A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5)

by E. Rose Sabin

  Trevor hoped that when they each demonstrated their gifts, some of the gifted would sense that Carl was drawing on Trevor’s power to perform his feats. Trevor performed a jump too high to be possible without the use of power, and he also picked up a rock from the garden and made it fly around a tree, then brought it back to his hand. Carl picked up a lawn chair and floated it to him, and then leaped over a tall bush. Trevor expected someone to notice the similarity in what they did. Apparently no one did.

  Dr. Tenney had explained beforehand that the demonstration did not need to be impressive; it merely had to prove that the applicants were gifted. None of the members ever displayed the full range of his talent to the others. It was common for the members to conceal their most important gifts.

  “Then what use is the Community?” Trevor had asked.

  “It provides protection for its members,” Dr. Tenney had stated. “And for some of us it offers opportunities to explore creative uses of our power.” He winked at Carl.

  With the demonstration completed, it was time for speeches on behalf of the candidates or in opposition to them. Dr. Tenney had introduced them to the group before the demonstration, praising them in glowing terms. Now he made only a brief statement recommending their acceptance, and the chairman opened the floor to any other members who wished to speak for or against the candidates.

  Doss Hamlyn rose to his feet, and the murmur of conversation faded into silence. He addressed the group in a low voice that nevertheless carried easily. “I wish to go on record as opposing the entry of these two young men into the Community. The letter of introduction sent me by Matthew Blake is not sufficient to convince me that his nephew, Trevor Blake, would be a trustworthy and valuable addition to our Community. The letter was, in fact, first presented to me not by Mr. Blake but by Mr. Holdt, purporting to be Mr. Blake. The explanation that this deception was merely an attempt to assure the entry of both young men does not satisfy me. I do not question the validity of their gifts, but they are untrained and lacking in self-discipline. Despite the letter from my friend, I am inclined to withhold membership from Trevor Blake. And since for Carl Holdt we have only Dr. Tenney’s dubious recommendation, I strongly advise rejection of his application.”

  He resumed his seat as the crowd reacted to his statement with a rustle of whispers that died away when Dr. Tenney stepped forward and signaled his desire to be heard.

  “I regret that my esteemed colleague places so little faith in my recommendations,” he said with a slight bow to Hamlyn. “He is entitled to his opinion. I will venture to suggest that his opposition to these candidates is a reflection of his animosity toward me and not an objective consideration of their talents and worth to the Community. If someone other than I had sponsored them, I daresay Mr. Hamlyn would not have raised the same objection. Has he not said frequently that we need to train new blood?

  “Their little indiscretion in misidentifying the bearer of the letter of introduction was not intended maliciously but done in a misguided but well-meaning attempt by one friend to assure the other’s favorable reception. I ask you to view it as a sign of their eagerness to become a productive part of this Community.”

  Trevor glanced at Doss Hamlyn in time to see him shake his head with a look of resignation. His daughter patted his hand consolingly. Their reaction astonished Trevor. Doss Hamlyn clearly occupied a prestigious position within the Community. He’d been sure that Hamlyn’s opposition would sound the death knell to his and Carl’s aspirations. But Hamlyn seemed to anticipate defeat.

  Dr. Tenney stepped back beneath the plum tree and smiled at Trevor and Carl while the rush of conversation resumed. “I doubt that anyone else will ask to make a statement,” he said. “The vote will be called for in another minute or two. We’ll have to leave while it’s taken. They’ll call us back to announce the results.”

  As the doctor predicted, the chairman approached and asked them to leave while the Community voted. They threaded their way through the crowd, entered the house, and passed through it and out onto the front porch, where the doctor plopped himself down on a porch swing and motioned to Trevor and Carl to sit on the steps. Carl sat, but Trevor leaned against the front railing and gazed out into the night.

  No matter what happened, no matter how the vote went, all his hopes had been dashed. Dr. Tenney had made Carl his tool; Trevor’s linkage with Carl made him nothing more than an extension of that tool. He’d never be able to achieve his own ambitions; he was nothing more than a slave, as Miryam had been.

  The odor of pipe smoke wafted around him, a smell he had come to hate. He glanced at Dr. Tenney and turned away, sickened by the contentment on the man’s face as he puffed on his pipe.

  The voting didn’t take long. To Trevor’s surprise, it was Hamlyn’s daughter who came to fetch them. She stepped back to let them precede her into the house and through it to the patio. As Trevor passed her, she pressed a piece of paper into his hand.

  A lantern hung over the door to the patio. Trevor fell back behind Carl and the doctor and paused beneath the light to smooth out and read the note.

  If you need help, nod once in my direction. I’ll do what I can. It was signed Doss Hamlyn.

  Hastily Trevor balled up the paper and concealed it within his palm. He hurried to catch up with his companions. When he stepped up beside Dr. Tenney, the Adept grasped his closed hand and with a powerful grip forced the fingers open and removed the note.

  “Tch-tch,” the doctor chided. “Can’t have you consorting with the enemy.”

  Tenney held the note in his own hand. Trevor didn’t see him read it, but he must somehow have known its contents. Trevor gazed at Doss Hamlyn and tried to nod; he couldn’t bend his neck.

  His muscles tensed, sweat broke out on his face, but his neck remained stiff, his head unmovable. He saw Hamlyn glance at him several times and look away with pursed lips and an angry shake of his head. The big man behind him also looked angry. Leila had returned to her place beside her father. Her eyes met Trevor’s gaze, her nose wrinkled as if in disgust, and she, too, turned away. Trevor felt abandoned.

  The chairman announced the results of the vote. Trevor heard, but only when applause and cries of welcome rose from the crowd did the impact hit him. They’d been admitted to the Community.

  Les awakened to the certainty that he’d been asleep for a very long time. His body felt flabby, his skin clammy. He stank of sweat and sickness. His mouth was dry and foul tasting, his lips cracked and sore. His eyelids seemed glued shut, and when he tried to lift his hand to his eyes to wipe them, the weakness in his muscles made the effort impossible.

  He tried to remember what had happened to him, but his mind seemed as helpless as his body. He searched lethargically for something his thoughts could grasp, some contact with the exterior world that would allow him to make sense of his plight. He lay on downy softness. Something soft and warm and silky covered his body. Something like fur.

  He remembered the furs. They’d covered the whole floor of … of Veronica’s home.

  Veronica. She’d done something to him. And to Miryam. He remembered Miryam. Remembered her saying, “I’m free.” That was the last thing he recalled. He had known what it meant. He struggled to recapture the meaning.

  Soft footfalls broke his chain of thought. He heard the splash of water, felt a damp cloth touch his face, smooth gently over his brow and cheeks, move down to his neck. It cooled his skin, eased the dryness of his lips. He found he could open his eyes.

  Miryam crouched above him, bathing his shoulders and chest. He tried to speak, could only croak.

  She started at the sound, set down the basin she held. “Les! Thank the Power-Giver! You’re awake.”

  He tried again to speak. His lips formed her name, but he couldn’t get out the sound.

  “Wait,” she said. “I’ll get water.”

  She moved away, was back in seconds. Lifting his head, she placed a cup of water against his lips and helped him drink. The water
relieved the dryness and the stiffness in his vocal cords.

  “What happened?” His voice was hoarse, but the words came out.

  “We aren’t sure,” she said. “You reacted badly to the power thread being drawn through you. Veronica said it was because of something Dr. Tenney was doing at the same time, but she doesn’t yet know what. She said that until she found out, it could be dangerous to use power to heal you.”

  Her voice faltered and he saw tears fill her eyes. “I’ve wondered if I should do it no matter what she said. I’ve wanted to so badly.”

  “How … how long?” He couldn’t complete the question.

  “It’s been four days. I’ve been so afraid for you.” A tear splashed onto his chest, leaving a warm trail on his bare skin. She wiped at her eyes. On her hand was a ring she hadn’t worn before. Its large, semitransparent orange gem gleamed with an inner light.

  He remembered the stone Veronica had placed on Miryam’s forehead, remembered how it had been transformed into a window of fiery light, remembered what he’d seen through that window.

  “You’re free. From Carl.”

  She nodded. “For the first time since I was a child. But I haven’t been able to enjoy it, seeing you so near death. If I’d lost you, it would have been too high a price.”

  “No,” he said. “Worth it. You’re more important.” He wanted to say more, wanted to remind her of all that she could accomplish with her gifts, talented as she was. Without power he was no match for her, would only hold her back.

  She bent and pressed her lips against his cheek. “I don’t think so,” she said.

  Her tenderness moved him so that he did not trust himself to speak for several moments. Helpless to respond in kind, he shifted to safer ground, asked, “Where’s Veronica?”

  “She’s here. Working on something. I’ll tell her you’re awake.”

  Miryam stood but had not stepped away when Veronica appeared beside her.

  “I heard you talking,” the Adept said. “I’ll make you some soup. You need to get your strength back. Miryam, I’ll need your help.”

  Veronica picked up the basin and cloth Miryam had been using and carried them away. Miryam smiled sadly at Les and trailed after the Adept.

  Les could not see them from where he lay, but he listened to the familiar sounds of clanging pans and bubbling water, breathed in the mingled odors of boiling meat and herbs. It reminded him of home.

  His weakness gave him an excuse to think of nothing but how hungry he was and how good the food would taste. He slipped into a dream state halfway between waking and sleeping. The sounds and scents receded into the background, and an odor of pipe smoke blended with them. He could feel the thick, soft fur beneath him and the warmth of the fur tucked over his body. Yet at the same time he felt a cold breeze blowing against him, ruffling through his hair as he walked—walked!—along a dark street and climbed into a waiting carriage.

  The horse’s clomping hooves, the jounce of the carriage over rutted roads, the press of the other passengers against him as he was squeezed between two other people on a seat not designed for three, all these were as real to him as the clinking of Veronica’s spoon against the metal pot and the whistle of steam in the teakettle. He was only vaguely curious about this odd phenomenon, assuming it was a dream, until next to him a voice said, “Well, Trevor Blake, how does it feel to have attained your goal?”

  Les recognized the voice. Dr. Tenney. A chill of fear crept through him. This was more than a dream.

  “It’s not what he expected,” said the person wedged against his right arm. “Not what I expected either, exactly. But I’m not displeased. They’re all afraid of you, aren’t they?”

  That voice was Carl’s, and it held awe and respect, which surprised Les.

  “Oh, no, not all.” A chuckle accompanied the doctor’s answer. “I have enemies. You heard Doss Hamlyn’s opposition. But so long as I can control a majority, Doss can’t do much.”

  “I’d like to learn how you exert that control.” Greed made Carl’s voice eager.

  Les thought he saw a brief flare of light. Pipe smoke poured into his nostrils, choking him. Dr. Tenney’s deep inhalations were clearly audible. “You’ll learn.” The Adept’s voice was garbled as though his words were spoken around the pipe stem. “You’ll learn much, both of you. As long as you both remember who controls you.”

  The shudder that coursed through Les might have been his own or Trevor’s; he couldn’t tell, and it made little difference. Somehow he was in Trevor’s mind; nothing else could explain what he heard and felt. Could he make Trevor aware of his presence? If only he knew how to send.

  But if he was in Trevor’s mind, he shouldn’t have to send. Maybe he only needed to speak.

  He couldn’t. Not aloud. His throat refused to form sounds, his tongue and lips refused to move.

  All right, form the words mentally. Clearly and distinctly, as though you were speaking. Like this: Trevor, it’s Les. I’m here. What kind of trouble are you in? Where are you?

  His lips moved. Trevor’s voice mumbled, “Les?”

  He’d done it! He’d gotten through.

  The carriage shook; a wheel must have jolted into a pothole. His head banged against the carriage roof. The three bodies crushed closer as the carriage swayed dangerously. Dr. Tenney swore. Burning ash fell onto Trevor’s arm. Les felt every movement as though he was there in the carriage. He heard the doctor’s pipe shatter on the carriage floor.

  “Here’s your soup.” Veronica’s cheery voice and the steamy scent of beef and vegetables replaced the sensations of his dream vision. “I’ll help you sit up.”

  His hunger had gone. “Trevor,” he gasped. “I was in Trevor’s mind. I heard them talking—Carl and Dr. Tenney. Trevor’s in trouble. We’ve got to find him.”

  She forced the hot bowl into his hands. It burned his fingers; it was all he could do to hold on to it. She steadied him and supported his head and shoulders so that he could sit. “Eat,” she ordered.

  “I can’t. Didn’t you hear what I said?” he asked, balancing the bowl gingerly in unsteady hands. “I was with Trevor. It wasn’t a dream. I was really in his mind. I know I was.”

  “Eat your soup. Then we’ll talk about it.” She dipped a spoon into the thick soup and lifted it to his mouth.

  He turned his head away. “How did I do it?” he persisted. “Am I finding my talent?”

  She shook her head and jabbed the spoon into his mouth before he could dodge again. The hot liquid scalded his tongue. “It means that what I did when I used you for a channel created a link between you.”

  He tried to set down the soup bowl. She took it from his hands and continued feeding him. “I’ll explain it after you finish the soup. You need to build back your strength. The link increases the danger to you, but it gives you a chance to help your friend. But you can’t help him while you’re too weak to sit up on your own.”

  That, of course, was true. He stopped protesting and ate the soup, even let her bring him a second bowl. All the while, he repeated mentally, Hang on, Trev. I’m coming.

  If Trevor had sent such a message to him, he would have received it. But with no talent he had little hope that Trevor would receive it. Yet he couldn’t stop his mind from repeating it again and again: I’m coming, Trev. Hang on, I’m coming.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  NIGHT JOURNEYS

  The buggy rocked to a halt. Trevor swiped at the burning pipe ash, flicked it from his hands and clothing. He flattened himself against the seat back to allow Dr. Tenney to lean forward, gather the shattered remnants of his pipe, and stuff them into his pocket with a rueful sigh. Carl swore and straightened his jacket. The driver came to the side and peered in at them.

  “Ever’body all right?”

  “Just shaken up a bit,” Dr. Tenney replied. “Is the buggy damaged?”

  “Not so’s I can’t fix it. But being jerked that way’s sprung the horse’s shoulder and lamed ’er bad. She
can’t pull this hack. Don’t know what we’ll do. ’Twon’t be easy to find another out this time o’ night.”

  The man’s voice was husky with fear and sorrow. Trevor knew the injury he described would be slow to heal. If the mare was his only horse, he faced several weeks of lost income.

  “More like impossible, I’d say,” the doctor answered. “But let me look at the horse. It’s possible the injury looks worse than it is.”

  “No, sir. Wish that were the case, but I can see the separation, and the poor horse is suffering bad.”

  Despite this affirmation, the doctor hopped from the cab and hurried to inspect the horse. In a moment he shouted for Trevor and Carl to join him. Trevor scrambled down and picked his way over the rutted street. The coach lantern spread its light over the horse standing with her head down, her flanks trembling.

  “Boy, can you heal?” Dr. Tenney whispered into Trevor’s ear. At Trevor’s whispered negative he turned to Carl. “You?”

  Carl shook his head. “Miryam could, but since I no longer share her power …”

  “All right. We’ll have to fake it.” The doctor glanced quickly at the driver, who stood back, watching with a disapproving scowl. “My good man,” Dr. Tenney said, “I have considerable knowledge of medical matters. I am, in fact, a doctor. With the assistance of my young companions, I can adjust the horse’s shoulder so that it falls back into place and her pain is eased. She’ll be able to complete the route with no discomfort.”

  The driver shook his head dubiously. “Wouldn’t want no harm to come to the horse,” he said.

  “None will. I know what I’m doing, I assure you.” Giving the man no chance to object, Dr. Tenney placed his hands on the injury. “A blocking spell, so she can’t feel pain,” the doctor whispered to Carl.

  Trevor felt power being drawn from him. The horse lifted her head and gave a surprised snort. The doctor pressed the horse’s shoulder. When he drew his hand away, no sign of injury remained.