As his mother hurried to the attic steps and called out the news, he rushed downstairs. He didn’t want to see the women until he had a chance to think things through. And he did have to get back to the search before his companions became suspicious.
His mother’s account was distorted by her fanaticism, he felt sure. But something had happened to deflect the search party.
The women’s magic had to be real. He recalled the peculiar tête-à-tête with Kyla, the odd prickling when she touched his wrist.
Suddenly he was certain she had bespelled him. He had to discover what she had done and why. They’d have to teach him to use the power he was sure he had.
He would carry out his plan to kill Simple Eddie. The women had made such a pet out of the fool. With Eddie out of the way, they’d turn their attentions to him.
Exhausted from her expenditure of power, Kyla went to her room and lay down, relieved that Jerome had left without trying to talk with her or Marta. His mother’s version of the confrontation in the attic would increase his appetite for power. She couldn’t cope with him now.
Eyes closed, she tried to relax, to rest, but her sense of unease persisted. She recognized its cause: the growing rift between her and Marta. Their methods as well as their talents had always been different, yet they complemented each other. Marta had no reason to envy Kyla’s gifts. Alair had shared his power with Marta; Kyla had power of her own, manifested originally as the gift of windspeaking. She had considered her ability to ride the wind the major manifestation of her power until Marta prodded her into testing her wind singing on other problems. On her own she might never have discovered that wind singing was a magical gift and that, in addition to the wind, many other things responded to it.
She owed Marta much. She felt in no way superior to her friend. Marta had no need to feel inferior to her. She understood, though, that Marta’s harsh upbringing made her slow to trust and quick to misjudge motives and intentions. These days of forced inactivity left Marta with too much time to dwell on imagined slights and inequities. If Marta could devote that time to training Ed, she’d be content. But Ed’s inadvertent displays of power had shown the need to go slow. They dare not teach Ed how to unleash the tremendous power at his command until they knew he could control it.
“We’re making precious little progress that I can see,” she said aloud to Alair. “Ed’s afraid of his power, and that’s probably a good thing right now. What I don’t understand is why we’ve stirred Jerome up to a point where he’s likely to act against Ed before Ed knows how to defend himself. Here we have two talented people, and we’re using none of the techniques for training them we developed in North Woods.”
Patience, love, the remembered deep voice spoke in her mind. These two young men are not like any of those you trained in North Woods. They have unique needs.
“How can you be sure you know how to meet those needs, when you haven’t encountered them before? You aren’t omniscient, even if you have convinced Mother Esterville that you’re a god.”
Of course I’m not omniscient, but being shut up inside a living crystal and deprived of sensory input marvelously concentrates the mind. I experience wonderful leaps of intuition, comprehend relationships I never would have seen in my mortal body.
Kyla had heard this before and was feeling stubborn. “You have no way of testing these hypotheses,” she said.
No way except by channeling power through those selected to receive it, he admitted.
It was difficult holding these conversations of the mind. She missed seeing Alair, talking to him face to face. All the nuances revealed through facial expressions were missing. Although Alair had never been easy to talk to. “So you're experimenting with Ed and Jerome,” she said. “If the experiment fails it will do more than disprove your hypothesis; it will destroy one or two lives.”
Alair didn’t answer immediately. The long silence told her she’d hit a sore spot. When his words came again to her mind, they did not address her objection. Jerome, you know, is a rogue talent. Whatever gifts he has do not come from me. His power derives from another source.
“How can that be?”
Before they gathered in Noster Valley, sorcerers and mages were spread throughout Arucadi. Afterward none were left that I was told of, but it’s possible that someone was missed or that the talent could crop up again as a sport.
“So what does that mean?”
It means I have no control over Jerome’s power. He could become extremely dangerous if he learns to use it.
“Wonderful! And you’ve stirred him up against Ed.”
Not before first having you bind his power. I deemed it better to bring matters to a head before Jerome discovers how to use his gift. He’s far less dangerous now than he will be then. If Ed is jolted into using the gift he’s so afraid of, that’s not a bad thing. He has amazing capacity for receiving power, as you’ve witnessed.
“But no idea how to control it. He might kill Jerome. He might blast out at anyone in range.”
I believe I can prevent that, since unlike Jerome, Ed does derive his power from me.
“You think you can prevent it. Suppose you’re wrong?”
I’m rarely wrong, Alair began indignantly. He might have said more, but at that point Marta burst into Kyla’s room, and Kyla lost the concentration needed to communicate with Alair.
“The Breyadon’s gone,” Marta proclaimed with an air of panic. “Jerome has it again.”
“What do you mean, ‘again’? He’s had it ever since he took our valises.”
“No, I didn’t tell you, but I found it in his room and took it.” Marta paused for breath, then continued. “It was under the bed in Ed’s room. He must have found it when he was looking for us a little while ago. It’s probably back in his room. Shall I try to find it?”
Kyla tried to comprehend the significance of this news. “When did you find it? And why was it in Ed’s room?”
“I found it yesterday. I was looking around, learning the layout of this place and I—uh—came across it in Jerome’s dresser. I took it to Ed to see if he could read it. He has so much talent, I thought he might be able to. But he couldn’t, and I hid it under the bed when the searchers came.”
“How do you know they didn’t find it?”
“I don’t see any reason why it would have attracted their attention. If they saw it, they wouldn’t have known what it was. They were looking for us, not for a book. I’m certain Jerome has it.”
Kyla pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to clear her mind. “Why would Jerome be interested in the Breyadon? He can’t read it,” she said slowly, more to herself than to Marta.
“How do you know he can’t?” Marta’s verbal pounce startled Kyla into remembrance.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I never told you. Alair gave me a binding spell to use on Jerome. He isn’t the source of Jerome’s power, and he wants us to concentrate on training Ed.”
“And you’ve worked the spell? So even if Jerome could read the spell book, he can’t?”
Kyla nodded. “I did it last night.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? It’s one less thing to worry about.”
“Not really.” Kyla took a deep breath and told Marta exactly what she’d done and what Jerome’s reaction had been. “Alair thinks Jerome will provoke Ed into using his power, but why he believes that’s a good thing I don’t understand. It’s not the sort of training I had in mind for Ed.”
“But you did it anyway,” Marta said, hands on hips, eyes stormy. “You put Ed in peril because with no explanation Alair ordered it.”
“He’s the Power-Giver. He knows what he’s doing,” Kyla said stiffly. “He doesn’t have to explain.”
“You sound like Mother Esterville.” Marta turned on her heel and slammed out of the room.
Kyla sighed and lay back on the bed, massaging her temples. Her defense of Alair masked her own grave doubts. She’d solved nothing, only widened the rift between h
er and Marta.
What did Jerome want with the Breyadon?
CHAPTER TEN
VOICES
Fuming, Marta marched to Ed’s room. At her abrupt entry he jumped and took on the startled rabbit look she saw too often on his face. Hurriedly she crossed the room and sat beside him on the bed.
“Miss Kyla doesn’t know where the book is?” he asked timidly.
“Jerome has the book,” she said. “I knew that as soon as I saw that it was missing.”
“Why would he want it?” Ed repeated the question they had all asked. “Can he read it?”
“No. Look, Ed, whatever you do, don’t trust Jerome. Keep your guard up when you’re around him.”
Ed ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “I know Jerome doesn’t like me,” he said. “He’s a lot smarter than I am. I’m scared of him.”
“You don’t need to be. He doesn’t like you because he’s jealous of your power. He wants to do the things you can do.”
“You mean, like hear the Power-Giver?”
Marta nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt for her own envy of that gift. “And like picking spring flowers in a place only you can go to.”
“I didn’t know it was a real place,” he said as if apologizing. “I thought it was just a made-up place in my head.”
“You don’t bring flowers back from a made-up place,” she said, remembering to speak gently. “I don’t know where you went or how you got there, but the place was real. And you couldn’t have got to it without power—a lot of it. Jerome wants that kind of power. He may try to hurt you to get it.”
His fingers twisted agonizingly in his hair. “I don’t know what I did. If I knew, I’d tell him, but I can’t.”
“Even if you could, Ed, it wouldn’t help him. He couldn’t do what you do. That makes him angry. It isn’t your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s good to have the kind of power you have, but it isn’t something you can give away. You don’t have to tell Jerome anything. Just stay out of his way.”
“I do that when I can, but here in his house …” He shrugged.
“I know,” Marta said. “Avoid him as much as you can. And be careful. Don’t be alone with him. Stay close to me or Kyla whenever he’s around.”
“I’ll try,” he promised, white-faced and solemn.
She patted his knee. “Don’t be afraid. You’re stronger than he is.”
A deep blush swept across his face. Quickly she removed her hand from his knee. His gaze fixed on the wall opposite them, he said slowly, “That’s what the voice said.”
“The Power-Giver? He’s spoken to you again?”
He nodded, then turned to meet her gaze. “And somebody else. A different voice.”
Marta stared at him. “Are you saying you heard two voices?”
He dropped his gaze and again his fingers attacked his hair. “Three, I think.”
In a strange way Marta was relieved. She had been envious at the thought that Ed had heard Alair’s voice while she could not. The possibility that he had heard a second voice had distressed her even more. Whose could that second voice be but Claid’s? But that he heard three voices was simply impossible. He had to be imagining it, and maybe he had imagined hearing a voice, that first time, too, in the shrine. As emotionally fragile as he was, he could have been pushed over the edge of madness by his experience with the mage light.
Keeping her voice carefully level, she asked, “What did these voices say?”
“A voice that sounded mean and raspy-like said—I-I’d rather not say, Miss Marta. It was warning me …” His voice trailed off.
“Warning you about what, Ed? You can tell me.” The thought flitted through Marta’s mind that she should get Kyla and let her hear what he was saying. But, no, better let Ed tell her the whole story so she could first decide whether they were dealing with a minor delusion or total madness.
His face was flushed again, and he stared fixedly at the floor. “Things about me. Things like my pa used to say to me, only worse. I can’t say them.”
“All right,” Marta yielded, fearing to push him further. “Then what happened?”
“Then another voice, still not the one I heard before, told the first one to be quiet. ‘He’s under my protection,’ it said. And then the voice I heard before, when I thought Harin spoke to me, said, “Don’t be afraid, Ed. You have a powerful protector.’ And then I didn’t hear anything more. But I am scared, Miss Marta. I don’t like hearing those voices.”
Marta was scared, too. The account sounded too rational; it made her question her theory. She couldn’t let him see how much his story puzzled and upset her.
“Trust the last voice that spoke,” she said, feeling that advice was safe in any event. “I’m sure that was the voice of the Power-Giver. He won’t let anything bad happen to you. Remember that.”
“I’ll try,” he said, his words filled with doubt.
Marta’s doubts were as great as his. She had to tell Kyla about this latest development so that Kyla could consult with Alair and find out what was going on.
She stayed with Ed a little longer, reassuring him, before she taking her leave and going to find Kyla.
When Abigail opened her office door to usher out the two sets of parents who had just withdrawn their daughters, a third set was waiting in the hall. With a feeling of hopelessness she allowed them to enter and offered chairs.
Master Crowell was a portly gentleman with a florid face and a brusque manner. Mistress Crowell was a small, dark-haired woman with a fondness for rings. Every finger bore at least one gemmed band and some bore two or three; only her thumbs were unadorned. While Master Crowell announced their intention of removing their daughter Veronica, Mistress Crowell spread her hands out on her knees, so that the many gems caught the light and sparkled like winking eyes.
“Your Veronica is an exceptionally fine student,” Abigail said, not needing to exaggerate in this case. Veronica Crowell was a brilliant child, and Abigail could not bear the thought of losing her. “You will be doing her a grave disservice if you discontinue her education.”
“We don’t intend to neglect Veronica’s education, Miss Dormer. She will not abandon the books.”
Mistress Crowell moved her hands this way and that, sending varicolored reflections dancing across her fingers. “There will be no break whatever in her studies,” she said. “Genevieve Wirth, Councilor Hardwick’s daughter, is opening a school in her home. Veronica will enroll tomorrow.”
Abigail recoiled as though struck. Hardwick’s daughter opening a school! Genevieve Hardwick had been a student here. How could she conspire with her father to destroy the school that had given her a fine education? Abigail considered objecting to the Crowells, telling them, truthfully, that Genevieve Hardwick Wirth was an intelligent young lady but nowhere near as qualified as Leah, who was Veronica’s teacher. But why bother? Clearly the Crowells were in no mood to listen.
With shaking hands she affixed her signature to the withdrawal papers already signed by the Crowells. “I’ll get Veronica,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level and hold back tears.
Veronica’s departure left only three students in Leah’s class. They’ll be back, Abigail told herself without conviction. They have to come back.
By the conclusion of the school day two more students had been withdrawn. Abigail’s protests and pleas availed nothing. The rumors about Edwin grew more vicious with every passing hour. He had cursed the Farley sisters. He spied on all the girls in the school and followed some to their homes to peek in their windows at night. He stole their books and robbed coins from their purses. Abigail refused to discipline him; she allowed him to commit these offenses without fear of punishment. The whole town seemed to have lost its collective mind and could no longer distinguish truth from falsehood. Reason had fled.
When she unburdened herself to Leah, her friend said, “This isn’t the end, Abbie, even if you have to close the school. We can go somewhere else and start ov
er, build a better school. So long as we stick together, they can’t defeat us.”
Marta went directly from Ed’s room to Kyla’s and found her friend standing near the curtained window as if struggling with the temptation to sweep the curtains aside and gaze out. Kyla turned toward her with a rueful smile.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I know better than to show myself at a window. I keep trying, though, to catch the scent of a breeze and maybe get a glimpse of its color.”
Despite her anxiety, Marta grinned. She knew how Kyla loved the wind, and while she’d never believed Kyla’s claim of talking to the wind and seeing colors in it, she’d been forced to accept as truth Kyla’s ability to call the wind and to ride it, having been taken on white-knuckle rides on several harrowing occasions.
Possibly she shouldn’t be so quick to doubt the gifts of others, Ed included.
She plopped down on Kyla’s bed and told her of Ed’s claim to have heard three voices. Kyla listened with a frown that deepened as Marta recounted what each voice had said.
“You think he imagined it all?” Marta asked at the end of her recitation.
“He didn’t imagine the voice he heard in the shrine,” Kyla said. “Alair confirmed that he’d spoken to Ed. I wonder … Let me see what Alair says about the other voices.”
Her eyes took on the distant look that they got when she conversed with the Power-Giver. As always, Marta wished she could hear the conversation and tried to restrain her anger that she could not. Of all Kyla’s gifts and those of others to whom they had channeled power, the ability to hear the Power-Giver was the only one Marta envied. The bed creaked its protests as she fidgeted through a wait that seemed interminable.
It did end, finally, when Kyla said abruptly, “Ed’s telling the truth.”
Marta waited for more and when Kyla remained silent blurted, “Well? Whose voices did he hear? What’s going on?”
“Well, the first voice was Alair’s. As for the second, it seems Ed’s attracted the attention of the Dire Lords. I’m not sure how or why, but it has to do with the place he went when he vanished yesterday and came back with the flowers.”
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