A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5)

by E. Rose Sabin

  “Quite real,” Veronica said.

  “Then he’s really in danger?” Les headed for the door.

  Veronica stretched out her arm and stopped him. “Danger is everywhere. He must learn caution. Where I’ve sent him he’ll have the opportunity to learn it without endangering anyone else while he does so.”

  She hadn’t eased his concern for Trevor. Les tried to move around her to reach the door. She clasped his wrist in a steely grip and pulled him back as easily as if he had been a child.

  “That door is not for you. You may not pass through it. Come, let us have tea.”

  She scooped tea leaves into a ceramic teapot, filled the pot with boiling water, and set it on one of the small tables along with two cups. Les noted with mild amusement that the teapot was old, its lid cracked and glued together. The cups didn’t match, and one had a chipped rim. He saw no chairs in the room. Probably she did not often have guests.

  “While the tea steeps, you can tell me more about yourself,” she said. “I especially want to know why you are so willing to follow your reckless friend. You should be the leader. Why do you let him lead you—into trouble, it seems.”

  “He’s not always reckless,” Les defended Trevor. “Not usually—well, not often.”

  “Mmm. So you say. I’ll wager you don’t believe that yourself.”

  He had to grin then. She had both him and Trevor neatly pegged. “We’ve been friends for a long time—all our lives, in fact.”

  “So you’re both eighteen?”

  “I’m a few months older; he’s still seventeen.”

  She scowled. “You’re older, yet you seem content to let Trevor lead. Why?”

  “I guess,” he said slowly, “it always seemed natural to let him take the lead because of his special powers. When we were younger, I was in awe of them. Then, well, he didn’t use them much as we got older, but I always knew … I mean, he could do so many things I couldn’t do …”

  He let his voice trail off as he realized how lame his explanation sounded.

  “Hmmph. Well, let’s have our tea.” She lifted the teapot, poured the tea into the cups, and handed him one. A few leaves floated in the amber liquid, and he wondered absurdly whether she read them.

  “Do you take sugar, cream, or lemon?” she asked.

  Seeing none of those items anywhere about, he shook his head and sipped the tea. It was surprisingly good, with a mellow taste that made him think of a rain-drenched forest. He did find it soothing, and drinking it while standing encouraged him to finish it quickly. He set the empty cup back on the table.

  She drained her cup and set it beside his. “Now,” she said, “let’s discover your gifts.” Taking his arm, she led him to the table that held the crystal ball.

  “Put your hands around it, like so.” She demonstrated, placing her hands on either side of the crystal. He followed suit, his larger hands encircling the sphere so that only its top was visible. Cold at first, the crystal warmed beneath his touch.

  Veronica stared at the portion visible between his hands. “Soon,” she muttered softly as if to herself, “soon we shall know.”

  Trevor stumbled dazedly through the door and found himself in a grassy meadow sprinkled with wildflowers. Golden butterflies darted from flower to flower. In the nearby woods, a bird sang. No gift or power that he had heard of could create a door into another place. This must be an illusion. But if so, it was an incredibly good one. Breathing deeply the fresh, sweet air, he strode toward the trees.

  It was impossible for that eccentric little woman to have created such an elaborate illusion. Or to have sent him here, if it was real. Something or someone else had to be behind this feat. He resolved to ferret out the answer.

  He recalled how easily she had healed Les. But healing was not an unusual gift. This was something new, something beyond his understanding.

  Passing into the woods, he looked back to be sure he could see the door. How odd it looked, the plain wooden door standing in the middle of a grassy field. He peered beyond it, where the grassland gave way to rolling hills. Nowhere did he see evidence of human habitation.

  Hefting the ax, he searched for dead branches or fallen limbs. A partially uprooted tree leaned against its healthier neighbors. He recalled Veronica’s warning not to chop whole trees, but this tree was nearly dead, and by itself it would provide all the wood he needed. It was large for his ax, but its dry wood would burn well. He could use power to increase the force of the axe.

  A jade-green snake with eyes like opals glided across the path, slithered among the uplifted roots of his chosen tree, and vanished.

  “Hope that’s not your home, fella . If it is, you’re about to be evicted.”

  He raised the ax, brought it down against the trunk of the tree. Chips flew, the tree shook, a gash sliced into its side. He lifted the axe, brought it down again. The gash widened.

  A third blow split the tree. Its top fell away and crashed onto the leaf-carpeted ground.

  Green tentacles sprouted from the hollow trunk and resolved themselves into snakes—hundreds of them. Hissing, ruby tongues darting, opal eyes glittering, they poured from the tree and streamed toward him.

  He turned and ran. The rustling of leaves behind him told him they followed. He dodged around trees and leaped over stumps and low shrubs. The snakes surged over the obstacles and pressed close behind him.

  A stream crossed his path. He saw it too late to check his speed. He leaped across, slid on the other bank, sprawled full-length in the mud.

  The sound of splashes told him the snakes were crossing the stream.

  He hauled himself to his feet and ran forward. A furious splashing and thrashing made him slow and risk a glance back at the stream.

  He stared transfixed. An eely creature with a long snout had stuck its sinuous neck above the surface and was gobbling down the snakes, some of which hung from its jaws like strands of seaweed.

  The snakes that escaped that toothy maw slithered up onto the muddy bank and glided about aimlessly, their crusade forgotten.

  Trevor shouldered his ax and walked away from the stream. He’d gone only a few steps when he realized that his wild dash had taken him far from his point of entry, and he no longer had any idea where the door was.

  And he hadn’t gathered any firewood.

  One thing he knew: He had to get back across the stream. But he had no desire to encounter either the snakes or their fearsome nemesis. He struck out on a course that took him parallel to the stream so that he could cross it well beyond the place of danger.

  A fallen limb blocked his path. He raised his ax and considered. Would this one, too, contain snakes?

  But he had come for firewood and would be ashamed to return empty-handed. He swung the axe. It split the limb.

  A swarm of bees flew up at him. Surrounded by their angry buzzing, pierced in arms, neck, and face with dozens of fiery stingers, he swung the ax to fend off the enraged insects and leaped into the stream.

  It was deeper than he’d thought. He plunged beneath the water until the clinging bees floated off. The icy water eased the agony of the stings.

  He stayed beneath the water until his lungs ached and he had to breathe. He surfaced and drew in another breath. A wild buzzing and sharp stabs on his scalp and forehead sent him back beneath the water. He swam upstream to get away from his tormentors.

  Powerful jaws closed over his leg; pain stabbed through his ankle. He twisted around. The snake killer had grabbed him, was tearing at his leg, pulling him beneath the water.

  He aimed the ax and used his power to drive its blade through the creature’s long neck.

  The water turned red, the jaws loosed their hold. He called the ax to him. It flew toward his hand, green snakes clinging to its handle and pouring into the water from the creature’s severed neck.

  With a cry he let the ax fall into the water, and he clambered up onto the bank.

  Which bank? He didn’t know, and with the snakes behind
him he couldn’t worry about it.

  Weaponless, dragging one foot, he looked for a way of escape.

  He stumbled forward a few steps, heard a loud buzzing, saw the cloud of bees descending on him, and tried to run faster. A low growl in front of him stopped him as the bees descended.

  A creature the size of a large bear ambled toward him on two legs. Its front paws bore long, curving claws. A long, hoselike snout seemed to sniff the air.

  Trevor groaned and tried to turn aside and run in another direction. His injured foot gave way. He sprawled forward, and a blanket of bees spread over him. Snakes slithered over his legs. He fainted.

  He awakened to pain in every part of his body. Something hot and moist was moving back and forth across his legs. The snakes? He lay still, not daring to move, not sure he could move. But he heard no more buzzing of bees, and gradually he became convinced that what he felt moving across his back was not the snakes. He remembered the beast he’d seen. He turned his head, got one swollen eye open enough to make out a blurry image.

  The creature was bending over him, swinging its nose across Trevor’s skin and clothing. As he watched, the nose stopped, a long slender tongue snapped out, snared a bee, and retracted with its prize. Trevor let his head fall back to the ground. The probing and the licks continued. Trevor fainted again, or perhaps he merely slept. When he woke, the creature had left.

  He managed to roll over and sit up despite his swollen flesh. A few dead snakes lay scattered around him; the rest were gone. He leaned forward and looked at his injured leg. It was soaked in blood. He tore his trouser away from the wound and examined the deep gashes left by the water monster’s teeth. One of those gashes went all the way to the bone, and although the bleeding had slowed to a trickle, if he tried to walk it would start again. He had lost a lot of blood. To keep from losing more, he fashioned a strip torn from his trousers into a tourniquet.

  He tried to stand. A wave of dizziness slammed him back to the ground. Black swirls enfolded him; he struggled to stay conscious.

  If he could find the strength to send, who would hear? This place, wherever it was, was far from Port-of-Lords. Only the door linked it with Veronica’s strange house, and he wasn’t sure a sending would be heard beyond that door.

  He had to try. But in his weakness he could manage only a plea so feeble he sensed that it did not pass the nearest tree.

  Was he doomed to die here in this terrible, nameless place?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LOST

  Les stared at the portion of globe visible between his encircling hands. Veronica’s gaze had been fixed unblinkingly on that circlet of crystal for some time. Her lips moved occasionally in the way of one reading to herself. To him she said nothing, and her expression of intense concentration warned him not to distract her with questions. He leaned closer, hoping to see what she saw, but viewed only the reflection of his own face, its features distorted by the curved surface.

  He grew weary standing and wondered that Veronica did not. The room held no chairs or furniture other than the profusion of tables.

  He itched to examine the odd assortment of articles hung about the room. Hex materials, Trevor had called them in derision, but the door that stood mysteriously in the center of the room and opened onto another place, perhaps another world, offered proof that Veronica was no mere hex witch.

  His gaze swung to the door. Such an ordinary-looking object, had it been in a normal place. So alien, so obtrusive where it was. He kept his gaze fixed on it for a time, willing it to open and Trevor to stride through with an armload of firewood.

  The door remained closed. He returned his gaze to Veronica.

  “Most peculiar,” she muttered, shaking her head. She removed her hands from the crystal, and he dropped his own away. He tried again to peer into the globe, but it was clouded; nothing could be seen within and its surface no longer reflected an image.

  “What did you learn?” he dared to ask.

  “That the problem is more complex than I’d thought,” she answered.

  “The crystal didn’t tell you anything?”

  “The crystal told me much. It confirmed what I’d suspected: You are a great conduit of power.”

  “Conduit of power? What does that mean?”

  “We say the gifted have power, but that isn’t accurate. We receive power from the Power-Giver, who in turn receives it from a Dire Lord. The power is one, but as it flows through different people, it produces different gifts and manifests itself in various ways.” She plucked a small packet from a dangling net, slipped a flask from a looped cord, and untied the knotted thread that held a slender glass wand. She carried these items to a triangular table holding a silver goblet.

  “In some the power falls like a slow and gentle rain, soaking a wide area but with a diffuse force.” Opening the packet, she sprinkled a white powder into the goblet. “Such people have many talents, and often impress and even frighten others by the range of their abilities, but they cannot sustain or focus the power to achieve important and long-lasting results. They are often called witches or illusionists, because their gifts, while genuine, have the quality of parlor tricks.

  “Into others the power pours like a fountain.” She uncorked the flask and poured a red liquid into the goblet. “These are gifted with no more than two or three talents, but those are strong and deep. It is they whom normals fear for the harm they can do. Some can bind demons to their bidding. Others can coerce weaker subjects to do their will. Some can shape-change and roam as an animal, occasionally inflicting harm. Others create havoc by mimicking the appearance of another person. But in this group also are those who use their talents for great good. Some are healers, some are truth readers, some are finders of the lost.

  “Into a very few the power strikes deep and sure like an arrow.” She thrust the glass wand into the goblet. “Those rare souls have but a single talent. It may be of such nature that it can be used but once. But it is of immense strength; none can overcome it.

  “Finally, there are those, drawn primarily from the second group, on rare occasions from the first, who through rigorous self-discipline, meditation, and sacrifice are able to open themselves fully to the flow of power, allowing it to so permeate them that they become nothing more than channels of power. They are the Adepts.” With the glass wand she stirred vigorously until the powder dissolved fully.

  “You are an Adept, aren’t you?” he asked as the insight burst on him.

  She smiled and held the frothy mixture out to him. “Drink this.”

  “What is it?”

  “It will place you in a dream state that I can enter to explore the paths of power within your mind.”

  “You mean it will let you read my mind?”

  With a pained look she drew back the proffered goblet. “I read no one’s thoughts without express permission. Had I intended such a thing, I would have told you. You must trust me. Your thoughts and memories will remain inviolate.”

  Shamed, he reached for the goblet. It was less than half filled with the foamy red liquid.

  “The effect lasts only a short time,” she told him as he gazed into the cup. “Less than an hour, I’d say.”

  Without a word he drank it down. The taste was not unpleasant—fruity and a little sweet. Only that.

  “Good,” she said when he handed back the empty goblet. Taking him by the wrist, she led him across the room. He looked closely at the door as they passed it, standing solid and substantial in the room’s center. Shouldn’t Trevor have returned? He opened his mouth to ask but yawned instead. No point in voicing his concern. Veronica knew what she was about. He would trust her as she’d asked.

  She released his wrist and piled together several of the pelts that covered the floor. “Lie down,” she said.

  He was glad to do so. His limbs were growing numb, and he wanted to relax.

  The pelts were soft and inviting. Smiling, he stretched out on them. “Feels good,” he murmured, overwhelmed by
a marvelous sense of well-being. A wonderful place, this was, and Veronica was kind and wise and generous. Too bad Trevor wasn’t here. Good old Trev. Best buddy a guy could have. He yawned again, a yawn that stretched the muscles of his face. He curled up, burrowed down into the soft fur, eyes closed, drifting in happiness.

  Trevor would enjoy this. Where is Trev? Have to find him. So much fog. Trev. Lost in fog. Trev. Trev, where are you? No answer. Can’t find him. Nothing here but fog and shadows. Shifting, twisting shadows. Swirling shapes. Gray. Black.

  And white. One white form. Tall, graceful. Moving through the shadows. Here. I’m here. But the form moves past, drifts away. Gone. Alone.

  No, not alone. Other shapes form, dissolve before he reaches them. Trevor. He’s sure one is Trevor, but it turns away, drifts out of reach, disappears. He’s alone again. Alone.

  He tossed, moaned. Opened his eyes.

  Veronica bent over him, frowning. “There, now, had a bad reaction, didn’t you? I didn’t expect that. Shouldn’t have happened.” She helped him sit up. “You should have felt content, happy—nothing more.”

  “I did feel that way.” Les shook his head to clear it. “Until I started seeing shapes. I thought I saw Trevor. Why isn’t he back?”

  Her scowl deepened. “Trevor, always Trevor. He’ll be the death of you, lad.”

  “But shouldn’t he be back with the firewood by now? How long was I out?”

  “About half an hour. And, yes, he should. I suppose I’ll have to go see what trouble he’s got himself into. He wants looking after, he does, but you shouldn’t have to be the one who always has to do it.”

  “I won’t be this time. Not if you go,” Les pointed out reasonably. “And you haven’t told me what you read in my mind. Did you discover my talents?”

  She pursed her lips, looked toward the freestanding door, and didn’t answer.

  “Well?” he prodded.

  She walked to the door. “Some things you’re better off not knowing.”

  He pushed himself to his feet and headed after her. Still woozy, he stumbled, regained his balance, but failed to reach the door before she stepped through it and closed it behind her.