by Barbara Howe
Only then, while I leaned against the bedpost, did the overheard whispers and random memories coalesce and arrange themselves into a clear picture. Should Frankland’s top healers be close at hand in the Crystal Palace, where they might be in danger? Or should they wait in the Warren where they would be safer, but perhaps inaccessible, if the hidden danger blocked the tunnels? No wonder Lorraine had gotten upset, listening to this argument. If the hidden danger was potent enough to kill everyone in the Crystal Palace…
My God.
My knees buckled, and I sat down hard on the bed. “I am not a seer,” Jean had often said. True, but he could imagine a future, and I, looking over his shoulder, thought I could see what lay ahead: a new Scorching Time. The Fire Office would burn through Beorn, then through Sunbeam and Flint, while he watched, helpless to stop it. After Flint, the Fire Office would come back to land on him again, as a better choice than a not yet fully-grown boy.
It would not land on me; I would be dead. Even René’s sulks two weeks earlier now made sense. Beorn would have warned him of what was coming, and ordered him not to attempt to pull me back from death’s grasp. They couldn’t afford to lose both of us.
The unlocking involved all four Officeholders—Fire Warlock, Earth Mother, Water Sorceress, and Air Enchanter. The Fire Office did not tolerate threats to even one of those four. If one or more died, the Fire Office would go berserk. It would order the Fire Warlock to kill the treacherous slime responsible—me. If he refused, it would leave a smoking crater where the Crystal Palace and the town of Quays had been.
Why had I not thought about this before?
Because Beorn and Jean had both ordered me not to. “Forget it,” Beorn had said, with his hand on my shoulder. “The lock is enough for you to deal with. Let me and Jean deal with the rest.”
How, in the name of all that was holy, could they handle a problem like this?
The answer that came sent ice water flowing through my veins. They could minimise the danger to the other Officeholders by walling them off. I had to be in contact with Lorraine’s ring; I could not avoid the hidden terror. And I would draw power through Jean. He, with all his shields up, would present an impenetrable wall sheltering the others, but the blast and the hidden terror would be reflected back at me. I would have no escape. No wonder I had sensed death ahead. No wonder he didn’t want a bond between us.
“A warlock’s responsibility to Frankland’s security,” he had said more than once, “trumps everything else: family, personal comfort, one’s own life.” I would die, and my husband would see to it, with the full backing of my cherished friend, Beorn.
And what then? Jean would hold the Fire Office a second time, until René was mature enough to handle it. He faced ten or fifteen years of arduous labour, struggling to keep Frankland from tearing itself apart. Ten or fifteen years of loneliness and defeat, his wife dead from his own hands, his dreams of reforging the Fire Office in ruins. A prospect grim enough to daunt the most heroic of men.
I might have pitied him, if I hadn’t been angry enough to commit murder.
Anger Be My Shield
I swung between extremes, one second in abject fear for my life or anguish over abandoning my son, the next seeking an outlet for my blind fury. My target, the man who had lied to me so many times, had left the Fortress, and I could not find him.
Drown him. I broke off my search and went to say goodbye to my little Eddie, but stopped with my hand on the closed nursery door. He was laughing. Through my mind’s eye, I watched him play for many minutes before I walked away, blind with tears. He would not remember, but he would hear the stories as he grew. Better he should hear that our last days together had been full of joy than that my distress had frightened him.
An Earth Guild charm hid my red eyes and nose. Master Sven didn’t notice I’d been crying when we met at the stairs. We rode together to the Fire Warlock’s study without speaking—to each other, that is. He buried his nose in his copy of the Water Office spell book and muttered to himself. Fine. I had never been less in the mood for small talk.
Beorn met us at the top. My glare would have scorched a lesser man. He responded with a bleak expression that gave terror the upper hand over my anger.
I brushed past him. “Let’s go.”
“Not so fast. In a minute or two.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“René. He’s coming with us.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“That’s not a reason.”
Beorn didn’t bother to reply. René rocketed up the stairs.
Why are you coming with us?
He scowled and didn’t answer.
Master Sven’s brow creased. We ignored his questions and trudged through the tunnel in grim silence.
We arrived at the Crystal Palace on the heels of the Air Enchanter and his colleagues. Sorcerer Charles, hollow-eyed and ashen, led us into an open courtyard where the Water Guild Council and several dozen healers waited. My stomach churned. Mother Celeste must have called in all level four and five healers in Frankland. Hazel gave me a half-hearted wave. I clenched my jaw and turned away. What could they do for me when I was dead?
Master Sven studied the healers through narrowed eyes, chewing his lip.
Jean slipped into the rear of the courtyard. I kept my back turned on him.
The Frost Maiden walked out of a shadowed archway. Despite the heat of the day and my anger, I shivered. If only the outer manifestations of the gift of cold water hadn’t worn off. Her armour was better than mine.
She said, “Thank you for being prompt. Some of you are confused and concerned about the number of healers gathered here today. They are here because we do not know what will happen when the lock is released, and we have reason to believe at least one, and possibly several, participants are in danger.”
Sven’s head snapped around. “What do you—”
She held up a hand for silence. “No one hearing this for the first time should be in danger, but since we do not know exactly what we will face, we determined to err on the side of caution and have our most talented healers near at hand.
“To reduce the risk, all not involved in the unlocking shall return to the Warren or the Hall of the Winds while the lock is released. It will take some time—half an hour, perhaps—for the Locksmith to work her way through the spells to the lock, but once she is there, the release will happen quickly. If our fears are unfounded, those of you in the reforging coven will return and the work will begin, and the healers will return to their guildhalls to go about their normal business.
“Do not berate your guild heads for secrecy; the decision to limit those who knew was mine and mine alone. If you have questions, my apprentice, Sorceress Eleanor, or the other Water Guild Council members will do their best to answer them. They will go with you to the Warren or the Hall of the Winds for their safety.
“Thank you for your patience.”
The Water Guild Council began filing from the courtyard. The two enchantresses waited together, white-faced and rigid, as the healers queued behind the water witches and wizards.
Master Sven’s raised voice made me jump. “Burn it, what’s going on here? What danger? And don’t tell me to shut up and go quietly—I want to know what this is all about.”
Fighting terror with anger. Typical fire wizard behaviour. I would have kissed him if I hadn’t been sure it would embarrass him.
The Frost Maiden said, “The warning of danger is in the words of the lock spell. ‘Whichever power releases the lock, I swear, shall face my hidden terror there.’ Master Sven, the warnings do not apply to you. Only the four Officeholders, Warlock Quicksilver, and the Warlock Locksmith should be in danger.”
Master Sven swung around to stare at me. I fought down nausea, and nodded. Sven glared in turn at Beorn, and Mother Celeste, w
ho both nodded in agreement.
He pivoted and shouted at Jean, “Why are you making her do this? Have you no decency? Look at her. She’s terrified—”
I saw red and stopped trembling. Beorn grabbed Master Sven’s shoulder and jerked him around, making Sven stagger.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Beorn punctuated his shout with a thump on Sven’s chest. “Do you think any man in his right mind would make his wife do something like this?”
The witches and wizards who had already left the courtyard crowded back in to watch. I poked the two fire wizards. They kept shouting, without looking at me.
“Excuse me,” I said, and spat fire like a young dragon.
Dead silence. Beorn and Sven goggled down at me.
“Nobody makes a warlock do anything.” I eased off until the fire in my voice was only a small torch. “If he could, he would order me not put myself in danger, but he can’t. Because a warlock’s first responsibility is to Frankland’s security, and that trumps everything else: family, personal comfort, one’s own life. Everything. And I am a warlock, too. I beg you to remember that.”
I turned to the crowd in the archway. “Move! Let’s get this over with.”
A mad scramble followed as the non-essential witches and wizards, including Master Sven, fled. Behind me Jean murmured, “Overcoming fear with anger. Typical fire witch behaviour.”
Beorn grinned. Mother Celeste smiled.
“I don’t know why you think it’s funny. And you,” I said, turning on Jean, “you are a cold, calculating, manipulative, ruthless son-of-a-bitch.”
His face was as bloodless as an air wizard’s. His lips compressed to a thin line, but he bowed. “Thank you, my dear, for the compliment.”
“It wasn’t one. You lied to me, you frostbitten bastard.”
Beorn’s hand came down heavy on my shoulder. “Don’t blame him, Lucinda. He did it on my orders.”
“I despise both of you.” I shook off his hand and stomped into Lorraine’s study. A line of crates made me stop short. I counted enough burn cloths to swaddle everyone in Lesser Campton, plus salves, lotions of all sorts, as well as tourniquets, splints, and bandages. An apothecary could have set up shop there.
Mother Celeste said, “I sent these over yesterday. Since we don’t know what will happen, I brought everything I could think of. Most of the healers have gone back to the Warren, but Father Martin and Father Jerome are staying with us.”
I shrugged and sat down on the sofa. Lorraine faced me. She laid her hand on the small table between us; I clasped it with mine and dove in.
We had met several times over the preceding weeks to review the path to the lock and to practice drawing power from both her and Sorceress Eleanor. I had no difficulty in finding my way. While I worked, Jean and the other Officeholders cast protective spells until the magic in the room was thick enough to chew on.
The lock unscrolled and I read it through once more, as if it were not already engraved in my memory. A fresh blast of fury rolled over me at the arrogance and short-sightedness of the original Locksmith, the breakage in the Water Office responsible for obscenities like Maggie Archer’s sentence, and my husband’s willingness to sacrifice me for Frankland’s benefit. I nursed the anger. Anger might protect me, terror wouldn’t.
Keeping a mental finger on the lock, I said, “I’m there.”
Jean sat down beside me. I snarled at him and turned away.
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me tight against his chest. “Hush,” he said. “It will be over soon.” I lifted my hand, keeping a finger on Lorraine’s sapphire, and he slipped his hand in between hers and mine.
Beorn and Enchanter Paul lined up behind us with their hands on Jean’s shoulders, and Mother Celeste stood between the two seats, one hand on Jean and the other on Lorraine.
“Ready?” I said.
“Almost,” Lorraine said. In a moment she glittered, rimed all over with frost. The frost thickened to a thin layer of ice. Jean shuddered. He clenched his jaw against my shoulder, but didn’t pull his hand away.
Lorraine’s armour complete, she gazed at me from iceberg-blue eyes. “Proceed when ready, Madam Locksmith.”
“No matter what, I’m not stopping. We won’t get a second chance.”
“Agreed. Do it.”
In my mind’s eye the power from the four Offices appeared as four burning ropes in red, green, blue, and white. I reached through Jean’s beacon to pull them into my own candle flame, twisting to make one thick cable, and bid it grow until it was enough to release the lock on the Water Office.
A glassblower’s furnace blasted heat at me. Blazing light blinded my mind’s eye, but the text hadn’t moved or changed. With the power available from the four Offices, shoving was easy. Releasing the lock took mere seconds, and seconds were too long.
Lava gouged a channel up my right arm. Lorraine screamed. I clutched my anger, and shoved. With a deafening roar, my world exploded into a maelstrom of fire and blood.
The River
I fled, burning, through darkness. Nothing mattered besides the pain in my right hand and arm. If I’d had a knife, I would have cut it off. René ran with me, but couldn’t put out the fire.
Jean was ahead, moving away from me. I sank a claw of charred bone into him, and wouldn’t let go.
Help me, damn you. Put out the fire.
Nearby, a river held cold, inviting water. Jean pulled me towards it. Light streamed from the far bank. People I hadn’t seen in years waited for me.
I lunged toward the river. That cold water would put out the fire. Drowning was easy. I’d nearly drowned once, and I knew. It would hurt a little, then it would all be over. No fire. No pain. No terror. No lies. No heartbreak.
René fought me, holding me back. I couldn’t break free.
Let me go.
I can’t. I promised Quicksilver I’d bring you back.
René dragged me, screaming, away from the river.
Knives stabbed at my arm. My hand throbbed in a healer’s grip.
Earth Mother, why are you torturing me?
René, crying like a girl, pinned me down in the darkness. I fought him. The agony in my arm went on and on and on.
Jean, help me. I need you. Help me, or I swear to God, I’ll make you wish you were dead.
There was no answer.
Lucinda, wake up. Big sister, can you hear me? Damn it, Lucinda, come back.
Someone called my name, over and over. The voice and the pain were driving me mad. Thoughts fluttered like moths against a glass door on a lantern. Jean had abandoned me when I needed his help. Where were the healers? Frankland’s best had been nearby. Had they abandoned me, too?
Lucinda, can you hear me?
Telling René I hated him would take too much effort. Even the Fire Warlock’s kiss had not hurt like this. My mental flame had vanished; I was as useless as a heap of cold ashes. I wanted Jean, and oblivion.
Jean, where are you? I need you.
Big sister, wake up.
A spark glimmered in the ashes. René’s unreasonable demands fed my anger as breathing on a spark starts a fire. If I hadn’t been dog-tired, I would have told him to go kiss the Fire Warlock.
The Earth Guild must have done something for me, after all. I could think again, and remember. I had released the lock. If only I cared.
Images René had seen floated through my mind. Blood, lots of it. A body sprawled on the floor, charred past recognition. No one could burn like that and live.
Big sister, talk to me.
Hell, no, you traitor. I’ll never speak to you again.
A deeper voice joined in. “Lucinda, wake up. That’s an order.”
Hadn’t I already done enough? The spark grew, became glowing coals. I snarled, “Go away and leave me alone, you frost
bitten donkey, and take that nasty runt with you.”
Beorn said, “That’s more like it. I knew you’d come around.”
I pried an eyelid open. Faces floated over me: Beorn, René, Hazel, an earth father, and some woman about a hundred years old. All were haggard, with blood-shot eyes.
They had wrapped me so tightly in Earth Guild burn cloths I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted to. Where was Jean? Keeping my eye open hurt. I closed it.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Mother Celeste said, “but we won’t let you go. Wake up and talk to us.”
I opened both eyes and stared. The old woman leaning over me was Mother Celeste. Her face was a mass of wrinkles; the thick coil of grey hair had become thin, lank, and pure white. Her complexion was blotchy, as if she’d been weeping.
I said, “Did the Earth Guild let you down, too?”
“No, dear, but I understand why you feel that way. Someday, I hope, you will forgive us for what we are doing to you.”
I said, “If you won’t let me sleep, answer my questions. What are you doing to me? Where’s Jean?”
Beorn’s laugh, overloud and with a manic edge, hurt my ears. “All right, then. René, go get some sleep. Celeste, you can stop worrying. She’s going to be fine.”
“Humph. I don’t tell you how to call down the lightning. You keep your fingers out of the healing arts, thank you.”
“Someone died,” I said. “Lorraine?”
“No, dear,” Mother Celeste said, “nobody died—not yet anyway, but it was—is—a close thing.”
The intensity of my relief surprised me. “I am so glad she survived. I was sure someone died. Was that her blood?”
“Yep,” Beorn said. “The Locksmith’s ‘terror’ was a black magic cutting spell.”
Broken fragments coalesced into a clear image. I turned my head and vomited onto Hazel, sitting at my shoulder.
“Don’t worry about that,” she said, waving it away. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. You two suffered similar injuries. You were burned all over, with your right arm taking the brunt of it. The spell inflicted cuts all over Sorceress Lorraine, the deeper ones closer to her Token of Office. Her right arm was hacked to bits.”