“I’m sure there is,” Hamlyn said, smiling. He rose and shook Trevor’s hand. “I’ll get on it right away—as soon as I’ve made my own power donation.”
The others also rose and surrounded Trevor. Leila embraced him and the rest placed their hands on his shoulders and back. He felt an infusion of love and strength flow into him, melting the ice, filling him with warmth.
He sensed the separate strands: Veronica’s, taut and sturdy as a steel cable; Miryam’s, a braided rope of diverse talents; Peter’s, supple and sharp as a knife blade; Hamlyn’s, a succession of businesslike darts aimed directly at their target; Leila’s, soft yet strong, intertwining with his own. And another’s, all-embracing, joining with the other friends. Les.
Trevor laughed with joy and let his power mingle with that of all of his friends.
Deep into his mind the power poured, circling that dark space where the tower hid. He saw the brick wall thicken, the roof grow sturdier. From within he thought he heard a despairing groan.
EPILOGUE
Veronica set a cup of tea on the fur next to Miryam. “You drink that,” she ordered.
“I don’t—”
“I know, I know,” Veronica interrupted. “You don’t want anything to drink, and you can’t eat anything, you’re so wrapped up in your grief. Well, it’s time you stopped moping. You need that tea, and you are going to drink it.”
She watched closely while Miryam reluctantly picked up the cup and sipped the amber liquid. When the girl set the cup down, Veronica shook her head.
“Don’t think I can’t see how little of that you drank.” She sniffed. “You’re not taking enough to keep a moth alive.”
Miryam smiled wanly and said, “I’m not a moth.”
“No, you certainly aren’t. You are a lovely and talented young woman with her life ahead of her.”
The smile vanished. “A life that doesn’t mean anything without Les,” she said tiredly.
“A life that Les gave you and certainly doesn’t want you to throw away. You have every right to grieve, but you also have much to be thankful for. You are alive, free from Carl, your gift is yours alone to use—”
“Or not to use,” Miryam broke in. “The only gift I want is one that will let me join Les.”
“Someday that gift will be yours. Now it is not. And I don’t intend to let you starve yourself to death. You drink the rest of that tea while I fix you a proper meal.”
“I’m not hungry. Food just sticks in my throat.”
Veronica walked toward her stove. With her back to Miryam, she said, “You need a purpose in life.” She slammed an iron pot onto the stove and yanked an assortment of vegetables out of mesh bags hanging from the ubiquitous strings. “You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to use your gift, but you need to decide what you do want to do with your life.”
Saying nothing, Miryam picked up her teacup and studied it as though she could read her future there.
Veronica, too, did not speak but busied herself peeling vegetables and tossing them into the pot.
Finally Miryam sighed and set down the cup. “I don’t know what I want to do,” she said. “I only know that I’d like to leave Port-of-Lords—go as far from it as I can.”
“Well, that’s something at least.” Veronica poured a pitcher of water into her pot and stirred vigorously. “This is a big country. You could cross it all the way to the east coast. But what will you do there?"
Miryam’s shoulders slumped. “I have no idea,” she said dully.
“Well, I do have an idea.” Veronica turned to her. “I’ve been thinking. The Community here in Port-of-Lords has taken a turn for the better, no question about that, but I still don’t have much love for it. When Kyla established the Community, it was intended to be a place for training people new to their gift. Young people, especially.”
“You knew the Lady Kyla?” Miryam showed the first spark of interest Veronica had heard in her voice for a long time.
“Of course I knew her. She practically raised me.”
“Lady Kyla did? The one who brought magic back to Arucadi? But she’s been dead for years!”
Veronica chuckled. “Not that many years. Nor is she really dead. She’s in a deathlike state, and her body is hidden in the cave behind her shrine at Hillcross. I know. I was the one who directed its placement there. One day I will tell you that story. Not now; it’s a long story, and dinner is almost ready.”
She set two bowls out on the table, gave the pot another stir, and turned back to Miryam. “I was telling you that the Community here lost sight of Kyla’s purpose. It’s regained that, for now anyway. But I see a great need for a school that trains the gifted in the use of their powers. If Trevor and Les had had something like that, things might have turned out very differently.”
“I suppose so,” Miryam said, falling back into her lethargy.
“You could start such a school, Miryam.” Veronica shook her spoon at her protégée. “Even though you don’t want to use your own power, is there any reason why you couldn’t train other people to use theirs responsibly?”
“I wouldn’t know how to do that.”
“Oh yes, you would. You wouldn’t have to do it alone. You’d find others to help—gifted teachers who would be delighted to guide students not only in subject matter but in the wise use of power.”
With her forefinger Miryam traced a pattern on the fur she sat on. “It would be an awfully big job.”
“It would be a life’s work. Would anything less important be worthy of a life Les died to save?”
“I suppose not, but … would you help?”
Veronica turned back to the stove and gave her soup a vigorous stirring. “I could,” she said after a time. “But it would have to be your project, not mine. You’d head it up; I’d stay in the background.”
“So long as I know you’re there to advise me.” Miryam stood and picked up her teacup. “And I’d be doing it for Les. I’d name the school for him.”
“Now you’re thinking,” Veronica said. “You can call it the Lesley Simonton School for the Magically Gifted. That has a fine ring to it.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Miryam came to stand beside her and put an arm around her. “What’s for supper? Suddenly I feel hungry.”
As a special bonus,
the next pages contain an excerpt from
A School for Sorcery,
the next volume in the Arucadi series
A SCHOOL FOR SORCERY
CHAPTER ONE
THE LETTER
“Tria! Tria, come into the house right away!”
Tria looked up from her egg gathering and saw her mother standing at the back door, shouting the summons. Whatever she wanted, it must be something serious. She never allowed Tria to leave her chores undone.
“Coming,” she called back as she added two last eggs to those already in the basket.
She walked fast, carrying the basket carefully so as not to break the eggs.
“Run!” her mother called again.
Something terrible must have happened. With one hand over the eggs to keep them safe, Tria ran.
“What is it?” she panted when she reached her mother. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” her mother said, taking the basket of eggs. “Come inside, quickly, before your father sees us.”
Her father was mending fences in the far field. She thought it unlikely that he would return for some time, and he certainly could not see the house from where he was working. Puzzled by her mother’s unwarranted concern, Tria followed her in through the screen door and waited impatiently while her mother set the basket of eggs on the kitchen counter and led the way into the small living room.
“There!” Her mother pointed to a thick, white envelope that lay facedown on the small table by the sofa, a circle of red sealing wax closing its flap. “It’s for you.”
“For me?” Tria stared stupidly at the envelope and wondered who could be sending her
a letter. She knew very few people outside of this small town where she had lived since her birth. In all her sixteen years she had never received a real letter, though friends had sent postcards, and farm-supply catalogs and quotes for hog and poultry prices arrived regularly for her father, while her mother occasionally got a letter from distant relatives in Wickton in Plains Province as well as a brief note from Kate, Tria’s older sister, who lived in the next town.
“Pick it up and open it,” her mother urged, her face alight with eagerness.
Tria reached for it slowly as though afraid it might vanish or dissolve when she touched it. She turned it over and saw her name written in elegant black script: Miss Tria Fay Tesserell. Below it was inscribed the name of the town. “Carey,” it read, “Inland Province, Arucadi.” The postal mark on the letter indicated that it came from Castlemount Province, and Tria felt certain that no one in the family knew anyone from that far away.
She couldn’t break the wax seal with her short fingernails. Her mother handed her a letter opener, and with it Tria lifted the seal, opened the flap, and drew out a letter and a colorful brochure. The letterhead said in fancy lettering, The Lesley Simonton School for the Magically Gifted.
Intrigued, she read the letter.
Dear Miss Tesserell, it began formally. It has come to the attention of the Lesley Simonton School that you are among the minority of Arucadi’s population who are Gifted with magical powers. You are surely aware of the importance of receiving training in the use of those powers. The Simonton School specializes in helping untrained Talents like you develop your powers within the ethical guidelines set forth by the Community of the Gifted. We prepare our students to take places of responsible leadership in a society that has all too frequently been intimidated by those with special Gifts. It is our earnest hope that you will consider joining our student body in the forthcoming academic year, which begins on the first day of Harvest Month.
The enclosed brochure will provide you with full information about the school, its distinguished faculty, the course offerings, and tuition costs, as well as an application form that you should complete and return immediately if you decide to take advantage of this unique opportunity.
Because an Adept who performs special services for us from time to time has determined through divination that you are a suitable candidate for Simonton School, you need only send with the application a down payment of 25 triums toward your first year’s expenses, and your acceptance is assured.
Sincerely yours,
Miryam Vedreaux, Headmistress
Tria looked up from the letter and saw her mother watching her with an odd intensity.
“Momma, did you know about this?” Holding back the brochure, she handed her mother the letter.
Her mother read through it quickly and nodded, smiling. “I mentioned to a friend that I would so like to see you trained in your gifts, and she told me about the school and got me their address. I wrote to the school without really expecting any response. But when the letter arrived, I knew-” She broke off and handed the letter back to Tria, her hand shaking. “This is what I’ve wanted for you. Tria, this is your chance, probably your only chance, to become what you are meant to be, what your gifts tell me that you should be.”
Tria had never seen her mother so animated. Her careworn face suddenly acquired an unsuspected beauty. For the first time Tria caught a glimpse of her mother as she must have been long years ago, before she had married a farmer and set aside her own special talents to conform to her husband’s expectations of what a farm wife should be—and should not be.
“Poppa will never let me go,” Tria said. “He wouldn’t even consider letting me go to the Harnor Trade School to study modern farming methods. He said he needed me here to help with the harvest. He won’t change his mind about that.”
“He might. Oh, not easily—I’ll grant you that. But he can hire the Cromley boys to help with the harvest. They’d be glad to have the work. The yields have been exceptionally good this year, so the work would be too much for you anyway.”
“Poppa always complains that the Cromley boys are careless.”
“I know, I know.” Her mother sighed, and her gnarled hands pleated her apron. “They really aren’t, though. Your father is just too hard to please. Now wait here a minute.”
Abruptly she let go of her apron and hurried off into her bedroom. She was back almost immediately, clutching a leather change purse and a pen.
“It is a saying among the gifted that when a door opens to you, you must go through it.” She gazed downward, saying softly, “I wish I had taken that advice.” Then, raising her eyes to Tria, she said resolutely, “Look, I have the twenty-five triums right here. It’s money I’ve saved without your father’s knowing.”
She opened the purse and spilled out a mound of silver coins. Tria gaped, unable to imagine how her mother had hidden away so much money.
But the triums were only a down payment. She’d have to pay far more for the full year’s expenses. And as she glanced over the brochure, she saw that the school offered three years of instruction.
“Just get the application ready. I’ll go to town this afternoon, get a bank draft, and send off the form and the draft. When your acceptance comes, it will be hard for your father to refuse.”
Tria could not believe that her mother thought it would be so easy. Her father had never permitted her to use her special gifts, saying that a farm girl had no business putting on airs and doing what he termed “witchery” instead of tending to her rightful business. He would certainly never allow her to attend a school for the gifted.
Her mother pushed her toward the dining room table, shoved her into a chair, and placed the application form and pen in front of her. “Fill it out,” she directed. “I know how unhappy you’ve been at the thought of spending your life on a farm. When you’re trained in using your gifts, any number of opportunities will open to you. You can go into just about any field you want.”
Tria caught her mother’s excitement. Yes, she did want to do more with her life than spend it on the farm. She’d tried to hide her discontent from her mother, but of course her mother, being gifted, would know how she had dreaded the thought of working with her parents, eventually marrying a local farmer’s son, and then spending the rest of her life in Carey as a farmer’s wife, mother to children with no better prospects than she had.
She thrilled at the possibility of going away to school. She’d always been a good student, and most especially she’d loved learning about their vast country of Arucadi and its history. She’d dreamed of traveling across it some day, of finding a job that allowed her to visit the more remote and exotic parts of the country.
She’d shared her dreams and hopes with her school friends, but none had understood. She’d found no one like herself, no one with the special gifts that set her apart and made her hopes and dreams different from those of the other children in the school.
She’d finished the Carey Basic School in the spring. Several of her classmates planned to go on to trade school, but she, along with many others, expected to get no further schooling, but rather to join their parents toiling on the farms and in the wheat fields. Most of her friends accepted their lot without complaint. Tria felt alone in her longing to do more with her life. Her sister, Kate, had seemed perfectly content to settle down to life as a farm wife. But Kate possessed no special gifts as Tria did.
Her mother stood behind her, her hands on Tria’s shoulders. “I know you want this,” she said. “And I want it for you. I want to be proud of you.”
Tria blinked back sudden tears. “I’ll make you proud, Momma, I promise I will.”
WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ARUCADI?
Arucadi is a large nation covering an entire continent and thus surrounded on all sides by ocean. Across the oceans are other continents, and Arucadi does have ships which cross the oceans to trade with the peoples of the other continents and island-nations. The continent to the south, across
the Great Waters, is Surplania. To the west, across the Sea of Good Faith, lies Vasunit. To the east is a string of islands called The Necklace, ranging from large to minuscule, and divided into several nations, which often wage war with one another. Arucadi trades with Surplania and Vasunit, and has intermittent trade with some of the island nations.
Arucadi's three most important ports where trans-oceanic trade is centered are Stansbury on the East Coast, Southport on the South Coast, and Port-of-Lords on the West Coast. There are other large cities along the coasts, but the vast interior is largely rural and agrarian.
Arucadi is the largest continent of the planet Quintus, fifth planet of the sun Dor. Quintus is an Earth-like world. The planet has one large moon, Dora.
Cities and towns throughout the country are governed by city or town councils. The councilors are elected by the citizens at town meetings, which in large cities are organized by boroughs. The head of the council is the council master, elected by the councilors.
Counties form the next highest political subdivision. Each county has a county seat where county judges preside over a countywide court system. The county is primarily a judicial entity.
The country is divided into twelve provinces, each with a provincial governor elected by the provincial legislature. The legislature is made up of one delegate from each county within the province. The legislative delegates are selected by the town and city councils of the county. The governors serve eight-year terms and may be reelected once. The governor may also be voted out of office by the legislature before his or her term ends, if there is sufficient cause.
The central government is ruled by a Triumvirate selected from among the ranks of former provincial governors by vote of town and city councils throughout the nation. Any governor on completion of his term of office is eligible to run for the Triumvirate. The terms are staggered, with one member coming up for reelection every three years. The Triumvirate meets in Tirbat, the national capital.
A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5) Page 23