A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5)

by E. Rose Sabin

  She blinked, releasing him. “I thought for a moment I saw her,” she said slowly, as if awakening from a dream. “She slipped away.”

  Her shoulders drooped with fatigue. He stepped forward, drew her into his arms. She sagged against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

  “Please, Veronica,” he pleaded aloud, “help us.”

  A moth darted in front of his face.

  “Come on,” he said.

  The insect was winging its way out of the clearing. Leading Miryam, he followed it.

  “What is it?” Miryam asked.

  “A chance. Maybe.” He kept his eyes on the moth.

  It wasn’t easy to spot when it darted through the trees. Its light color made it visible, but only as a ghostly fleck that winked out among the leaves of a low branch, reappeared beyond it, and vanished again.

  He searched where he had last seen it, caught a fleeting glimpse of something fluttering over a patch of ground shrub, and forged on.

  Miryam stayed with him. They splashed across a narrow and fortunately shallow stream. He squished along in wet shoes over rocks, through brambles, under low-hanging branches, on an erratic course that led them from the trees into a broad meadow. Only a short distance into it he realized he’d lost the moth. Or maybe it had never been there. He had wished for help so desperately that perhaps his mind had created the moth out of nothing more than a speck of starlight reflected on glossy leaves.

  Miryam regarded him with bewilderment. He had no idea what to tell her.

  “You both give up too easily.”

  Les whirled around.

  Veronica, hands on her hips, regarded them with a stern look. “You’ve got to be made of stronger stuff if you hope to defeat Berne Tenney,” she said, glaring at Miryam. “Make no mistake, he must be defeated now that you’ve shown him how much power you have. He has Carl, and Carl controls that power. You’ve been thrust into a war, and you’ll need to employ every weapon at your command if you’re to survive.”

  Miryam threw herself at Veronica’s feet.

  “Please,” she said, embracing Veronica’s ankles, “we’ll do whatever you say if you’ll only help us.”

  “Will you, now?” Veronica asked, gazing down at Miryam’s bowed head. “You won’t like what I tell you to do. You have to stop letting your brother use you.”

  “Do you think I don’t want that?” Miryam was sobbing. “I don’t have any choice.”

  “Stand up,” Veronica commanded. “I can give you a choice. But it won’t be easy.”

  Miryam continued to cling to Veronica’s feet. “Tell me what to do,” she begged. “He’s pulling at me.”

  “Stand up,” Veronica repeated.

  Les bent to lift Miryam to her feet, but a sharp gesture from Veronica made him retreat. He watched helplessly as Miryam struggled slowly to her feet and stood with bowed head and sagging shoulders.

  “Straighten up!” Veronica snapped.

  “I have to go,” Miryam wailed. “He’s drawing me. I can’t help myself.”

  “You can,” Veronica said, “if you can endure the pain.”

  “Let me help her,” Les said, reaching toward her.

  “No!” Veronica’s order checked his movement.

  Miryam straightened her shoulders. She gave Les a quick glance, then looked directly at Veronica. “I won’t go,” she said in a low but firm voice.

  “Good,” Veronica said. “Keep saying that, and mean it.”

  Miryam’s face spasmed; her eyes rolled back. But she did not fall. “I won’t go,” she repeated. “I won’t.”

  Veronica motioned to Les, signaling him to stand behind Miryam. When he did, the Adept reached forward and caught his hands, so that Miryam stood within the circle of their arms.

  Miryam’s whole body trembled. Les was sure she would fall. But she stayed on her feet and opened her eyes. “He stopped,” she said. “Not for long, I don’t think, but—”

  “We don’t need long,” Veronica said. She dropped Les’s hands, raised her arms, and outlined a rectangle that became a door that they passed through into her table-filled room. Veronica pulled the door firmly shut, waved her hand, and the door vanished.

  “Come on,” she ordered, leading Miryam across the room. She pushed her down onto a thick, glossy black pelt. “We have to work fast. We have no time to waste. Get over here, Les. I’ll need your help.”

  He hurried around the tables, knocking his elbow against one while dodging the cords that swung clusters of herbs, small pots, and artist’s brushes into his face. When he reached Veronica’s side, she ordered him to sit next to Miryam on the pelt.

  “We’re going to disentangle the strands of power that bind her to her brother,” Veronica explained. “It will take a long time and cause her great pain. I can’t promise it won’t kill her.” She stopped and looked down at Miryam. “Are you willing to risk your life?”

  “If I truly have a chance of being free from Carl, yes,” Miryam said decisively. “I’ll take any chance for that.”

  “Good,” Veronica said. “Let’s begin.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ENTANGLEMENT

  While Veronica gathered materials from tables and untied objects from strings, Les sat beside Miryam on the fur. He wanted to encourage her but could think of nothing to say; he could only pat her hand.

  Veronica came up beside him and put her collection of items on the pelt. They looked harmless enough: a candle, a needle, a mass of black and white yarn tangled together, a pair of sewing scissors, a china cup, a sprig of some sweet-smelling herb, a pot filled with water, a hand mirror, and a smooth, oval stone that might have come from a river.

  “It is essential that you both trust me,” Veronica said. She sat opposite them on a pelt with broad gray and yellow stripes. “This is an extremely delicate procedure. If you resist at a critical moment, it can be fatal.”

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

  “I’m going to separate the strands of Carl’s power that are entangled with Miryam’s.”

  “Carl always told me that could never happen,” Miryam said in a timid voice. “He said we were bound for life.”

  “He certainly intended for that to be so,” Veronica said. “Yet I think separation is possible. The fact that your power allows you to enter another plane and he cannot follow you into it shows that a point of uniqueness remains to you. That is our starting point. We can work from that area to disentangle the mingled strands.”

  “He’ll know what you’re doing,” Miryam said. “He’ll fight it.”

  “Yes, of course he will,” Veronica said. “That is where Les comes in. Because he has power but his talent is inactive, he provides the perfect buffer. I’m going to follow a complicated procedure. I can’t explain it all, but briefly, Miryam, it involves channeling Carl’s power into Les as I separate it. It will be unpleasant for you, Les, but it won’t do permanent harm. The risk is to Miryam, not to you. It will put the power where Carl can’t draw on it. As he grows more helpless, you, Miryam, will be able to take over more of the work from me and direct your own freeing. You will see clearly what to do.

  “The process is extremely painful, and once begun, it cannot be stopped. If you attempt to halt it, you will not survive. You must understand that.”

  Les looked at Miryam. Always pale, her face was bleached of all color. Her hands shook. But she said, “I do understand. Go ahead. I’m ready.”

  “You, Les?” Veronica turned her gaze on him. “Are you willing to let me use your mind as a trap for Carl’s power?”

  “You’re sure he won’t be able to use me?”

  “I’m sure,” Veronica stated firmly.

  “His power won’t stay in my mind, will it?” Les asked.

  “I don’t know.” Veronica frowned. “It won’t be of any use to you if it does stay. It won’t combine with or change your gift. And the discomfort will last only while the procedure is under way. Afterwa
rd you won’t be aware of it at all.”

  “All right,” he said with a sharp intake of breath. “I’m ready to do anything that will save Miryam.”

  Veronica crumbled the sprig of dried herb into the pot of water and held the pot in her cupped hands. After a few seconds, steam rose from the pot, carrying with it a pleasant, lemony scent. Veronica poured the hot liquid into the cup and handed the cup to Miryam.

  “Drink this,” she said. “It will only relax you, not put you to sleep. I need you awake to help with the separation.”

  Miryam raised the cup to her lips, breathed deeply the scented steam, and drank. She handed the empty cup back to Veronica, and the Adept nodded approval.

  “You I must put into a trance,” she said to Les. “It will be light; you will be able to see and hear me.”

  She placed her fingertips on his temples and gazed into his eyes. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing deepened, and his limbs grew heavy. Veronica, seated in front of him, was bathed in an aura of light. The rest of the room receded into darkness.

  Miryam lay back, her head resting on Les’s thigh. The corona of light enveloped her. She smiled up at Les. “Give me your hand,” she whispered drowsily.

  He couldn’t move. He seemed to be in a waking dream. Miryam found his hand and clasped it against her breast. Veronica picked up the small stone and set it on Miryam’s forehead. Slowly it became transparent and acquired a golden glow as though a flame burned inside it.

  Les stared at the glowing stone. Reflected in it he saw Veronica, distorted by the curve of the stone, so that her body was tiny and distant but her hands, holding the mess of yarn, were large, filling the reflective surface of what was no longer a stone but a gleaming orange gem.

  And he was seeing into and through that gem, as though it were a window into Miryam’s head. Within, Veronica’s fingers plucked delicately at the yarn.

  “Miryam, I want you to think about the world you visit to get away from Carl,” Veronica instructed, her voice seeming to come from a great distance. “Think about it as though you were going there, though you will not do so.”

  As she spoke, her fingers slipped deeply into the tangle of yarn. Les watched them draw out a frayed white end piece.

  “Good, Miryam. Draw back slowly from that point, and follow the line of your power to where it joins with Carl’s.”

  The Adept’s hands tugged on the end of yarn; her fingers followed the white strand until it slipped into a knot of black yarn. Patiently her fingers worked at the white end, poked it through a black loop, and drew it out, followed it to another, larger knotted mass, worked at the snarls and loops, pushing and pulling, weaving her white thread in and out.

  Miryam gave a sudden moan and shook her head. The orange gem slid. Veronica caught and steadied it. “Don’t move,” she said. “I have to cut the knot.”

  The reflected hands took up the scissors, inserted the points into the knot, pried apart and snipped a piece of black yarn, and pulled the white strand loose. Miryam gave a sharp cry and arched her back.

  “Easy,” Veronica muttered, her fingers continuing to unravel the yarn. She held a black end as well as the white one and was untwisting the two and rolling them into separate balls in the palms of her hands.

  A stab of pain shot through Les’s head, passing through a spot at the top of his nose, between his eyes, and exiting through the back of his head. Something like a burning rope stretched between those points, sawing back and forth, bringing blinding agony. He couldn’t cry out, could hardly breathe, fought against being sick. His eyes remained open, but the gem window that had reflected Veronica’s movements became only an orange blur in which white and black threads twisted and writhed like snakes. The black snake grew larger. It slithered, hissing, up onto the burning rope and along it into Les’s head, where it struck, sinking its fangs into his brain, tightening its coils around his consciousness, squeezing, squeezing. Its black poison filled his body.

  “Hang on, Les,” came a voice from far away. “Hang on, or you’ll kill Miryam.”

  The snake wrapped around him, crushing him, melting his bones.

  “Miryam,” the voice, or perhaps an echo, repeated.

  “Miryam.” The word came from his own strangled throat, and with it a draft of icy air that drove the fiery serpent back, coiling in on itself, tearing its searing way through his brain to come to rest in a tight, hot ball in the back of his head. Dazed, dizzy, breathing heavily, leaning his weight on his hands, he kept himself from collapsing.

  At last with a snick of scissors came Veronica’s voice saying, “It’s over.”

  Miryam’s head lifted from his thigh. Hands pushed him back to lie flat on the fur. The weight in the back of his head tugged at him, pulling him down into the softness, down into darkness.

  “I’m free!” a sweet voice said. “But what’s happened to Les? You said it wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “It shouldn’t.” That voice was not sweet but tart like vinegar. “It’s something they’re doing—Dr. Tenney’s doing—at the other end. Hush, girl, while I try to figure out what it is.”

  Les tried to stay awake, but his eyes refused to open, and the weight in his brain pulled him into oblivion.

  Dr. Tenney chatted amiably about inconsequential matters, and Trevor let his mind wander, hearing only snatches of the conversation. He understood that the doctor was waiting for Les’s return before moving on to important topics, and Trevor grew increasingly uneasy about Les’s continued absence. But the doctor showed no sign of concern.

  Trevor thought of many things he wanted to ask the doctor. That the man was highly gifted was obvious, and the prospect of learning from him excited Trevor. Yet, voluble as the doctor was, Trevor found it impossible to fit his questions into the doctor’s rambling dissertation. Each time he opened his mouth to frame a query, Tenney launched into an involved and seemingly pointless tale.

  Carl also listened without interjecting comments. His eyes were open but appeared unfocused, and he sat as though bespelled.

  Carl was one of the things he wanted to ask about: how he used Miryam’s power, how he had so easily overcome Trevor, and whether the Community would punish him for his misdeeds. Trevor wanted to be certain that he and Les got all their money back, as well as their other belongings.

  Carl stirred and blinked; he was coming out of his trance. Before he was fully alert, Trevor must get his answers. He waited for a pause in the doctor’s prattle, determined to change the subject and launch his interrogation.

  He didn’t get the chance. Carl jerked upright. “He’s with her.” He cut off the doctor in midword.

  The doctor cocked his head as though listening, though Trevor heard nothing. “So he is,” he said. “He seems quite attracted to the young lady. What will they do? I wonder. She cannot exert her power without your consent, can she?”

  “No, not when I’m this close to her.” Carl’s worried frown belied his assertion.

  “I sense something you are not telling me.” A hint of menace lurked behind Dr. Tenney’s mild tone.

  Carl’s eyes narrowed. He hesitated, then said slowly, “She can … disappear. Only for an hour or so. I can always bring her back from wherever it is she goes. But I’ve never been able to follow her.”

  “Fool!” Dr. Tenney leaped to his feet. “You should have told me that before. Come with me.”

  He trotted toward the door, and Carl followed. Trevor got up and strode after them, not sure whether the doctor’s order had been directed to him as well as to Carl but unwilling to let Carl out of his sight. They dashed through the dark hallway to a room nearer the stairs. Trevor passed through the doorway and collided with Carl, who had halted abruptly just inside the room. Dr. Tenney stood only a couple of steps in front of him, cursing.

  Trevor glimpsed two ghostly figures vanishing into a distance too great to be contained within the walls of the room. He recalled how Miryam had found him in the place to which Veronica had sent him through her myster
ious door. Miryam had created no doorway, but somehow, Trevor was sure, she’d forged a path back to that place and had taken Les with her.

  Dr. Tenney whirled on Carl. “You said you could draw her back. Do it.”

  “It—it takes a while. It’s hard to reach her.”

  “Get busy. Don’t waste time.” He snapped his fingers and created a flame, with which he lit the wick of an oil lamp on a bedside table.

  Carl walked past the doctor and stood by the bed. He shut his eyes; a look of intense concentration furrowed his face. The doctor, wheezing from his rush, plopped into the room’s only chair, a plain wooden rocker that creaked beneath his weight.

  Trevor felt awkward, uncertain what he should do. Did he dare speak and perhaps disturb Carl’s concentration? The doctor’s alarm puzzled him. Surely Dr. Tenney could either follow them or bring them back himself. His power must exceed both Miryam’s and Veronica’s. But he merely rocked and watched Carl. He seemed to have forgotten Trevor.

  A long time passed. Tired of standing, Trevor lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged, waiting. Dr. Tenney continued to ignore him; his attention remained focused on Carl.

  Abruptly Carl straightened. His look of concentration changed to one of triumph. His arms made pulling motions as though hauling on a rope. Dr. Tenney stopped rocking and his hands gripped the arms of the rocker. His tongue licked his lips.

  Carl’s shoulders strained as though he tugged at a great weight. Sweat broke out on his face; the look of triumph faded.

  His arms fell to his sides. He shook his head. “I lost her. She’s never resisted me like that before.”

  “Keep trying,” Dr. Tenney snapped.

  “No use. She’s gone.” Carl sank wearily onto the bed.

  Dr. Tenney pushed himself to his feet. “Wait here—both of you.” With that tardy recognition of Trevor’s presence, he hurried from the room.

  Carl’s fists clenched and unclenched. He didn’t speak, but Trevor could see the rage building in him and hoped Dr. Tenney got back before Carl decided to vent his fury on him. Although with Miryam gone, he ought to be a match for Carl. He scrambled to his feet and marshaled his power.