Keepers of the Flame

by Robin D. Owens

  Keeping in mind what the medica had said, Bri strained to hear the chakra centers, the chimes. Cacophony clashed in her mind, in her ears, rocking her back and making her shake her head to get rid of the sound, like cars crashing. Terrible sound.

  One more lung-filling breath. Ease it out and reach. Again Power slammed into her. Her body jerked. Strong hands grasped her shoulders, excess energy went through that link.

  Heal her, said Sevair.

  She looked for the chakras, couldn’t make out the jumble of colors. So Bri shut her eyes and prayed. Found the Song again. The Song of the child. The Song of herself. The throbbing Song of the Power flowing through her.

  But it needed to be controlled, focused, sent to the right organs in the correct order, so the most important systems were strengthened first to support the healing of the rest. Power flowed through her. Had she reached for it? She didn’t know, but knew there was plenty here.

  The Songs drowned out all thought. She touched young flesh. She healed. Without thought and without plan and without reason.

  Later she found herself shivering, lifted and folded into a chair, Sevair’s tunic now draping her. Her vision cleared, and she saw a bunch of people near the table, the citymasters, the woman holding and rocking her girl, tears and snot streaming down her face, a big man in rough clothes.

  If Bri could have spared the breath for a sigh of relief, she would have. She’d done it. She was so much stronger here to be able to heal a strange, debilitating sickness in one session.

  There was no sign of the hefty citymaster.

  Songs washed through Bri, pulsed around her. Still fearful strident notes from the father and mother, the girls’ sweet tune, the intricate pattern of the citymasters.

  Sevair was tapping a map with his index finger, looking at the man. “You live here?”

  “Ayes.” The man nodded.

  With a brusque nod of his own, Sevair placed another red dot on the map.

  “Outlying farm area, again,” a woman said.

  “Yes,” Sevair said.

  “I don’t see any kind of pattern we can work with.” An older man crossed his arms. “Hard to stop such a sickness if we don’t know where it will strike next.”

  “Let alone why,” said the woman.

  “Who all have you been with today?” asked a different woman of the farm wife.

  The farm woman dragged a rag from her pocket, wiped her face and nose. “Ella collapsed in Noix Market Square.”

  “Wonderful.” Deep sarcasm came from the older man.

  “We must send people to the farm and the square,” Sevair said. “I’ll have an assistant accompany these folk home.”

  Bri stirred, tried to stand, couldn’t, she felt like an aged grandmother. After licking her lips, she forced words from a dry throat. “Bring the girl to me.” With her quavery voice she even sounded like an old grandmother. At least the typical stereotype. Her own were professional women. And her brain was nattering.

  The man in farmer’s clothes lifted his daughter and carried her to Bri, setting her across Bri’s lap, supporting her.

  The girl looked fine. Good color. Bri tested her forehead, temperature seemed all right, checked her tongue and eyes again, all good.

  She slipped her hand through the gaping shirt. Again warm skin, her patient’s heart thumped with a regular beat, her lungs filled and emptied. After a couple of sips of breath, Bri opened herself to the sound of the chakras. They hummed with what she was beginning to understand was healthful normality.

  Incredible.

  “She’s good,” she said to the man watching intently.

  He smiled and she saw even, white teeth, then he took his daughter. “Yes, medica, she is good. A good girl, good daughter. We would have been sad without her.” His commonplace words were backed by Song, and Bri first heard the tones of a loving family: father, mother, two sons, two daughters. All experiencing euphoria at the saving of Ella. All sending Bri their utmost gratitude.

  Too much to handle seriously. She cleared her throat, “Tell me, sir, do you raise vegetables?”

  His brows winged up at being called sir, then he smiled again, his chest puffed out. “The best chouys in Lladranan.”

  “Chouys, huh?” Bri caught Sevair’s eye. “We will keep him in mind, right?”

  “As you wish, Exotique.” Sevair did the torso incline.

  “My thanks and my woman’s thanks,” the farmer said formally to Bri, then to the guildspeople.

  The farm woman came over to Bri, studied her. “Merci.” Reached out her hand. Bri took it and their fingers locked. “Merci.” The woman squeezed her hand, let go and followed her husband to the door, she drew herself up and said, “It is good that you Summoned an Exotique Medica for us all.” They left.

  While Bri was still contemplating these words, Sevair scooped her from the chair.

  “I can walk!”

  “Can you?’

  “Yes.”

  He set her on her feet, but kept an arm loosely around her waist, steadying her. Her legs were a little wobbly, but the feel of the stone under her feet seemed to help. She straightened, took a step, paused, took another step. Everyone watched her. The women smiled. The old man scowled. “If this is the Power cost of Healing one child, we have big problems.”

  “Yes,” Sevair said briefly.

  “They healed sixteen last night,” someone said.

  “We were together,” Bri said. “My twin sister and I. And we were in the Castle with a lot of Power.”

  “And with the Marshalls, who themselves are greatly Powerful,” Sevair said.

  “This room is good,” Bri said.

  The woman nodded. “We will scout out other places of Power that will be good for healing if an epidemic comes.”

  “When the epidemic comes,” Sevair said.

  Bri shuffled faster and made it to the door before the argument truly began. She stepped away from Sevair’s arm, tilted and had to brace a hand against the wall.

  Sevair finished snicking the lock to the door behind them, and held out his arm with old-time courtesy. Bri took it, managed a weak smile, and they walked very slowly down the corridor. Every other man she knew would have been impatient with her, would have picked her up and carried her to wherever they were going, not simply walked step-by-step in silence. Sevair Masif was a real stand-up guy.

  When they reached the door, he held it open to show a carriage pulled by a team of horses just beyond the pillared portico. “The Citymasters’ equipage to take you to your new home,” he said.

  Before they even crossed the threshold, there was the sound of hoofbeats, rustling and a protesting neigh from Mud. Me! It was loud, demanding, and inescapable.

  11

  The volaran pranced.

  “It’s only a few blocks to her new home,” Sevair said.

  Mud rolled big eyes at him.

  Sevair sighed. “Very well. The tailor will be coming shortly and we are, as usual, running late.” He lifted Bri and mounted behind her. Sevair projected a pretty square full of mature trees and flower beds, surrounded by three-story town houses set closely together. He indicated one with pillars in the front and a long back garden.

  Mud lifted off, as light as a feather caught by a spring breeze. She soared over the square and people cheered again, sent blessings Bri could actually feel along with a rise of Song. Fabulous.

  She leaned against Sevair, solid behind her, and observed as they skimmed over roofs.

  The square with the house wasn’t more than two streets over, and the neighborhood was smaller than she realized, cozier. A lot of people seemed to be in the park, “casually” watching. No doubt everyone knew she’d be living here.

  It was finally sinking in that she was a celebrity. How very odd. She’d been in places where her skin or face weren’t the same as most of the local population, and she’d earned respect from people, but nothing like this.

  Mud landed softly in the beautifully landscaped backyard.
Sevair lifted her down. This was her new home? Her nerves jangled. She’d never even thought of buying a house, let alone something as—substantial—as this one. It was a full three stories and of creamy-colored worked stone, like the limestone she’d seen in the English Cotswolds. Looking down the block, she saw a variety of styles, all melding into a harmonious whole. No doubt all belonging to upstanding and sober citizens.

  She was in over her head. The soles of her feet prickled. “It’s…it’s lovely,” she forced out.

  Sevair’s expression lightened. “All of the artisans of Castleton worked to provide the best for you.”

  Uh-oh. Major expectations. She wet her lips. “Great.”

  “I’ll show you the inside in a moment. Now, Mud…” Speaking slowly, with gestures and clear mind images, Sevair told Mud she could return to the Castle, or be stabled with other volarans in a different part of town.

  Bri stroked Mud. “Thank you. I’m honored you’ll stay in town.” As soon as she patted the flying horse’s neck and stepped away, Mud took off. Bri watched the volaran, heart squeezing. Not a sight that she’d ever see on Earth.

  Sevair cleared his throat. When she turned to him, he offered his arm. Bri hesitated, but curled her hand in the crook of his elbow. His muscle was like the stone he worked. He led her along meandering stepping stones to a back door that was fancy enough to be on the front of any house. Placing his hand on the knob, he hummed a few chords, and made Bri repeat them to unlock and lock the door.

  They stepped into an impressive kitchen of pristine white tile, but he moved her through it quickly, hardly giving her time to look around. “We’ve arranged for all your meals to be delivered. You need only list what you want daily.”

  “Um, merci.” Guess she wasn’t expected to learn magical cooking.

  “We wish you to concentrate on your medica gifts.”

  She’d always done that, but to hear it as a duty was a little off-putting.

  The hallway was papered in pale lavender, with a faint pattern of darker-colored leaves and flower sprigs. His gaze lingered on the purple streaks in her hair that she’d begun to regret. “Purple is the traditional color for Exotiques.”

  “Oh.”

  “But Alyeka and Marian and Calli have not used the color much in their furnishings. So we, too, limited the use.” A small cough. “Except for one bedroom.” Again he glanced at her hair, “should you prefer it.”

  He showed her the rest of the house. The luxury and space of it intimidated her with the expectations the citymasters had of her, the belief she’d stay in Lladrana. Each wooden panel and piece of furniture was carefully crafted of the best materials. A showplace. She didn’t know if she could live in a showplace, but to refuse and dent everyone’s pride was impossible.

  The master bedroom was on the third floor, with a balcony over the square and a wide window to the north, showing the Castle. She had a prized corner lot. The guest bedroom was an explosion of purple. Someone had put it together with care, with various shades and rich textures, but her eyes watered just looking at it.

  Sevair watched her closely. Not time to tell him that she and Elizabeth had finished their purple phase at seven years old. “It’s…interesting.”

  He chuckled, relaxed. “Then we were correct in keeping to a more traditional decorating scheme for the master bedroom.”

  “Ayes,” she said.

  Harp strings came at her door. Bri blinked.

  “The doorharp is bespelled so you can hear it anywhere,” Sevair said. He went to the bedside table and picked up something that looked like a real horn and spoke. “Who’s there?”

  “Geraint.” Bri heard the answer.

  Sevair said, “My assistant.” Then into the horn, “Ayes?”

  “The other citymasters request that you accompany the farmer home after market.”

  Eyebrows winging up, Sevair said, “Come in,” and set the horn down. He hummed the unlock spell on the front door. His expression had gone serious again. “We citymasters had intended a dinner in your honor this evening, then decided after you healed the child that you should rest. Will you be all right here on your own?”

  Bri blinked at him. She’d traveled the world over and had been all right on her own. She’d been careful—mostly. “Ayes.”

  A young man wearing gray walked toward them. He bowed.

  “My assistant, Geraint, who attends to my office, will be available to you for anything.”

  “Salutations,” Bri said.

  Sevair turned to Geraint and spoke of reassuring the countryside that their concerns were not overlooked. Bri drifted toward the creamy-yellow painted bedroom. Cheerful and sunny, especially on this gray day, she liked it, though it was a trifle too fussy with lace.

  Earlier she’d set down her pack on the desk. It looked totally out of place here. High-tech materials against silk and brocade and lace, gender-neutral in a very feminine room. The citymasters had obviously expected their Exotique to be female.

  Again harp strings sounded. Bri looked around and found a shell-like horn on the bedside. She picked it up. “Who’s there?” That was what Sevair said.

  “The tailor, my lady,” said a female voice.

  “Is that the right greeting?” Bri asked. “Who’s there?”

  A little cough on the other end of the horn. “Ayes.”

  “Thank you,” Bri said. “The door is unlocked, please come in. I’ll meet you in the parlor.” There was a parlor.

  She turned and found Sevair at the door, Geraint hovering behind him.

  “Unless you want me to stay, I’ll leave now.” Sevair’s voice was matter-of-fact, but his gaze was warm with a touch of curiosity. When she listened, she thought the vibrations of his Song expressed interest—personal—in her.

  He smiled. “Citymaster Nu will take care of you. She’s an excellent tailor and already has a wardrobe planned.”

  Bri glanced around. “So all my needs will be provided by citymasters?” That didn’t come out the way she’d intended.

  His gaze lingered on her face. “Ayes, anything you wish for will be provided.”

  “Ah, how about lunch?” Her mind went back to the potato casserole and her mouth watered.

  “Of course.” He looked at a water clock set on an beautifully sculpted table made especially for it, smiled again. “The clock is understandable and acceptable?”

  “Ayes, we know that time passes the same here as at home. The clock is charming.” The rush of water soothed her.

  “I’d heard that time is the same and so are clocks,” Sevair said. “And the table?”

  The intensity of his glance clued her in. “You made it? It’s beautiful.” A short pillar with a delicate stone floral vine covering the underlying flutes. Bri thought she even saw a fairy face peeking out between leaves.

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  She wondered how much more of his work she’d find in the house. Something to look for.

  “As for lunch,” Sevair said, “it should have arrived and been placed in the kitchen for you. We have cold and hot boxes to keep the food at the proper temperature. The other Exotiques—all three of them—planned the menus.” Amusement laced his tones. “There was lively discussion.” He sobered again. “However, the tailor is here…”

  She suppressed a sigh. The woman was probably a busy person and Bri was taking up time. “Yes. The tailor first. And I’m a little tired. I’ll rest.”

  “Everything okay?” Alexa asked.

  Elizabeth looked around. The extra bed and wardrobe had been removed, the furniture rearranged. Bri’s fragrance, more, her Song, still floated in the rooms, reaching Elizabeth’s heart. She’d only had the company of her sister for a few brief hours before they’d been separated again. Not their choice this time. Or perhaps it had been too easy to accommodate the wishes of the Lladranans and they should have thought more of themselves. But they hadn’t been given the time.

  Going back out to the sitting room, Elizabeth che
cked the potatoes and went to the chest. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the clean empty serving bowl that had held the fruit salad. Her mother’s special-occasion china.

  What would her parents think when they discovered their daughters were missing? Elizabeth’s car was in her allotted apartment parking spot, but…. She shut off that line of thinking. There was nothing she could do about it right now, and it would only muddle her thoughts when she needed all her wits to deal with the current situation.

  Her mind went back to what Alexa had said before. Elizabeth asked, “Any idea what this item…the Dark wants…is? Is it physical?”

  “No, we don’t know what it is. Yes, we know it’s physical. We think the Dark originally came to this planet through the dimensional corridor and landed in Lladrana, then left and settled in the north on its own cozy volcanic island. But it either lost this object or didn’t realize it needed it.”

  “Hmm,” Elizabeth managed.

  Alexa said, “So, the Dark wants this item, and we think it’s somehow sent this sickness as a plague to wipe the Lladranans out. The monsters haven’t been able to penetrate the northern border and take the thing. So killing us all with an epidemic might be an alterative plan.” Her steps slowed; she studied Elizabeth with cool eyes. “That’s your task, your’s and your sister’s. To find a cure for the plague.”

  “Nothing like a little pressure,” Elizabeth said.

  Alexa shrugged. “That’s life on Lladrana. You, what, just got certified as a medical doctor? Did internships and residency? That ain’t exactly a walk in the park.” She’d switched to English again, and Elizabeth’s head began to ache.

  Elizabeth said in Lladranan, “No, my training to be an E.R. doctor wasn’t easy.” ‘Training” was a word she’d already learned. “But it was a long ordeal, now over.”

  “Ah, and now I’m asking you to gird your loins for another long ordeal.”