A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5)

by E. Rose Sabin

  He twisted the knob. It refused to turn. He pulled, afraid he’d pull down the whole door. It stayed firmly in place, and it stayed firmly shut. He walked around it and tried to open the other side, wondering whether, if he did so, he’d go through to the place Trevor had gone or to somewhere else. He would never know. The door resisted all attempts to open it.

  Frustrated, he walked back to the pile of pelts, sat down, knees drawn up, and watched the door. Time passed. Veronica did not return. What could he do? He had never felt so helpless.

  As time dragged on, he began to feel that Trevor had been right after all. They should not have come here. He should have listened, shouldn’t have dismissed his friend’s distaste as mere reluctance. He could not undo what was done, but it galled him to do nothing but wait. Could he break through the door? Use a table as a battering ram? That probably would not work on a magical door, but if Veronica did not get back soon, he’d have to try.

  Trevor woke with a start. He hadn’t meant to doze off. With all the dangers in the woods, he had to stay on guard. The loss of the ax left him weaponless, and in his weakened state he couldn’t use his power. Helpless to defend himself, he didn’t want anything sneaking up on him.

  What had awakened him? He heard a twitter of birds, a background chorus of chirring insects. Those sounds had been present all along. He sat up, cocked his head, and listened.

  Was that a footstep, that soft crunch of leaves? Yes, someone—or something—was walking toward him. He tensed, looked for a place to hide.

  Too late. He should have crawled earlier to a more sheltered spot. With his injured leg, he’d never make it now. The footsteps grew louder, closer. A woman stepped out from among the trees.

  A young woman, unusually tall, she wore a long, loose-fitting white garment of soft cambric, a dressing gown, unsuited for tramping about through the woods. Her hair fell in two long braids that hung over her shoulders and curved over her breasts.

  She saw Trevor and stopped short, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. She whirled, ran back the way she’d come.

  “Wait!” Trevor called after her. “Help me! Please!”

  She’d already passed from sight in the gathering dusk. He held his breath, waiting, hoping.

  He heard her footsteps approach, slow and cautious. She came into sight but stopped several feet distant. “What—who—are you?” she asked in a quavering voice.

  “I’m Trevor Blake. I came here to gather firewood. I was chased by snakes, stung by bees, and a water monster took a bite out of my leg.” He used both hands to lift his injured leg so that she could see the bloody wound.

  “Oh!” She came a step nearer. “But how did you get here? There shouldn’t be anyone else here.”

  He didn’t think he should tell her of Veronica and the door. Instead, he said, “Are these your private woods?”

  “No, I guess not.” She took another step toward him. “But I’ve never seen anybody here before.” She looked wary, frightened. “Though I’ve never come this far. I was following a ghost.”

  “A ghost!” Just his luck. The only other person anywhere near, and she was insane.

  “Well, I don’t know what else to call it. It was like a white mist drifting down the trail in front of me. It was shaped a little like a man. I could see through it. It vanished just before I saw you.”

  Trevor despaired. This woman was not going to be of any help to him.

  She walked to his side, stared down. She was younger than he’d thought, maybe sixteen or seventeen. A nasty bruise discolored the left side of her face.

  His own face must look much worse, he thought, puffy as it was from the bee stings. Maybe his appearance was what was frightening her so.

  She knelt beside him, touched him lightly on the cheek. He winced from the pain of even that soft pressure on his swollen flesh. She jerked her hand away, but slowly extended it again and placed her palm on his cheek. He cried out in pain, lifted his hand to push hers away.

  Her other hand caught his. “Be still,” she said. “I’ll heal you.”

  As she spoke, he felt the swelling go down. The pain lessened.

  In a moment she moved her hand. “That takes care of the bee stings,” she said. “Now I’ll look to your leg.” She shifted her position to sit beside the mauled leg. This time she placed both hands over the wound, and again the pressure of her touch made him yell. She grimaced but did not pull her hands away. The process took longer than with the bee stings, but he felt his leg warm and tingle and itch like a healing scab so that it was all he could do not to push her hands away and scratch. He gritted his teeth and waited, and minutes later the itching stopped, and a few minutes after that she moved her hands, and he leaned over to look and saw only healthy skin with not a trace of a scar.

  She stood, and he rose to stand beside her. She was taller than he by several inches.

  “Thanks,” he said, embarrassed by the inadequacy of the word. “I don’t know your name.”

  “It’s Miryam,” she said shyly.

  He lifted his hand to her face, brushed the bruise with a finger. “You’re hurt, too,” he said. “Why don’t you heal yourself?”

  “It—it isn’t that bad.” She dropped her gaze, backed away. “I have to go.”

  “But you can’t leave me. I don’t know how to find my way out.” He heard the plaintive whine in his voice and, angered with himself, said gruffly, “Finish what you started, girl. What good will your healing do if you refuse to guide me out of here? You seem to know the way, and this place is dangerous.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, “I guess it is, for someone who doesn’t belong here.”

  “Well, I don’t belong here. I have no protection against wild animals, and night’s coming.”

  “You’re gifted, aren’t you? You couldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

  He couldn’t deny it. Now that he was healed, he could use his power. But even with power he had no desire to stay in these woods, weaponless, after dark. “A woman named Veronica sent me here,” he said. “Do you know her?”

  “No. I’ve heard the name.” Her frightened look returned, and she turned and headed down the path.

  He caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “I’m coming with you,” he insisted.

  “Can’t this Veronica get you out?”

  “I don’t trust her,” he said. “She may never come back for me. You have to lead me out.”

  She awarded him a long, measured look. “Danger is not only in the woods.” She touched her bruised face. “But come on, then. I’ve stayed here far too long.” She set off at a brisk pace. He had to step quickly to match her long strides.

  Concentrating on keeping up with her, he paid scant attention to his surroundings. In the growing darkness he could see little beyond the path. The trees became banks of shadow, distinguished only when they thrust out their roots to trip him, or stretched their limbs across the path, forcing him to duck.

  They encountered a jumble of roots, intertwined in such a way that they had to ascend them like steps.

  Very like steps.

  Trevor looked at the tree from which they protruded. His gaze followed the massive trunk upward to a mat of branches high overhead, solid as a ceiling.

  Eyes off the path, he stumbled, put out a hand to catch himself, rubbed his palm along the trunk of the tree.

  No tree was that smooth. And surely these were steps he climbed. They were too evenly spaced, too carefully shaped to be anything else.

  Wooden steps ascending along a frame wall. At the top of the steps a sharp turn. In front of them a heavy gray curtain. From beyond it a man’s voice shouting, “Miryam. Miryam, where are you hiding, you lazy slug? Get in here.”

  His guide’s shoulders slumped; she seemed to shrink.

  Her white-sleeved arm swept aside the curtain, and she stepped through the passage. Trevor followed into a narrow hallway lit by a single bright overhead light. She’d led him out of that strange w
orld into which Veronica had sent him and back to his own world, without using Veronica’s mysterious door.

  “Miryam,” the voice bellowed again. “If I have to come find you—” The angry voice sounded vaguely familiar.

  “I’m coming,” Miryam called out. But her steps dragged as she trudged toward a door.

  Trevor caught her arm. “What’s happening? Where are we? Who is that?”

  She yanked her arm from his grasp. “I warned you not to come,” she whispered and opened the door.

  Trevor glanced behind him to find an escape route. The gray curtain was gone, replaced by a solid wall. However, the wall beside him held a second door, so this was not a dead end. Reassured, he followed Miryam.

  She stood before a man lounging in an overstuffed easy chair. “Damn you,” he harangued her, “you know what time I expect supper. Where is it? Get it up here! I—”

  He broke off, craned his neck to peer past her at Trevor.

  Sitting up, he pushed Miryam aside, giving Trevor a clear view. No wonder the voice had seemed familiar. The man who glared at him, face suffused with anger, was Carl.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DECOY

  “Trevor! What a surprise.” Carl leaped out of his chair.

  The shock of recognition paralyzed Trevor for a single fateful moment. By the time he lunged for Carl, the con man had lowered his head and slammed into Trevor’s chest, knocking him backward through the open doorway.

  He recovered his balance barely in time to fend off a second blow and get in a punch and knee jab of his own. Carl staggered back, and Trevor threw himself on top of him. The two thrashed about on the hall floor, slamming into the walls, battering each other, neither able to gain the advantage.

  Belatedly Trevor thought to use his power. He hurled a blast of force that at such close range should have knocked Carl unconscious.

  The force bounced harmlessly off Carl and boomeranged. Trevor hadn’t thought to shield. The rebound slammed into his brain, bringing pain and blackness.

  Consciousness crept back in a haze of hurt. His head throbbed, his ears buzzed, and his muscles ached. When he tried to move, he discovered that he was in a straight-backed wooden chair, his arms pulled behind the chair’s back and his wrists bound so tightly that his hands were numb. His ankles were also tied, and rope was wound around his legs and the legs of the chair, making it impossible for him to shift position.

  He lifted his head and willed his eyes to focus. His gaze fell on Carl, straddling a second wooden chair and leaning forward against its back. Carl broke into a broad smile and rocked his chair exuberantly.

  “Welcome, my friend. I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you decided to drop in. You’re exactly who I needed to see. You couldn’t have come at a more propitious time.” The thin blond mustache bobbed up and down as Carl delivered his hearty greeting.

  “You lousy thief! You stole everything I had. What more do you want?”

  Carl rubbed his hands together in glee. “Ah, what more do I want? That is the question.” He scooted his chair with a loud screech across the bare wooden floor and thrust his face so close to Trevor’s that Trevor could smell his garlic-and-wine-laden breath. “What I want is entry into the Community of the Gifted. I’ve been intrigued by the letters of introduction I found in the packet along with the gold and silver you so generously provided for me. I decided to impersonate you, present the letters, and see what opportunities they open up for me. Unfortunately, the letters speak of your friend Les and his problem of not being able to find his gift. I thought I was going to have to recruit a friend to play Les’s part, which would have been tricky. It isn’t easy to impersonate someone who tests high in talent but doesn’t exhibit any evidence of gifts. With you as a lure to acquire Les’s cooperation, I’ll have the original article.” He threw back his head and laughed.

  Trevor spoke through teeth clenched in anger. “If you think I’ll help you find Les—”

  “Oh, I know you will,” Carl said through his laughter. “You won’t have any choice.” He jumped to his feet and swung the chair behind him. “Miryam!” he shouted. “Come here!”

  The girl who’d led him into this trap entered the room. She’d changed out of the dressing gown she’d had on before; she now wore a brown twill skirt, a long-sleeved white blouse, and over them a white muslin apron. She looked frightened; her eyes were red as though she’d been crying, and she avoided Trevor’s gaze.

  Carl grabbed her arm, jerked her toward him, and with his other hand grasped her chin and forced her face upward. “Trevor,” he said, “this is my sister, Miryam. She’s a bit foolish, but she has enough sense to do what I tell her. Don’t you, Miryam?”

  His fingers dug into her flesh. She couldn’t have answered if she wanted to, not with his grip on her jaw. He shook her head, released his hold, leaving ugly red marks on her face. “Don’t you?” he repeated.

  She nodded.

  “Miryam has some useful talents,” Carl said. “She’ll stay here with you. You’ll tell her where Les is, and she’ll go and fetch him for me.”

  Trevor strained uselessly against his ropes. “You’re crazy! You won’t drag Les into this. I won’t tell her or you anything.”

  “You will, though. Sooner or later you will. I’ll leave you two to chat while I finish the supper Miryam so lovingly fixed for me.” Smiling, he brushed past Miryam and left the room.

  Miryam collapsed onto the chair Carl had vacated and sat hunched over, her hands between her legs, rocking back and forth, moaning. Her hair fell across her face, hiding it from him, but her misery was obvious. As furious as he was with Carl, Trevor could not be angry with the unhappy girl. She clearly did not approve of Carl’s actions, but for some reason she was terrified of him. If Trevor could persuade her to help him …

  “You don’t want to help Carl, do you?” Trevor asked gently. “Is he really your brother? You’re Miryam Holdt?”

  “Miryam Vedreaux,” she said in a barely audible voice, still rocking. “He’s my half brother.”

  “Why do you let him treat you that way?”

  She didn’t answer, didn’t raise her head.

  Trevor tried again. “Miryam, you must have a lot of power. If you don’t like what your brother is doing, you can fight him. You don’t have to suffer like this.”

  She spoke in a soft whisper without raising her head. He had to strain to hear her. “You don’t understand. He controls me. I can’t break free.”

  “That’s nonsense. Look, I’ll help you. With my power added to yours, we can defeat him. Untie me.”

  She shook her head.

  “You can’t let him get away with this,” Trevor said urgently. “You don’t have to. Help me. Let me help you.”

  “You can’t help me. No one can,” the sad voice murmured.

  “Don’t be such a weakling! Of course you can be helped.” The words burst from Trevor. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll show you what I can do.”

  She looked up, meeting his gaze at last. “We can’t get out, and you can’t help me. You can’t do anything except what Carl wants you to do.”

  Trevor’s anger flared. “You’re just being stubborn!” He struggled uselessly against the tight ropes. “How can you let him treat me like this?”

  “I don’t have any choice. The only way … Look, tell me about your friend. About Les.”

  The request calmed Trevor. Maybe if he talked quietly to her, he’d win her confidence. She was terrified of her brother; he’d have to overcome that. He had to think, to block out his physical discomfort: the chafing ropes, the cramping muscles. Take it slow, he told himself. She’s got a soft heart. Play on that. Take her mind off herself——make her think of Les.

  “Les and I grew up together,” he told her. “Our families lived on adjoining farms. All through school we got in mischief together, helped each other out, shared dreams.” As he spoke, his mind reviewed all its pictures of Les and him together as children, as schoolboys,
as teenagers helping their fathers with the plowing and harvesting, caring for the animals. “My parents didn’t want anyone to know I was gifted. They forbade me to use my power. But Les knew. I guess he envied me a little, but he never let it hurt our friendship. He’s a great friend—the best. Your brother’s crazy if he thinks I’d put Les in danger.”

  “My brother probably is crazy,” she said quietly. “But he’s clever. He always knows how to get exactly what he wants.”

  “Well, this time he won’t. I couldn’t lead him to Les if I wanted to. I don’t know how to find him from wherever it is I am.”

  “But you can mindsend and call him to you.”

  “How would he know how to get here? Anyway, I won’t do that. He’s in a safe place, and he’ll stay there.” Trevor thought of Veronica. Much as he mistrusted the little woman, she had power, plenty of it. She’d heard his sending, healed Les, and gotten them out of jail. As long as Les was in that crazy-looking house of hers, he was safe from Carl.

  His mind played over their rescue, the walk from the jail with Veronica haranguing and lecturing him the whole way. He saw again the odd, domed house, so incongruous in the block of ugly tenements, so seemingly impervious to the degradation of the neighborhood. That round house was a magical fortress. Unless Les was lured outside, Carl would never be able to get to him.

  Miryam jumped up. “Be careful,” she shouted, and with that despairing cry, she ran from the room. Puzzled, Trevor stared after her.

  He was still trying to make sense of Miryam’s unexpected flight when Carl strode into the room. “Good boy!” he boomed, walking over to slap Trevor on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you. You gave Miryam the information she needed to find your friend.”

  What was he talking about? He’d given nothing—

  His mind! She’d read his mind! He should have known. He knew she had extraordinary talent. But no more than Veronica.