Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3)

by Holder, Angela

  Vigorre stared transfixed into Tobi’s face, hovering inches from his own. He was deathly pale, and no words emerged from his weakly moving lips.

  For a moment Josiah almost shared his fear. What was Elkan doing?

  Elkan studied Vigorre for a long moment, then sighed and shook his head. Tobi dropped to the ground and came to his side; the other familiars relaxed. Elkan put his hand on Tobi’s head and addressed Vigorre. “You have nothing to fear from us. Although if the Mother couldn’t convince you of the truth, I doubt you’ll take my word for it.”

  He gestured to the door. “Go home. If you still want to serve the Mother with us, come to the Hall in the morning. If she’s willing to give you a second chance, so am I.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vigorre whispered. He yanked the door open and stumbled through.

  Elkan stared after him for a long moment before turning back to survey the rest of them. His hand rose toward his hair, but he jerked it down. “Kevessa, I’m sure you know how disappointed I am. You should have come to me immediately. Nina has judged you for that already and found your service still acceptable. But I’ll expect you to work even harder in the coming days to make amends for your lapse. And if anything like this should happen in the future, you know what to do. I doubt the Mother would regard a second offense so leniently.”

  Kevessa nodded, staring down at Nina.

  Elkan grimaced at Josiah and Borlen. “Nirel’s not coming back, and Vigorre may not. That leaves Thanna our only assistant. Hopefully we can recruit more, but for now we’ll have to cope. Josiah, I still want you to work with Gevan and Nalini, but you might have to limit your time with them to an hour or two instead of all morning.”

  “That’s all right,” Josiah hurried to assure him. “It’s going to be mostly just Nalini making more insulin for a while. Although Gevan’s got plans to test some of her potions on the creatures under the enlarging glass and see which ones kill them—” At Elkan’s look he broke off. “An hour should be plenty for anything they need the Mother’s power for.”

  “Good.” Elkan gestured to Kevessa. “Come with me. I need you to show me exactly when and where to look. Then I’m going to find Keeper Emirre and show him what Nirel did. He seems the most likely to believe the truth. Hopefully I can talk him out of taking any action against the Faithful in reprisal. Josiah, please actually rest for a change. I want you to help me with the Matriarch again tonight.”

  It should have been Kevessa’s turn, but Josiah knew better than to argue. “Yes, sir.”

  “Just pray the child is a girl so we can finish our work here and go home.” This time Elkan didn’t stop the hand that raked over his head and down the length of his hair.

  “I will!” Josiah said fervently. Then he flushed and shot Kevessa and Borlen an apologetic look. “Although of course we won’t leave until you’re ready to keep the Wizards’ Guild going here on your own.”

  Elkan sounded as tired as Josiah had ever heard him, even when he’d been drained to the point of collapse. “If that’s what the Mother wants.”

  At Josiah’s incredulous look, Elkan shook his head. “I still believe it is. But the people here have free will, too. If enough of them reject us…”

  He looked at Tharanirre and grimaced. Then he beckoned again to Kevessa and led her from the room.

  Thirty-Two

  Vigorre didn’t slow down until he reached the gate of the palace. He managed to compose himself enough that the guards who let him out didn’t act as if they noticed anything wrong.

  Outside, he leaned against the stone wall of the palace and breathed hard. He tried to shake the memory of heavy paws on his shoulders, yellow eyes boring into his, sharp teeth gleaming, hot breath on his face. For a few terrified moments he’d been certain he was about to die.

  It had been a bluff. He couldn’t blame Elkan for wanting to make him suffer. The wizard might be willing to forgive him, but he was only human. And he didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know how dangerous the forces he was playing with really were.

  The demons had chosen not to kill him. They had no compelling reason to, and doing so would complicate matters for them. They’d have to make their human captives forget, and his disappearance would raise questions that might draw attention to them, even expose them. Better to let him go, secure in the belief that he’d come over to their side.

  He reviewed everything he’d told Elkan. He thought he’d done a good job sticking as close to the truth as possible without revealing his Purifier oath. It wouldn’t take much looking through windows to uncover that, but it had sounded like Elkan hadn’t planned any methodical search.

  As long as he didn’t, Vigorre would be able to keep working with them and keep watching for a chance to set them at odds with the Matriarch. Keeper Yoran had given him three months. Surely in that time he’d be able to find something.

  His breathing and racing heart slowed. He was about to set out for home when he was startled by pounding footsteps and looked up to see a gangly young man about his own age running across the courtyard. He was dressed in the Tevenaran style and looked as if he’d run a long way and was near the end of his strength.

  In response to the guards’ hail, he gasped, “Please, I need to talk to the wizards. My name is Gan, I’m one of Ozor’s friends. We have the Matriarch’s favor.”

  The guards began questioning him, clearly skeptical of his story. Gan’s voice grew higher and more desperate. “Please, we’re all sick, some of us are dying—”

  Vigorre strode over. “I’ll vouch for him.” He turned to Gan. “I’m a friend of Nirel’s. You know her?”

  Gan gaped at him for a moment, bloodshot eyes wide, and Vigorre remembered he was still wearing his ornate service robes. Then Gan’s mouth snapped shut and his face grew hostile. “You must be that rich fellow who’s been chasing after her.” He turned and almost doubled over as a fit of coughing struck him.

  Vigorre’s heart sank. “You said people are dying. Who?”

  Gan pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his streaming eyes and nose. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “What about Kabos? Nirel’s father?” Vigorre grabbed Gan’s shoulders and shook him.

  Gan yanked away and glared at him, deeply suspicious. “How did you know?”

  Vigorre resisted an urge to slap him. “Nirel’s been sick, too. Measles. He probably caught it from her. She’s doing all right, but it’s worse for adults.” He grabbed Gan’s arm and dragged him into the palace, waving away the guard’s protests. “I accept responsibility for him. He needs to talk to the wizards.”

  But when they reached Elkan’s room, it was empty. Vigorre pulled Gan to the next door and banged on it. “Josiah! Open up!”

  The door jerked open and the young wizard scowled at him. “What is it this time?”

  “It’s an emergency.” Vigorre gestured to Gan. “Tell him.”

  “Gan?” Josiah greeted the young man with surprised pleasure. “What’s wrong?”

  Gan grinned at him weakly. “Sorry for bothering you on Restday. But everyone in the village is sick. Coughing, fever, stuffed heads. And Kabos…” He hesitated. “We don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he started acting oddly, and then he collapsed. That was this morning. He hadn’t woken up when I left.”

  Vigorre said urgently, “Elkan said people from Tevenar wouldn’t have any immunity to measles.”

  Josiah’s eyes went wide. “That’s right.” He put out his hand and Sar clopped up and thrust his head under it. He raised his other hand and gold light washed over Gan. “Yep, it’s measles all right. You’re lucky you got to us before the itching started. Hold still.” He concentrated, and the light brightened. After a few minutes he dropped his hand and the light vanished. “All better.”

  Gan took a deep experimental breath. “That’s amazing. Thank you. I mean… Thank you.”

  “My pleasure is in the service,” Josiah said, doing a credible imitation of Elkan. He waved at Gan. �
�Give me a minute to put my boots on and we’ll come with you.”

  Neither of them questioned when Vigorre accompanied them out of the palace and through the city. He had to find out what was happening to Kabos. Nirel deserved to know if he died. If he lingered, she deserved the chance to speak with him.

  And if Kabos clung so stubbornly to his Dualist faith that he refused the healing that could save him, she deserved to see exactly what her beliefs could cost.

  The village was far quieter than Vigorre was used to seeing it. A few Girodans were clustered outside the huge tent, talking in low voices, but no one else was about.

  A small woman broke off from the group and approached them. “You are the wizard?” she asked Josiah.

  “That’s right. Tesi, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She looked at him hopefully. “Can you heal the spotted fever? None of us has treatments good for anything but soothing the symptoms.”

  “We can.” Josiah patted Sar confidently. “Who’s worst off?”

  “Only Kabos now, but more are likely to decline soon, contracting it so old.”

  “The wizards eradicated measles in Tevenar centuries ago. We’ll do the same here. Gan, spread the word that we’ll be around to everyone soon. I know it’s Restday, but it would be silly to waste the trip all the way out here when we’d just have to come back tomorrow.” Gan nodded and ran ahead. Josiah strode behind Tesi toward Kabos’s cottage.

  Vigorre caught up with him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Josiah frowned at him. “What?”

  “Kabos is a Dua—Faithful. He’ll refuse to let you heal him.”

  “Smash it, you’re right.” He looked at Sar. “Gan said he was unconscious.” After a moment of silence he sighed in frustration. “I know. I just—no, I understand.” He pushed his unruly mop of curls back from his eyes. “We have to check on him anyway. Maybe he’ll wake up and we can talk him into accepting.”

  Vigorre thought that was about as likely as Sar sprouting wings and flying away, but he made no comment.

  As they turned onto the village road and headed downhill, Josiah caught his breath and pointed at the dock. “Ozor’s ship is back. Nirel must be here. Maybe she’s with her father.” His expression hardened.

  Vigorre’s thoughts raced. “Look, Josiah. Even after everything she’s done, you don’t want to see Nirel thrown in the dungeon, do you? You know that’s what the Matriarch will do if she ever catches her.”

  Josiah’s certainty wavered a little. To push him over the edge, Vigorre clamped down on his own emotions and added, “If she didn’t hang her.”

  “She wouldn’t—” Josiah grimaced. “I guess she might. So what am I supposed to do if she’s there?”

  “Let her go,” Vigorre urged. “I won’t tell Elkan. We can warn her, tell her to run. She’ll be a fugitive, exiled from both Ramunna and Tevenar. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

  Josiah exchanged glances with Sar. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  Vigorre figured that was good enough for the moment, since Nirel wouldn’t actually be there. He pointed out Kabos’s cottage. Josiah knocked on the door, then pushed it open at a muffled call.

  A woman came to meet them. Vigorre recognized her as one of the members of Ozor’s company he’d seen around the village. She turned and covered her mouth to sneeze before smiling wanly at them. “Thank the Mother you’ve come. He’s far gone, but I hope you can save him.” She extended her hand. “I’m Eifel Brewerkin Brewer.”

  Josiah clasped her hand in the Tevenaran manner. “We’ll do what we can, Master Eifel.”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “Just Eifel, lad. I never made master. But that’s a long tale and long past. Come in and see if there’s anything to be done for poor Kabos.”

  Josiah followed her into the bedroom, Sar at his heels. Vigorre trailed behind, reluctant to face Nirel’s father again.

  He needn’t have worried. Kabos lay still on the bed, only harsh breathing and an occasional racking cough giving evidence he still lived. Josiah moved to his side, but didn’t reach for Sar. “Did he start to show symptoms during the voyage? How long has he been back?”

  Eifel looked at him blankly. “Voyage?”

  Vigorre cursed silently and tried to think. Josiah frowned at Eifel. “Didn’t he go on a trading voyage with Ozor? Vigorre said they left at the beginning of the week.”

  Eifel spread her hands. “Ozor’s been in port for months now, ever since he returned from Giroda with the healers. He wouldn’t leave just when that venture’s going so well.”

  Josiah swung to face Vigorre, bafflement and dawning suspicion in his eyes. “I thought you said—”

  “I passed on what Nirel told me,” Vigorre said, trying to put shock and hurt anger in his voice. “After we finished in the field, I said I’d be back the next morning to pick her up, and she said that Kabos was insisting she come with him, that Ozor would be sailing before dawn.” He clenched his fists and scowled. “More lies. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Eifel looked back and forth between them. “I wondered where Nirel went. She’s not staying with her friend in the city?”

  “No,” Josiah said shortly. “She’s probably miles away by now. It doesn’t matter.” He turned his attention back to Kabos. “So when did he start having symptoms?”

  “About three days ago? Yes, I think that’s right. He keeps to himself, you know, but I heard him coughing Fourthday evening at the well. I didn’t think anything of it until he collapsed this morning, right outside his door. The women have been taking turns sitting with him, but there’s not much we can do.”

  “I don’t think there’s much we can do, either.” Josiah felt Kabos’s forehead, pulled back an eyelid to reveal angry red where there should have been white, and grimaced. “I’m sure it must be measles, but without checking I can’t be completely certain.” He turned to Eifel. “We have reason to believe Kabos is one of the Faithful. Or Dualists, as the Ramunnans call them. They refuse to be healed with the Mother’s power. Do you know anything that would suggest we’re wrong?”

  Eifel’s eyes were wide. “A Dualist? What gives you that idea? I never saw any sign he had dealings with those Mother-haters.”

  “Nirel told me,” Vigorre said. “She said he was one of the last in Tevenar, and that both of them learned more and fully embraced their beliefs after they came to Ramunna.”

  “Well I never!” Eifel glanced fearfully down at the bed and backed away. “That’s been the worst of living here. This village the Matriarch gave us is lovely, but it’s too near those cursed folk. I always feared their influence might corrupt us.”

  “Did you ever hear him pray to the Mother? Did he go to Restday services, or observe privately?”

  Eifel shrugged. “No, but then none of us are very devout. Restday’s just a welcome break from work.”

  Josiah bit his lip, stared down at Kabos, then turned to commune urgently with Sar for a few minutes. Finally he blew out his breath and rolled his eyes. “It’s no use. The Law says any adult can refuse healing if they want, and we’re not allowed to force it on them. Since the best information we have is that Kabos would refuse, we can’t heal him unless he wakes up enough to give his consent.”

  Eifel’s brow furrowed. “But surely he’ll die without a wizard’s healing.”

  “Probably.” Josiah shrugged helplessly.

  Good riddance, Vigorre thought, but resisted saying it aloud. Nirel would be far better off free of Kabos’s abuse.

  Josiah rubbed his face, then turned with forced cheerfulness back to Eifel. “You have no objection to the Mother’s power, do you?”

  “Certainly not, but this cold is nothing that needs a wizard’s help.” Eifel waved her hand dismissively.

  “Actually, it’s probably the beginning of measles as well.” Josiah motioned to the chair beside the bed. “I expect all the Tevenarans in the village have it. Sit down and we’ll clear yours up, then we’ll take care of the rest.”
>
  With a few more half-hearted protests Eifel complied. Sar and Josiah sent a gold wave of the Mother’s power around her. The redness in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks abated.

  When they were finished she rose, refreshed strength in her movements. “Come along, then. There’s many others who’ll appreciate your attention.”

  Vigorre and Josiah followed Eifel from house to house. None of the Tevenarans besides Kabos were severely affected yet. But most of them welcomed the offer of healing and were dealt with swiftly.

  A man named Tereid scowled fiercely at Josiah and braced his arms across his doorway, barring their entrance. “I don’t want your so-called help,” he growled. “Do you think I’ve forgotten how you and your master knocked me out and tied me up? Or how your friends snuck up on us in the middle of the night and captured us only a few miles from freedom? How you locked us up so we nearly got swept away by the flood?”

  “Do you remember how we diverted the water to save you from drowning?” Josiah retorted.

  Tereid glowered but didn’t deny it. “Go away.”

  Josiah made an annoyed face and was about to comply when Ozor strode up behind them. “What’s all the fuss, Tereid?”

  Tereid turned his shoulder to Josiah. “The wizard brat and his nag were just leaving.”

  Ozor raked Josiah, Sar, Vigorre, and Eifel with sharp eyes. “What’s going on, Eifel?”

  She poured out an explanation. By the time she finished, Ozor was nodding, a calculating look in his eyes. “I thought I felt worse than an ordinary cold would account for. Tereid, stop your foolishness and let the boy heal you.”

  Tereid opened his mouth to protest, but broke off at Ozor’s cold look. “Oh, very well.” He sneered at Josiah. “Do it, boy.”

  Vigorre was impressed that Josiah managed to keep his temper. He slapped his hand on Sar’s back and shot a blast of power over Tereid. His healing progressed as fast as the other villagers’ had, but Vigorre saw the same red rash that Nirel had suffered spread over his face and arms for a moment before turning brown and vanishing. That hadn’t happened with any of the others.