Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2)

by E. Rose Sabin

  “Hey, fellow, we’re here to help you. Don’t be scared.” Gently she pulled his hands away from his eyes. “Tell us what’s wrong.”

  He yelped but kept his eyes scrunched shut. Marta glanced at the hands she held. One was bruised and bloody with fingers that looked broken. She gave a low whistle. “No wonder you shouted when I touched you. Kyla, look at his hand. And the bruise on his face. You get in a fight, fellow, or did the peacekeepers do this to you?”

  “They did it.” The words came out in choked sobs. “They wouldn’t let me get the note.”

  Kyla hunkered down beside Marta. “We’ll help you if you let us,” she said.

  The man got one eye open and focused it blearily on Marta. “You’ll get in trouble,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about that.” Marta gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  He let out another yell. She jerked her hand away. “That sore, too? I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You better tell us what happened and where you’re hurt.”

  “I fell and hit my shoulder when I jumped out of a tree. A man was trying to pull me down so his dog could get me, but he only pulled off my shoe. Later a lady slammed a window on my hand. I only wanted to get my note.” He raised his head, got both eyes open. Marta supported his back, helped him sit up. He stared at the light in Kyla’s hand.

  “You—you must be the wonder workers,” he said in an awed tone.

  Kyla smiled. “We’re called that sometimes,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  He dropped his gaze, hung his head. “Everybody calls me Simple Eddie.”

  “That can’t be your real name,” Kyla said. “What do you call yourself?”

  “Ed Robbins,” he mumbled. “Edwin, really, but I like Ed better.”

  “Okay, Ed it is,” Marta said. “You can call me Marta,” she pointed to herself, “and she’s Kyla.”

  When she pointed at Kyla, Ed looked up and stared again at the globe of light. “How does she do that?” he asked Marta as though afraid to direct the question to Kyla.

  “She doesn’t. I do. She’s only holding it for me.” She reached over and transferred the light from Kyla’s palm to her own. “She does other things, like open locks.” She waved the light toward the open cell door.

  He glanced at the door, but did not seem to connect it with the possibility of escape. Instead, his fascinated gaze returned to the light. “Doesn’t it burn you?” he asked.

  Marta shook her head. “It isn’t hot, at least not on the outside,” she said with a smile.

  “Could I hold it?” he asked timidly.

  “I’m sorry, Ed, but it would burst like a bubble when it touched your hand,” Marta said. “It takes power to kindle this light, and only someone with power can hold it.”

  “Oh.” The intensity of disappointment in that single syllable, his lowered gaze, his drooping shoulders tore at Marta’s heart. She flashed Kyla a quick look.

  Their power could keep the light sphere intact in Ed’s hands for a couple of minutes. Would it be cruel to do so, to raise false hopes? Or would it be the first step toward the self-respect this fellow so desperately needed?

  Kyla gave a slight nod.

  “Ed, you can try if you want,” Marta said. “Here, cup your hands. Let’s see what happens.”

  “Better not,” he mumbled without raising his eyes.

  “No, it’s all right. Until you try, you don’t know what you can or can’t do.”

  Slowly he lifted his hands, wincing. Probably she shouldn’t ask him to do this without knowing the extent of his physical injuries. Yet the psychic injuries were so obvious and so deep, she felt compelled to deal first with them.

  Carefully she slid the ball of light into his cupped hands and cushioned it with her power as she drew her own hands away. She felt Kyla’s power backing her own.

  Shadows rocked toward them and darkness threatened to tumble down from the ceiling, but the light held and steadied and the shadows retreated. Face wrinkled in concentration, lower lip caught between his teeth, Ed balanced the globe as if it were formed of the most delicate crystal. He stared so fixedly into its depths that Marta feared for his vision. Perhaps she should take the globe back or let it burst before he blinded himself.

  The light’s sudden flare arrested her motion toward it. Marta’s whole body tingled as she saw the light swell to twice its original size. In its glowing white interior a small dark figure moved.

  Ed screamed and flung his hands wide. The sphere burst, plunging the cell into darkness. Marta was too startled to kindle another light.

  “My pa,” Ed sobbed. “I saw my pa. He was coming for me.”

  A hand gripped Marta’s shoulder. “What did you do?” Kyla spoke into her ear.

  “Nothing. I didn’t do that,” Marta said.

  “Then who did?”

  “Well, if you didn’t and I didn’t, he must have done it himself,” Marta whispered. “It was nothing I’d know how to do.”

  “What was it? Do we dare risk another light?”

  “I’ll try.” Marta cupped shaking hands and sent to them an uncertain flow of power that kindled a faint, flickering glow. It strengthened as she calmed, slowly defeating the darkness. Its light showed Ed hunched over, head in hands, rocking and moaning.

  She passed the light to Kyla and went to him. Holding him gently, she said, “What was it, Ed? What did you see?”

  “My pa,” he said between sobs. “I saw my pa. Comin’ at me with a board. Like he always did. When I was bad.”

  “Where is your father now, Ed?” Kyla asked.

  “Dead. Two years dead.” He trembled violently in Marta’s embrace.

  Marta shuddered, but Kyla said, “What you saw wasn’t real, Ed. It was a memory, projected into the light by your fear.”

  Kyla’s explanation sounded logical, but Marta had also seen a figure in the light. If it had been a projection of Ed’s fear, it had been projected strongly enough to be visible to others. That, along with the strong tingling she’d felt, meant that Ed was gifted, and with no minor talent.

  Kyla had been right; the Power-Giver—whether Alair or Claid—had led them to this place. And what an assignment they’d been given! Not only an untrained talent—all they found were that—but a young man whose deep hurts must be healed before he could be trained. His awakened power could be extremely dangerous if he struck out with it in fear and with no control.

  They would have to begin immediately, building his confidence, teaching him to conquer his fear. To do that they would first have to persuade him to tell them all about himself, his whole life story. She suspected that would be no easy task; Ed was clearly ashamed of his background and would want to conceal from them all the ugliness Marta was sure had been his lot in life. They would doubtless have to share their own stories to win his confidence, something both found painful. But they could not ease his suffering without pain of their own.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Jerome arose an hour before dawn. After spending a sleepless time wrestling with his conscience, he’d decided at last what he must do. His plan might not succeed, but he had to try.

  He hadn’t been able to get the wonder workers off his mind or to find an explanation for the peculiar sensations they aroused. The search of their valises had revealed only one thing of interest: a large, leather-bound book written in a mysterious language. When he’d opened the book and gazed at the neat lines of unreadable script filling its pages, he’d experienced the same sensation—an intense hunger, not for food but for something indefinable, something that lay just beyond his reach. It was the sensation of standing before the door to a room filled with treasure, a door to which he did not have the key. As he examined the incomprehensible book, he seemed to see before him the vague outline of a closed door, but when he reached to touch it, his fingers stroked the air. His need to know more about the women and about the book impelled him to betray his employer and jeopardize his position. After dressing by the light of
a single candle, he crept silently down the stairs, snuffed the candle, put it in his pocket, and quietly let himself out of his mother’s house.

  He hurried through dark streets to Councilor Hardwick’s office, opened the outer door with his key, and with trembling fingers lit the wick of the lamp on his desk. In the drawers of his desk he found the tools he needed: a piece of wire, a thin metal file. With these he easily picked the simple lock of Hardwick’s office; the man’s overweening conceit would not let him consider that he might be robbed.

  In Hardwick’s office Jerome twisted the wire into the lock of the desk drawer. It resisted more than the door had, but Jerome had a talent for this work, though he’d never before used it for any purpose but to keep informed of his employer’s affairs. He was not a thief. On this occasion he needed the set of keys Hardwick kept locked here, but he’d return them after using them.

  He found and pocketed the heavy brass ring that held keys to the cells, closed the drawer, left the office, locked the outer door, and sped to the guardhouse.

  It was not likely that a guard would be on duty. The peacekeeper force in Carey was understaffed and usually only posted a guard at night if the guardhouse held a dangerous criminal. Otherwise, the prisoners would be locked in and left at night. Hardwick hadn’t considered the women a high security risk. Officers would come on duty shortly after dawn. Before then Jerome expected to have accomplished his purpose.

  He took the precaution of peering in Peacekeeper Captain Wronson’s office window before he went to the door. The office was dark. He felt his way to the front door, found the right key for the lock, eased the door open, stepped inside, and listened.

  Everything was quiet, as he’d hoped. Still, he wouldn’t risk lighting his candle until he reached the cell area. He groped his way past the office and through the corridor to the door that led to the six cells. Again he found the right key and inserted it in the lock.

  Quietly he slipped through the open door and paused to light his candle. The candle wasn’t needed; light poured from the open door of one cell, and he heard a low murmur of voices. Torn between curiosity and fear of detection, he slipped the unlighted candle back into his pocket and crept toward the cell.

  The same sense of restless urgency came over him as before in the women's presence, the same sensation he had received from the mysterious book. He eased toward the open cell and risked a quick peek.

  The younger woman was seated cross-legged on the floor, a sphere of light balanced on her open palms. The other, prettier one sat by the cot and rested her arms and head on it. She might have been asleep.

  The cell held a third person, sitting beside the sleeper, his back against the side of the cot, legs stretched out in front of him, one hand cradling the other in his lap. Jerome needed a second glance to recognize the face, swollen with cuts and bruises. Simple Eddie!

  Jerome’s sudden intake of breath must have been audible. Eddie raised his head; alarm bleached his face, emphasizing the bruises. The girl Marta leaned forward and whispered something, then turned toward the cell door as Jerome stepped inside.

  “Kyla,” she called, scrambling to her feet. “Kyla, wake up. We’ve got company.”

  Roused by Marta’s call, Kyla sat up, blinked, rubbed her eyes, and collected her muzzy thoughts. Beside her, Ed drew up his knees and scrunched behind them, shielding his face with his arms.

  “No need to be afraid,” Jerome said to Marta, who had given not the slightest indication of fear. “I’ve come to take you out of here to a safe place.”

  Ed moaned. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered without raising his head.

  “We won’t,” Kyla said, giving his back a reassuring pat.

  Marta snorted. “We’re supposed to trust you?” Jerome held out his hands, palms up, in a conciliating gesture. “When I took you to Councilor Hardwick I had no idea he intended to place you under arrest. I had to follow his orders when he had me help him bring you here. He’s my employer.”

  “An employer like him isn’t worth working for,” Marta said.

  He looked indignant. “It’s an excellent position, not one I care to jeopardize.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  Awake now, Kyla intervened. “Let’s let him tell us. We could use some help.”

  Marta’s glare did not soften, nor did she relax her belligerent stance, but she subsided into silence.

  Jerome turned a warm smile on Kyla. “I’m sorry you’ve had to spend the night in such unpleasant quarters. Please believe I never expected that to happen. After we brought you here, I tried my best to persuade the Councilor to return and release you, but he refused. He's determined to make an example of you, and I could not deter him. He plans to bring you before the entire council today to persuade them to have you beaten, stripped, and sent out of town in disgrace.”

  “Hmph. Let him try it,” Marta said with an angry sniff.

  Jerome’s slight bow to Marta bordered on the sarcastic. “He has the power to influence the council, I assure you. He's the Council Master. They won't refuse him.”

  “And we have the power to confound his intentions,” Marta snapped.

  “Easy, Marta,” Kyla said. “Let’s hear him out.”

  “He’s frightened Ed again when I finally had him at ease.”

  “We need help ourselves before we can help Ed. Be patient.”

  Patience did not come easy to Marta. At times like these Kyla could have throttled her. Her intransigence was forcing Kyla into a position she didn’t want to take. She didn’t trust Jerome; he would not be her choice for an ally. But they needed an ally, and no one else was available.

  Jerome frowned at Ed, who continued to hide his face. Kyla hoped Marta would be silent about Ed’s talent. With an expression of distaste, Jerome said, “What's he doing here? He’s the town simpleton, not worth wasting your time over. I suppose he blundered into some mischief.”

  “He did nothing wrong,” Marta said hotly, stepping in front of Ed as if to protect him. “Your esteemed employer terrified him, and some of Carey’s honored peacekeepers abused him and brought him in without bothering to—”

  “Marta, be quiet, please.” Kyla grabbed her friend’s arm and squeezed it. “I want to hear what Jerome is proposing.”

  “Yes, we have very little time,” Jerome said, nervously consulting his gold pocket watch. “We must be out of here before sunrise.”

  “Where do you intend to take us?” Kyla asked.

  He turned away from Marta, spoke earnestly to Kyla. “I’ll take you to my mother’s house. It’s large; she has plenty of room. No one will think to search for you there. Hardwick won’t suspect me of freeing you.”

  “Is your mother willing to shelter us?” Kyla asked.

  He looked embarrassed. “I, ah, didn’t ask her. But I know she will. She’s extremely devoted to the Goddess Liadra, who commands charity and hospitality. She’s a bit of a fanatic, but that’s in your favor. I can convince her that shielding you is a service to the gods.”

  Kyla had grave doubts about that. She and Marta had been persecuted too often in the name of one or another of Arucadi’s patron gods. Marta’s upward gaze said her friend shared that thought. She tightened her grip on Marta’s arm.

  “We have to go quickly,” he urged. “Please, come with me.”

  “I won’t leave Ed,” Marta said, crossing her arms.

  “Miss, I assure you, your sympathy for that fellow is misplaced. Look at him: filthy, stinking—”

  “That’s not his fault,” Marta snapped. “He’s—”

  “Marta!” Kyla dug so hard into Marta’s arm that the girl let out a squeal. She eased her grip and said to Jerome, “Marta’s right. We won’t leave Ed here. We’ll go with you to your mother’s house, but Ed must come with us.”

  “That’s impossible.” Jerome’s expression hardened. “My mother’s charity will not extend that far. And it isn’t necessary. Eddie works for Abigail Dormer, proprietress of a girls’
school. Miss Dormer will come fetch him as soon as she learns he’s here.”

  Eddie moaned, shook his head, and curled more tightly into himself.

  “No,” Kyla said. “He will go with us, or we will go nowhere.”

  Sweat beaded on Jerome’s forehead. “I tell you, that simpleton cannot go with us.”

  “Don’t call him that!” Marta said. “We don’t need charity from you.”

  If only Marta would stop making matters worse. Charity wasn't what motivated Jerome. He wanted power, wanted it badly enough to have risked his job, his future on this venture. He could be persuaded to take Ed if Marta didn’t anger him past endurance.

  Kyla stepped partly in front of Marta, brought her heel down hard on Marta’s toe. Ignoring Marta’s gasp of anger and pain, she smiled sweetly at Jerome. “It’s good of you to want to help us. I know what courage it must have taken for you to come here like this. You don’t want that effort to be for naught, and neither do I. But my friend is determined to help poor Ed. She absolutely will not leave him alone and frightened in this terrible place. I will not leave her. So unless you let us bring him with us, you'll have to leave without us, and we'll have to face the wrath of Councilor Hardwick.” She feigned a shudder, made her eyes plead. “We do want your help, Master Esterville.” She was proud of herself for remembering his surname. “Surely when you’ve already done so much, it will be a small thing to bring Ed along. We’ll see that he's no trouble and does not annoy your mother.”

  Marta’s sharp inhalation made Kyla gesture frantically behind her back. Jerome’s thoughtful look told her he was considering her words. If Marta kept quiet …

  “Didn’t you see the open cell door?” Marta demanded. “Does that look like we need your help?”

  Jerome cast a startled glance at the open door, as though he hadn’t understood its significance. “No,” he said slowly, “I guess you don’t.” He walked to the door, paused. “Unless you can also make yourselves invisible, it won’t do you much good once Hardwick starts hunting for you.” He left the cell.

  “Get Ed onto his feet.” Kyla accompanied the whispered command with a withering look. She hurried forward, caught up with Jerome in the corridor, linked her arm with his. “Don’t be angry with Marta. We’re grateful for your help, truly. We’ll come with you—all of us.”