legs, and she turned her attention to offering the cat small pieces of fish. The other girl joined in. Tallow walked back and forth between them, happily licking their fingers. I bit into my apple. It tasted so sweet my teeth hurt—sweeter than tea dosed with mint, sweeter than new-harvested corn.
As we ate, Samuel and the couple, Alan and Jan, told me about their lives. Samuel's wife, Sara,
had died years ago in childbirth. I was wearing her clothes and was staying in the home she and Samuel had moved into just a few weeks before the War, right after they'd gotten married.
Samuel said Sara was in the hunting party that first discovered Caleb and Karin—they were brother and sister—traveling through the woods outside Washville.
They'd come all the way from the city, where Karin had been injured fighting in the War. That startled me, both because it meant Karin was older than she looked and because I didn't know anyone who'd fought in the War. Dad had a brother in the army who had likely died in the fighting, but he hardly ever talked about that.
Yet somehow Karin had survived, maybe because Caleb had healed her. Even so, Caleb and Karin had both been in pretty bad shape. At first no one but Sara had wanted to help them, because they were strangers or because of their magic, I couldn't tell. No one trusted their magic enough to leave them unguarded, either, though. I knew how my town would have solved that—with a couple of swift strokes across their throats, as Father would say—but Washville's people brought Caleb and Karin back with them instead. Over time Caleb and Karin must have earned everyone's trust, for no one questioned their presence in Washville now. Was it because she'd fought against magic that Karin had so much magic herself? But if she'd had magic since she was a child, she'd had it since before the War. I hadn't known there were any humans with magic Before. What about Caleb? Had his magic found him Before, too?
Wherever Karin's magic came from, once she was well she used it to create the hedge that surrounded the town. “And a good thing for us she did,” Samuel said.
“The Wall protects us,” Alan explained as he rubbed Jan's shoulders.
“Lets us decide what magic to let in,” Jan agreed. “And what magic to keep …” Her words trailed off. She stood, brushing her husband's hands away.
The boy beside Allie stared into his cupped hands, gazing in wonder at a glowing stone. It shone in licheny patches, bright violet against dull gray. Allie and the other girl stared, too. My hands flew to my mouth, afraid. Stones like that had been weapons during the War.
Yet no one else seemed frightened. “I'll get Karin,” Alan said, even as Jan moved to her son's side.
“Jared,” she said, but his attention was entirely on the rock. She knelt and put an arm around his shoulders, hugging him without disturbing the stone.
I whispered, “Don't touch any stone that glows—”
“But it's his magic,” Samuel said, as if I should have known, “not some trap left over from the War.”
“You mean Jared made that happen?” The room seemed suddenly cold. I imagined the light overflowing
Jared's stone and consuming him, just as the blackberry plant had consumed Matthew's little brother and parents.
Alan returned with Karin in tow. The pale-haired woman was smiling. Was the stone Jared held truly no danger? Karin glanced at me and nodded, but her attention was mostly on Jared. He looked up at her, his own smile stretching to the edges of his face. Jan and Alan moved to either side of their son, each laying a hand on one of his shoulders. Samuel stood, too, as did Allie and Jared's sister. Reluctantly I stood with them. Other townsfolk gathered around in a rough circle to watch.
“You know the words?” Karin asked him.
“No harm …,” Jared began, but he sounded uncertain.
Karin chanted,
“Blessed are the powers that grant me magic.
I promise to use their gift well.
To help mend my world,
To help mend all worlds.
And should I forget to mend,
Should I refuse to mend,
Still I will remember
To do no harm.”
Jared repeated the words, line by line, his voice growing older and more serious as he did. I should have been relieved—clearly he was quite safe—but instead I frowned. Did this town believe you had only to say, “I won't hurt anyone, honest,” and all magic would be tamed? If it were that simple Cam wouldn't have died.
“Your first lesson,” Karin told Jared, “will be in how to douse the light you've created. Come.”
“Now?” Jared sounded startled.
“Now. You'll not go to bed until you learn something of control.”
Karin took the glowing stone in one hand, Jared's hand in her other. Alan gave his son's shoulder a squeeze before Karin led him away, pride clear enough on Alan's face. Jan brushed an arm across her eyes and smiled, sadly but without fear.
Samuel laughed. “So much for my generator. Within a year we'll be lighting the whole town with Jared's stones, mark my words. It's just as well—our lightbulbs wouldn't have lasted forever.”
Only the girl beside Allie scowled. “It's not fair,” she said. “Jared's younger than me!”
Jan drew her into a hug. “Don't be in such a rush,
Kimi. Magic is quite a responsibility. You'll have time enough later.”
“It's true,” Allie said. “Magic's lots of work.” She glanced at me, as if I proved her point. “Come on,” she told the other girl. “Let's get some cornbread and see if Tallow will eat that.” She dragged Kimi back toward the kitchen, Tallow trotting at their heels.
The townsfolk began talking and drifting back to their tables. A few stopped to shake Alan's or Jan's hand first. “That's it?” I said. A few pretty words and everything was all right?
Samuel rubbed his chin and regarded me soberly. “It's different in your town, isn't it?”
That's not our fault, I screamed silently, even as Samuel went on, “We know well enough the dangers of uncontrolled magic, Liza. There's not an adult in this town who didn't lose someone to the War.”
“But now the War is over and everything's perfectly safe?” I didn't even try to keep the anger from my words.
“Magic is never safe.” Samuel shut his eyes a moment, opened them again. “Yes, we've lost children to magic here. Is that what you wanted me to say? But there's not a person born since the War who doesn't have some magic. What can we do but learn to control it?”
“We are not all born with magic.” How could he think that? My hands shook, but my voice held steady. “Not in Franklin Falls.” Only Matthew and I were so cursed. And Cam. And Rebecca.
“Magic is your burden,” Samuel said. “Your burden and your gift.”
“Not mine.” He couldn't make me accept this. “Magic destroyed the world.”
“Indeed,” Samuel agreed. “And now it's the only tool we have to mend it.”
I thought of the wondering look in Jared's eyes. Of Allie saying lightly, “That was fun!”
“So I've been meaning to ask,” Samuel said slowly, “what your magic is.”
I thought of my visions: fire and ash, towers falling to dust. I thought of how Cam had laughed even as the brambles destroyed him and his parents. I felt I might throw up.
“No magic.” I stumbled to my feet. The Commons seemed suddenly too small, too close. I turned from Samuel's kind gaze, and I fled.
I ran through the town, not knowing where I was going, stopping only when the green Wall loomed up in front of me. I fell to my knees there. Green tendrils stretched out to twine around my fingers. I jerked back, skin prickling. Magic like this had killed in my town. Yet Karin had built the Wall on purpose, for protection.
Thunder rumbled somewhere far away. “Rebecca,” I whispered. I tried to picture Father taking my sister in his arms, asking her to repeat a few words, speaking to her of magic with the same gentleness he'd used when teaching me to hunt and plant corn. The vision wouldn't hold. I remembered instead cracked bones and a moonlit hillside. “Rebecca.” I imagined my sister on the other side of the Wall, asking me without words for safe passage. I whispered her name again, reached toward her, drew back. Rebecca was gone. I knew that. There was no use in pretending.
I was crying, not sure when I'd started, staring up at the Wall and at clouds lit by moonlight from below. Yet I was listening, too, so when I heard footsteps, I brus
hed my tears away and looked up.
Two small figures approached the Wall, several yards away. They didn't seem to notice me.
“Come on,” a girl said in the sort of worried whisper that always carries. Kimi, who'd been angry about her brother's magic. “You're the one who always said you wanted to see Outside.”
“I do.” Allie's voice, fiercer and quieter. “But not now. Not until the healing's through.”
“The stranger is fine. Even I can see that. Come on.”
Allie drew her arms around herself. “You don't understand. Maybe when your magic—”
“Magic!” Kimi shouted. “I am so tired of hearing about magic!” She whirled away from Allie and darted through the hedge. Vines and branches parted, letting her go.
“Kimi, no!” Allie ran after her and the Wall let her through as well. Maybe the Wall cared only whom it let in, not out, or maybe it already knew Allie and Kimi. Or maybe it was magic and didn't much care who died. I scrambled to my feet, pushing thoughts of Rebecca aside, knowing I needed to drag Kimi and Allie back before they got hurt.
As I stood I heard a scream beyond the Wall. I plunged forward, barely noticing as the vines parted to let me through.
Chapter 8
What'd you have to touch it for?” Allie yelled. I ran toward her voice.
Kimi lay on the ground, shivering violently. Allie ran hands over Kimi's arms, legs, chest. A few yards away, a small dark shadow lay puddled beneath the moonlit clouds, the same shadow that had followed us from the mulberry trees. Without knowing why, I reached for it. The shadow rose and surged toward me. I jerked my hands back.
“Go away!” I shouted in panic. “Go away.” The shadow flowed swiftly back, disappearing among the trees. I thought I heard a low wail, then there was no sound save for Kimi's chattering voice.
“It was just a shadow!” Kimi whimpered, as if she didn't know the danger shadows could hold. I knelt by her side.
Allie looked up. Relief flooded her features, as if somehow I could make everything all right.
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