The torrent stopped almost immediately, sputtering out like the flame on a gas stove. The villagers, many shaking their heads, drifted off, no doubt to gossip about her. Mara stayed at her side, loyal to the last. Hugh and Charlie, after checking that the fire had been extinguished, joined them. All three turned to her as if she were the Sorceress of All Things Strange. Which, as far as she knew, she was.
She met their gaze, chin up, waiting for accusations and blame. Charlie approached her first.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentle. The light from the two moons, sinking toward the horizon, showed the concern in his eyes. Individual drops of rain, not yet evaporated, shimmered on his wings.
Jane’s bravado faltered. She wasn’t okay. She felt out of control. Things happened so fast in this strange place that she couldn’t assimilate one before another took place. She shook her head.
Wordlessly, Charlie enfolded her in his arms. She slipped into his embrace, seeking comfort and understanding, leaning on his strength. He was her anchor. She needed his calm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked after a moment.
She couldn’t answer.
“Jane.” He tilted her face up. “What is it?”
Hadn’t he heard? Tears choked her throat at the thought of telling him something that would complicate his life more than she already had.
“Jane?”
She took a deep breath. If she had to hurt him, she’d make it quick and painless.
“I caused the rain.”
He didn’t rant and rave as she expected, but waited patiently for an explanation. His attitude helped her tell the story. When she finished, he looked over her head as if he expected to see a host of eavesdroppers taking notes.
“Who knows of this?” he asked.
“The whole village by now, I’m sure. You know how quickly word of this will spread.”
Charlie closed his eyes for a moment, his fatigue visible. “This makes everything more complex.” He took her hand. “Come, you’ll have to return to the castle.”
Jane pulled away, panic building. “Sylthia! No, Charlie, I can’t go back.” Memories of her wall-tearing incidents and Eagar’s dislike fueled her fear.
“You don’t understand,” Charlie said, his voice fierce, almost scary. He forced her to look at him. “You’re not safe here.”
Hugh, standing quietly with Mara next to their damaged house, spoke out. “He’s right. You can’t remain here.”
She looked between the two men, sensing an underlying tension. The marrow in her bones chilled.
“What happened here tonight?” she demanded.
“Jane.” Charlie moved his hand to touch her cheek.
She knocked it aside.
“Don’t ‘Jane’ me. I grew up with the six o’clock news. Tell me why someone threw a bomb into the house. Was it because of me?”
Their silence confirmed her suspicions. A cold hollow spread in her stomach.
“Why?” She turned to the one she trusted the most. “Charlie?” She watched his struggle, saw him sigh and accept defeat.
“It was one man,” he said. “Capp’ear.”
A sharp intake of breath came from Mara.
“He wasn’t serious,” Hugh said. “Don’t take notice of his ramblings. He’s ill in the head, has been since the death of his wife and child this past winter.”
Jane felt like stamping her foot. What were they protecting her from?
“Why won’t anyone tell me what happened?”
“Capp’ear heard about the incident in the castle, when you tore the walls apart,” Charlie said in a rush. “I don’t know how he found out. He also heard of your talent for growing things.”
“I don’t understand.” This made no sense to her.
“He thinks you’re a witch,” Hugh said. “That you’re out to kill us all, like you did Tivat.”
“A witch! Ridiculous. Witches have warts and fly around on brooms. I’m the most unwitchiest person in the world.” If she had any powers at all, she’d use them to go home. And her, kill other elves?
“Capp’ear was at the tavern tonight,” Charlie explained. “He blamed you for his misfortunes and vowed retribution. Most there excused his ramblings as too much drink. Alfted even walked him home to make sure he stayed out of trouble.”
“But he didn’t,” Jane said.
Charlie shook his head. “He came here and stood beneath your window, calling you a witch and waking the neighbors.”
She’d been so focused on getting Charlie in bed that she hadn’t heard. If it hadn’t been for Muttle . . . She glanced around, looking for the Belwaith.
“Where’s Muttle?”
“He’s been watching you all night,” Charlie said.
A full-time job, with my knack for getting into trouble.
Charlie pointed to her protector, sitting on the garden bench, his arm wrapped in a makeshift sling.
“He’s hurt!” Jane cried. It was her fault. All of it was her fault.
I be fine, the creature answered with confidence.
“Before he could be stopped, Capp’ear tossed a bomb through your window,” Charlie explained, drawing her attention.
If she’d been asleep in her own bed—Jane shuddered at the thought.
“You have bombs on Lowth?’ she asked, suddenly surprised by the fact.
“They’re simple enough to make,” he replied. “An empty bottle, a rag, oil or whiskey or something else that burns. And anger at something one doesn’t understand—”
Jane didn’t understand it herself. She felt cold despite the warmth of the summer night.
Someone tried to kill me. Death as punishment for a crime she’d committed was one thing. That was logical, something she could understand. But this, it had the stamp of evil on it. To want to hurt her just because of who she was or what they thought her to be . . . ? She shivered.
Charlie broke through her musings. “We have to go to the castle, Jane. There is no other choice.”
Numbly, she nodded. She looked to the other two. “Mara? Hugh?”
“We’ll be fine. Friends will take us in,” Hugh reassured her. “In the morning we can look at the damage and decide what needs to be done.”
Jane wished she could drive him to Home Depot and order what he needed, charging the supplies on her maxed-out, lying-in-charred-ruins credit card. As long as she was asking for the impossible, she wished she lived in a world of tangibles.
Fate had a funny way of kicking you in the rear. Jane held out her hands to Charlie, as if expecting handcuffs to clamp down on them.
“Book me, Danno,” she said.
Chapter Twelve
Jane lay in bed at the top of the castle, in her room next to the king’s chambers. Elaine must have been a morning person, she decided, noticing the dawn light cutting through the window and falling with precision across her pillows.
It was the morning of her trial. Over a day had passed since Charlie and Hugh had accompanied her to Sylthia’s gates, causing an uproar. Only the brothers’ familiarity with Jaspar and the others on community watch had won them entry as well.
Calme, who must have been alerted telepathically by Muttle, had met them at the front door. Hugh returned home. Charlie had taken up a guard position outside her room. Not in her room, or in her bed, she’d noted at the time. His behavior toward her didn’t come from a tenderness in his heart, as she expected after their interrupted lovemaking. Instead, she felt as if she’d been diagnosed with a terminal disease, and he didn’t know how to treat her.
She’d slept little since then. An early morning confrontation with Eagar, with Charlie hotly defending her, had upset her. Combined with the impact of the bombing, she couldn’t rest. When she wasn’t thinking about her powers, she worried about the trial.
Calme brought her breakfast, which Jane didn’t touch. She dressed in one of Elaine’s gowns, a slate-blue linen the wrong hue for her coloring. She felt dull, devoid of life and vitality.
<
br /> Charlie knocked on her door midmorning. The concern in his eyes undermined her remaining confidence.
“Is it that bad?” Jane asked, her bottom lip trembling.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We have a chance.”
“On Earth, it’s called a snowball’s chance in hell.” She didn’t have the strength to explain when she saw his puzzlement. It didn’t matter, anyway. In a few hours she’d be dead, burned at a stake or boiled alive. She imagined Eagar had spent countless hours devising her torture.
Charlie squeezed her hand and repeated their defense. “They can’t convict you of murder without a body.” He started to walk down the corridor, toward the great hall where the trial would be held.
She wanted to believe him. However, she’d seen enough movies and late-night television to know that justice wasn’t always just.
“Smile,” he commanded. “You must present a positive appearance.”
“Instead of being the homicidal witch that I am?” she asked, a bitter edge to her voice.
“Don’t think that,” he said harshly. “It was one man’s ranting, that’s all.”
“Ranting? Or truth? Maybe I am a witch. I have powers I can’t begin to understand or control in a world that is as foreign to me as Earth must be to you. Forget? Can you forget you have wings?”
She hadn’t meant to be cruel; the words slipped out from frustration and fear. His jaw tightened, and he took the next staircase two steps at a time.
“Charlie,” she called after him, skipping to keep up. “Charlie, I didn’t mean it.” She stopped him at the bottom of the stairwell, a hand on his arm. She searched his eyes and wanted to kick herself for hurting him. “I’m sorry. You’re the closest thing I have to a friend in Lowth. You must know by now that I speak first and think later.” A sound of exasperation left her. “Don’t close up on me now. I need you.”
He looked at her. She could almost see his thought process, but that was Charlie—deliberate, careful, and achingly endearing at times.
“Please,” she added.
“Jane.” He shook his head and smiled, as if he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll always be there for you.” Gently, he touched her cheek.
She wanted to close her eyes and sink into his embrace, to feel safe. He’d make it right, whatever problems ensnared her.
A roar from a large number of people erupted around them. Jane turned her head, surprised that they stood outside the door to the great hall.
“What is it?” she asked, pulling away from him.
“Capp’ear’s trial,” Charlie answered. “The council put it before yours.”
Capp’ear? The drunk who’d called her a witch? Not the opening act she would have chosen.
“A trial?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Why didn’t they just pop him last night? They caught him red-handed.”
“For the same reason they didn’t ‘pop’ you,” Charlie answered. “He’s entitled to a fair trial.”
A large crowd had gathered, only about half of them Elven.
“Where are they from?” she whispered, afraid to make noise and attract attention. As if she wouldn’t soon enough.
“All over.” Concern darkened Charlie’s eyes. “Dwarves, sprites, even a fairy or two. Your trial is of great interest to them.”
Wonderful! Not only was she the headliner of this circus, but half the planet would see the show.
At the other end of the hall, far enough away that she recognized the council only by Eagar’s all-black attire, her judges sat. Their attention was concentrated on a small ferret-like man with stringy hair and ill-fitting clothes. Capp’ear.
“It is the decision of the council—” said one of the judges, a florid, rotund man. Was it Wesant, returned from his hunting trip, or Tellise?”—that the willful destruction of property and the endangerment of lives deserve the strictest punishment available. If not for the timely appearance of the storm—” He paused. Jane felt as if everyone pivoted in accusation at her meddling with the weather. But the man only wet his lips and continued. “—the entire village might have been destroyed. Therefore, Capp’ear of Malin, you are sentenced to exile in the Magwrosin Swamp. May you die quickly.”
A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Chatter began at once. Jane looked at Charlie.
“Is that bad?” she asked.
“It’s certain death. It is the home of the sandobbles,” he explained. “They are a race of mobile lumps of quicksand. Alone they are harmless, but when they group together, they form quagmires that will smother a man. They’ve been contained in the Swamp for the last hundred years by the Dwarves. Capp’ear will be escorted to the border and forced to enter. If he survives a day, he’ll be free. If he doesn’t—”
Jane shuddered. A cold chill rushed through her. If a drunken act of arson triggered such a horrid death, what hope did she have for her own life?
Others behind them jostled her, tilting her off balance. As she straightened, grabbing Charlie for support, she heard Eagar speak.
“Will the accused, Jane Drysdale of Earth, come forward?”
Her throat closed as if a noose already tightened around it. Eagar’s words echoed in her ears. The crowd rumbled in anticipation, some swiveling to look at her. She felt exposed, naked to their stares. Panic grabbed her, and she clutched Charlie harder, afraid he’d vaporize in this topsy-turvy world.
“Steady,” he said. “Show courage, Jane.” His warm brown gaze helped pull her together.
Okay, she decided, she could do this. For Charlie, she’d be brave. She’d show Eagar what Earthwomen were made of. She’d dredge up every late-night black-and-white prison movie ever made and be the unflinching convict headed to the chair. Jimmy Cagney, eat your heart out.
Jane straightened, twitching her long skirt into place. She loosened her grip on Charlie’s arm and pushed forward.
The crowd parted before her as the Red Sea had for Moses. Curious stares watched her, hands covered mouths to hide whispered remarks. The sun shone through windows thirty feet up the stone walls, casting a spotlight on the council.
Jane refused to be intimidated. After all, she had powers. Okay, so she didn’t understand them, but they grew stronger. Whoever or whatever gave them to her must have a master plan, right? If not, she’d wing it. If Eagar found her guilty, she’d drop a house on him. The same for Eagar-to-be numbers two and three.
The walk to the judges passed too quickly. She and Charlie stopped behind a dark wooden table and waited. Jane’s chin tilted, she gazed at the three men before her.
Men? Two elves and one dwarf, that was. Eagar sat in the center, impeccable, his eyebrows drawn together. To his right sat the round flushed elf who had pronounced Capp’ear’s sentence. On the far left sat a Dwarf. He was short, maybe four feet tall standing, with bushy white eyebrows and a full beard. He was thin but with the jowls and neck wattle of someone who had lost a lot of weight. Disney’s Doc does Jenny Craig.
Eagar spoke, his voice resonating through the hall.
“Jane Drysdale of Earth, you are brought before us to stand trial for the murder of John Tivat of Sylthia. I, Eagar Currge, along with Wesant the Hunter”—he nodded to the florid man—“and Tellise Rootshearer”—he gestured in the Dwarf’s direction—“will hear evidence, your defending arguments, and then judge you. Are you prepared for trial?”
And if I’m not? Jane pushed away the thought. She squared her shoulders.
“I am, sir.” She hoped her voice expressed confidence.
“Do you have adequate council?”
As if he didn’t know. Was he irritatingly stupid on purpose? Or just plain irritating, trying to throw her off balance?
’Tis a game he plays.
Thank you, Muttle. It heartened her to know the Belwaith was close by and shared her opinion. You must be quiet now.
Eagar looked at her expectantly.
“Charles Whelphite is my lawyer,” she said with pride.
He marked something i
n front of him. What, a checklist? The top ten things to do before legally snuffing out an annoying Earth woman’s life? She badly wanted to take a peek. Only the seriousness of the situation and Charlie’s disapproval kept her in place.
“Jane Drysdale of Earth,” Eagar continued. “In the matter of the murder of Tivat of Sylthia, how do you plead?”
“Not guilty.” She infused the words with as much strength as possible.
“Then we begin,” he said, making another note on his checklist. “Your prosecutor is Elowall, of the Malin Forest. You may be seated.”
Jane stole a glance at her opponent as she settled into a tall, uncomfortable chair. Elowall was an Elf, lighter in complexion than those she’d seen in the village or castle. His hair was almost caramel in color, his eyebrows thin and sharply arched over amber eyes.
The first witness was Jaspar, the leader of Tivat’s search party. “The old guy,” she remembered calling him when he’d helped her from the Neon’s trunk. She knew Charlie considered him a friend, but duty called for his testimony.
Jaspar sat in a chair apart from but next to the judges. “Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth” didn’t apply on Lowth. Nor did they swear on a Bible, their mothers’ graves or any other icon. Elowall plunged in with questions, leading his witness from the discovery of Tivat’s escape to the last sight of him under Jane’s wheels.
He skillfully played up the drama of the pursuit—the decision to enter the portal, despite its lack of stability, the bravery of those who bridged the two worlds, knowing they might be trapped, the shape-shifting abilities of Tivat and the almost immediate change in footprints from Elf to rabbit. By the time the court adjourned for lunch, he’d made Jane sound as if she’d been waiting on the road, gunning her motor for the opportunity to mow down a poor, defenseless bunny.
Mara and Hugh joined them for a meal no one seemed able to eat. They waited until a harried castle worker had served them before speaking.
“Don’t mind Elowall,” Mara reassured Jane. “He owed Eagar a favor. Taking on the task of prosecutor cancels his debt. He no more wants to be here than you.”
What Do You Say to a Naked Elf? Page 10