Third Power

by Robert Childs

  The door to the building opened slowly and a rag–covered arm with no hand reached out and hooked the basket handle with a wrist bone and dragged it inside.

  “Oh my God,” Sonya gasped, “how terrible! Did you see the way it was all blackened at the end?”

  Steve’s eyes were still on the door, now closed, as an unpleasant thought formed in his mind. “Yes,” he answered absently.

  Another open-bed wagon moved onto the street, moving slowly this time. The driver, hooded and wearing a black full-length robe, held a switch in his left hand. He reined the horse in on the right side of the dusty road in front of the same building.

  “Wait here a minute,” Steve told Sonya.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  He held up a hand as he left to stay her from following him. “I’m just checking on a hunch.” Steve drew himself up and assumed a haughty confidence he hoped typical of one of Borathis’s men.

  “You there,” Steve said as he crossed the road. The black clad wagoner turned his head, his features hidden by his hood. “What are you bringing here?”

  “Another of the doomed, my lord,” the driver replied. By the raspy sound of his voice and the frail age-spotted hands, the driver himself had to be pushing eighty years old.

  Steve went to the side of the wagon and peered down on a body lying covered by a ragged blanket. “How bad off is he?” Steve asked.

  “Not yet as serious as some, but he will be soon enough.”

  “I want to see him,” Steve commanded. “Show him to me.”

  The driver paused beneath his robes unmoving, and then said, “Lord, far be it from me to council you on your decisions, but I do not think it wise for you to risk contamination. As you know, the disease is magical and widely believed only a touch needed for infection.”

  “Then give me your switch,” Steve ordered. The driver handed it over hesitantly, and Steve lifted the blanket enough so he could see the face of the person beneath. What he saw repulsed him. The man’s hair—what remained of it—hung in thin, ragged tendrils and his sightless eyes stared blindly from orbs glazed white. Though not burned, his skin appeared charred in places and clung tightly like a thin film over his skull, his lips drawn taut over his teeth. Pus oozed from three quarter-size blisters on his face like syrup.

  Steve let the blanket fall again and stepped back, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach. He held the switch out but the driver made no move to take it. “Just leave it in the back, my lord.” Steve quickly dropped it next to the diseased body and backed away.

  “You say he isn’t as bad as the others?”

  The driver shrugged, “He is quite mad, and blind as well, but he still has all of his limbs. Nothing rotted away as yet.”

  Steve turned and covered his mouth with his forearm as he felt a visceral need to vomit threatening to overtake him. He needed to leave and get as far away from there as possible. He walked back across the street to Sonya and led her away by the hand.

  “Steve, what’s wrong? What was back there?”

  “The people here are very sick,” he explained simply. “That’s why this place is sectioned off from everything else.”

  Steve moved at a hurried pace until they were both some distance from the wagon and its grim cargo. Sonya did not ask any further questions about what he had seen—and it was doubtful Steve would have answered them anyway.

  Ten minutes later they were both well from the cordoned off area of the town when Sonya finally spoke. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”

  Steve groaned. Until a short while ago he had been hungry. But he had to admit neither he nor Sonya had eaten since last night, and now at high noon he was sure at least Sonya needed something.

  “I guess we should find something to eat,” he said.

  “Ya’ think?” she teased.

  Steve managed a weak smile but found even this difficult. He looked around briefly and said, “I suppose I could just pretend to be a lord again and order someone to give us some food, but I wouldn’t feel right about that at all. Hold on a second!” He reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet saying, “Maybe we could trade my wallet for…”

  “What’s the matter?” Sonya asked.

  Steve searched his other pockets but found nothing there. “My wallet – it’s gone. Who could have…” He then remembered the little boy whom he had given his change to. “I don’t believe it, that kid stole my wallet!”

  “What? Come on, Steve,” Sonya scolded him. “I know you’re not talking about that cute little boy.”

  “Damn straight, I am! It had to have been. No one else has come within six feet of us. When he hugged me he stole my wallet!”

  Sonya didn’t speak for several moments, and then a slow smile spread across her face, threatening to become a laugh. “A toddler stole your wallet?”

  “Oh, thank you so much for your concern,” Steve replied sarcastically. “Unless you have something, now we’re broke and hungry.”

  Sonya’s smile faded at that. “Yeah, there is that.” After a moment she brightened. “What about magic?”

  Steve was already shaking his head. “Bad idea. I’m not big with the control yet. And Haldorum said I broadcast every time I use it.”

  Sonya nodded at this. “And if you used it, Azinon could find us.”

  “Exactly. It was after midnight when Haldorum sent us here, which means Azinon can’t cross over until midnight tonight, but I’ve no idea if that means he can’t communicate with anybody on this side. If I used magic to get Haldorum’s attention there is no way to tell who would show up first: Azinon’s friends or Haldorum himself—and I have a feeling this guy, Borathis, is one of Azinon’s boys.”

  “I see what you mean,” Sonya said. “What do we do then?”

  Steve shrugged. “Maybe we could find a job.”

  Sonya looked around and scratched at her forehead. “Well, I suppose we don’t have much choice. How do you want to go about it?”

  “We could both split up. That would cover a lot more area and—”

  Sonya was shaking her head. “No good. I can’t understand a thing without you.”

  Steve gave her an ah-that’s-right look and then a mischievous half smile crossed his lips. “Gosh,” he said playfully, “I feel so…needed.”

  She chucked him on the arm though she too smiled. “Will you get serious? I’m starving to death and you’re making jokes!” She made as if to hit him again, and he ducked artfully away.

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. You’re right, we’ve got to think.” He wiped his mouth as though that would wipe away his smile, but failed miserably. Then suddenly he had an idea. “Wait a second, why not farm work? There were all kinds of farmhouses surrounding this town. Maybe we could exchange a little work for some food and a place to spend the night.”

  “Now that,” Sonya replied, “just might work. There are also many jobs on a farm that won’t require a whole lot of talking. Of course, it won’t be the most glamorous thing I’ve ever done.”

  Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve never had to get your hands dirty before?”

  Sonya shrugged, “I’m afraid pulling weeds in my mom’s flower garden is about as down and dirty as I’ve ever been.”

  “Well, this should be interesting,” Steve grinned. He took her hand again and the two of them set off.

  The following two hours brought them disappointment after disappointment, however. The people at every farmstead they visited refused even to speak with them, let alone open their doors. Steve was both surprised, and annoyed, they couldn’t even afford them that minor courtesy. He knocked softly on each door and did his best to avoid any intimidating gestures. Sometimes the door would open but before Steve could utter a word they would slam the door in his face.

  “What in the hell is everyone’s problem?” Steve said frustrated in the face of another bolted door.

  Sonya didn’t answer, only placed he
r hand over her stomach to quell the latest noisy rumble.

  “We didn’t want your help anyway!” Steve shouted through the door. He then turned and stormed off the porch with Sonya following closely behind.

  “Is there any place we haven’t tried yet?” she asked as they walked.

  “Yeah, there’s one over there,” he replied pointing.

  They walked on toward the next farmhouse without speaking for a time and then, to break the silence, Sonya said, “I don’t think I can ever remember being this hungry.”

  Steve exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Sonya. Maybe we should have stayed in town and tried there.”

  She returned a comforting smile. “It isn’t your fault. Besides, somehow I get the feeling we would have been treated the same no matter where we went.”

  In twenty minutes, they were standing outside yet another home, this one surrounded by acres of wheat. Steve stepped up to the door and collected himself, taking a deep breath to calm his agitation. He looked once to Sonya and she smiled encouragingly, holding up two hands with fingers crossed. Steve knocked three times and waited. The door opened a crack and he could see a woman’s face staring back at him. Without a word, she gasped and quickly shut the door again.

  Steve did not move. He closed his eyes as his frustration translated down his arms in the form of closing fists. Sonya could see his jaw tighten and she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You tried,” she said softly.

  “But I haven’t tried this,” he replied through gritted teeth. His eyes snapped open and he pounded on the door, shouting in Mithalian, “Open this damn door!”

  “Steve, what are you doing?” Sonya exclaimed.

  The force with which he struck the frail door shook it to its very hinges. “Open this damn door!” he shouted again. “You haven’t even heard what I have to say to you! Every one of you people has done nothing but slam doors in our faces. But now you’re going to listen!”

  “Please!” the woman called from inside. “I have done nothing wrong!”

  “Open the door!” Steve waited a few moments and then again, “Open it!”

  This time he heard the wooden bolt slide aside and he pushed the door open wide. The woman on the other side was dressed as the rest of the citizenry. Her clothes were dirty and her hair mottled, and she looked at Steve with the most terrified expression. She backed away and dropped to her knees before him. “Please, lord,” she said, “I beg you. My husband works hard in the fields. We have not cheated Lord Borathis; we have done no wrong.”

  The woman held up her hands as though to ward off an imminent blow when Steve approached her. She shrieked when Steve touched her and she began sobbing fitfully. Steve gently helped her to her feet, shushing her quietly all the while.

  “Please, please,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I didn’t come here to harm you.” The woman did not look at him and she began to sob more fitfully than before.

  Sonya was in the doorway now. “Steve, leave her alone. You’ve scared her half to death already.”

  “I can’t leave her like this,” he said helplessly. He placed his hand beneath her chin and lifted slowly until she looked at him with teary and frightened eyes. “Listen to me,” he said to her. “What is your name?”

  The woman looked up at him with fear and confusion in her eyes. Steve wanted to kick himself for having spoken to her in English – he would have to be more careful of that in the future. “What is your name?” he asked again, this time in Mithalian.

  “My – my – my name…”

  Steve held her gently, trying his best to comfort her. He knew she was trying her best to answer, but fear was choking her words. “It’s all right,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The woman remained uncertain, but forced herself to find voice. “I am ca—called Ells.”

  “Ells,” Steve repeated. “My name is Steve, and she is Sonya,” he said indicating his friend.

  Sonya heard her name and then gave a small wave and a nervous smile. Ells in turn nodded and spoke something to her Sonya did not understand.

  “You don’t need to call her that,” Steve said, still in Mithalian. “Sonya is not a Lady.” He frowned at how incredibly awkward that sounded and was infinitely glad Sonya did not understand him. “What I mean is, I am not a lord, and she is not ‘Lady Sonya’. It’s just plain Steve and Sonya. We’re new in town.”

  Ells, having somewhat collected herself, took a step back from Steve. “But the way you are dressed – you are not farmers.”

  “No, we’re not,” Steve affirmed. “It’s like I said, we’re new in town. We don’t know anyone, we have no money, but we’re very hungry. We’ve been going around trying to find someone who will give us food in exchange for work.”

  “Work?” Ells said dumbfounded.

  Steve nodded. “Yes, but everyone we went to would not even speak to us and by the time we came here…well, I apologize for letting my temper get the best of me. That was wrong.”

  “You do not work for Borathis then?” Ells asked.

  Steve shrugged, “I don’t even know who the guy is.”

  “Oh, thank all the angels of Heaven!” Ells breathed in relief. “I thought my husband and I were to be punished.”

  Sonya saw Ells’s relief written clearly upon her face and took a couple of steps inside.

  Ells wiped the tears from her eyes. “Yes, please come in. I am sorry about the misunderstanding.”

  Steve knew Sonya did not understand Ells, but she clearly knew a welcome when she heard one. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  “You’re sorry? I really don’t think you have anything to apologize for,” Steve said sheepishly. “I’m the one who screwed up and acted like a boorish ass.”

  “Screwed up?” Ells asked.

  “Made the mistake,” he explained.

  Ells smiled, “That is all right. You seem to have been treated very poorly by us. Hospitality is something of a lost custom nowadays, I am afraid.”

  Sonya stepped up beside Steve and slipped her hand in his.

  Ells saw this and smiled. “You are married?”

  “No,” they both replied, and then glanced at each other embarrassed.

  Ells looked puzzled and was about to ask another question when Steve spoke first. “She can’t speak or understand the language unless–“ He hesitated. He knew what he was about to say was probably better left unsaid, but how else could he explain? “Unless she can touch me.”

  At first the woman appeared not to understand, then her eyes widened and she gasped. “Magic?”

  “Yes,” Steve admitted, closing his eyes at having to do so.

  “You are a wizard, then?”

  “No, that’s all I can do.” It was a lie, he knew, but his gut told him the less information he gave the better.

  “I see,” she said. “Well, no matter.”

  All three of them turned their heads at the sound of heavy footsteps on the front porch. The front door swung open and a large man in a sweaty homespun tunic and belted breeches carrying a sack of tools stood in the doorway. He stopped up short when he spied Steve and Sonya, then saw his wife standing before them with tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes.

  Without a word, he dropped his sack and bounded across the room bellowing like a great bear. Steve scooped Sonya in his arms and swung her into a corner of the room. At the same time, Ells ran to the large man and met him halfway. He wrapped his arms around her and held her protectively.

  “Ells, are you all right?” he asked.

  “I am well, husband. It is all right, they are friends.”

  The man looked away from his wife to Steve and Sonya in the far corner of the room. “But their dress—they look…”

  “They are not,” Ells said placing a comforting hand on his chest. “They are but strangers in this land. They seek only food and shelter in exchange for work.”

  The large man inhaled deeply, visibly r
elaxing at that, and then nodded to Steve. “My apologies. I acted without thinking.”

  Steve nodded. “It’s okay. Seems to be going around.”

  “I am Bareg,” the big man said. He gestured with one hand to the humble living space that served as a common room. “And you are welcome here.”

  Sonya stepped out from behind Steve, still clasping his hand firmly in her own. Steve could feel her trembling. Bareg must have given her a heck of a fright.

  “My name is Steve, and this is Sonya.”

  Bareg bowed with surprising grace for such a large man living in the sticks. He was obviously used to performing the courtesy. “Mi’lady,” he greeted. Sonya returned the gesture with a curtsy, and Bareg looked surprised. “Mi’lady, you do not need to grant me such an honor. I am only a farmer.”

  “And we’re not royalty,” Steve put in. “I am not a lord and she is—“ (he had nearly said it again!) “Lady is not Sonya’s title,” he corrected. “We’re just like you, Bareg. Just people.”

  Bareg smiled from ear to ear. “Well, royalty or no, it has been too long since we have entertained guests. You are welcome in my home.”

  Ells looked up at her husband. “They are hungry. I will go and fix something to eat.”

  “Oh, we couldn’t!” Sonya said suddenly.

  Bareg laughed wholeheartedly in a deep baritone. “Nonsense! You came here to make a trade: food for work. The boy will work off your meals with me out back. There is a lot of wood which needs be split and he looks as though he has a strong back.”

  Steve and Sonya looked to each other a moment, and then Steve held out his hand saying, “You’ve got a deal.”

  “Wonderful!” Bareg said accepting his hand. “We will start after you have eaten.”

  The soup served turned out to be a watered down beef broth and the bread dry, but Steve could not remember anything ever tasting so good in his life. Glancing over at Sonya, she too did not seem to have any objections. Although she wolfed her food down just as quickly, she did manage a slightly more dainty wolfing than Steve.

  When they had finished Sonya helped Ells with the cleaning of the crude wooden bowls and utensils, while Bareg and Steve went to the woodpile out back.