Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2)

by E. Rose Sabin

  The title and opening words of one spell she had read leaped to her mind. A Spell for the Reversal of Fortunes. For changing good fortune to bad or ill fortune to good. Using charcoal on a white cloth, inscribe a circle within a pentagram and stand therein …

  That spell provided a possible explanation. Her errant mind, desperately seeking a reprieve from the disaster so rapidly overtaking her, could have invented a solution, albeit a ludicrous one.

  But the theory failed to explain the other spells, entirely unrelated to her problem, and how and why the book had been placed in her desk drawer. Haunted by those questions and not wishing to dwell on them further, she rose from her bed, went to her window, and looked out into the night. How long she stood there fighting to keep the lunatic thoughts at bay she didn’t know; time became a meaningless blur.

  She was pulled from her musing by a wandering light. In will-o-the-wisp fashion it drifted through her yard, zigzagged, took a more rapid but erratic course through the fields between her house and the school, veered again and disappeared into the barn. The phenomenon required investigation. It had been no disembodied foxfire but a lantern carried by someone dressed so that he or she was nearly invisible, a shadow figure bent on some nefarious deed.

  She found her way downstairs in the dark and fumbled around for a lantern and matches, knowing she was losing precious time. It might be Edwin out there, hiding, trying to gather the nerve to come to her. She couldn’t let him get away again before she could reach him.

  At last she got the lantern lit and, in nightgown and slippers, launched herself from the house and ran through the damp grass toward the barn.

  Disturbed by the light, the horses stamped restlessly in their stalls and one let out a loud snort of protest. “Shh, shh, it’s all right. It’s only me,” she soothed, looking around.

  She spotted nothing amiss, no footprints in the hard dirt floor, nothing out of place—or was there? She saw an empty hook on the wall that held the grooming and garden tools. She couldn’t remember what had hung in that space, but something had been taken from it, she was certain.

  And the stack of baled hay was leaning suspiciously. Was someone hiding behind it? She walked warily toward it. “Edwin,” she called softly. “Edwin, it’s Miss Abigail. If you’re here, please answer. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

  No one answered, and she heard nothing except the nervous whickers of the horses. The stack of hay bales hadn’t been shoved forward as she had first suspected. A closer examination showed only the top bale off balance. She lifted it off the stack. Beneath it lay a leather-bound book.

  The spell book! So this was where Leah had hidden it! She didn’t want to see the accursed thing. She hoisted the bale back in place, concealing the book again.

  Satisfied that no one was using the hay as a hiding place, she made a careful search of the rest of the barn. She checked the horses’ stalls, looked inside and all around the carriage. Whoever had come in here must have left while she was still in the house. If it had been Edwin, he would have gone to his bungalow. She’d have to look there.

  She had almost reached it when sounds of a struggle—grunts, smothered cries, snapping branches—came to her from out toward the creek. She turned and headed toward the noise.

  Her nightgown caught and tangled in brambles and she had to stop to work it loose. A cry of “No! Stop!” rang out, followed by loud splashes. She recognized Edwin’s voice.

  “Edwin, I’m coming,” she yelled, tearing her gown free. Yanking it up around her thighs, she raced to the creek bank, shouting Edwin’s name. A mud-spattered pack of some kind lay at the water's edge. She bent, picked it up, and saw that it was a pillowcase stuffed with clothes—underwear and a shirt she recognized as Ed's. She clasped the wet, muddy bundle to her breast. The bundle must mark the place where he'd been attacked.

  Reluctantly she dropped it to free her hands. Lifting her lantern high, she held it over the water. Ripples pushed against the current. Nothing else. She broke a branch from a willow. Kicking off her slippers and setting her lantern down on the bank beside the discarded bundle of clothes, she stepped into the icy water and waded waist deep. Her probes with the branch yielded nothing. She dropped it and plunged beneath the water and felt about with her hands, came up with only handfuls of weeds and mud. After several minutes the cold forced her to abandon her fruitless search. As she headed for the bank, she stepped on something hard, ducked under the water, and retrieved the object.

  It was a shoeing pick and hammer. That was what had been missing from the barn wall!

  With some difficulty she climbed onto the bank clutching the hammer. She reclaimed her lantern and examined the tool. If it had been used, as she feared, to batter poor Edwin, its sojourn in the creek had removed any trace of blood or gore. Soaked, teeth chattering, she explored the area, found crushed reeds and gouges in the muddy bank that could have been made by boot heels. Sunk into the mud at water’s edge, half submerged, lay a lantern, its chimney cracked and its oil spilled into the creek. The mud did not entirely conceal the coating of bootblack that had been applied to the glass to dim the light. Seeing nothing that could identify its owner, she set it higher on the bank, out of reach of the water, and resumed her search.

  All the signs indicated that two people had been here, had fought, and at least one had slipped or been drawn into the creek. Edwin had certainly been one of the two. If he had drowned, he might be entangled in weeds on the creek bottom or carried downstream by the current. Or with a bit of luck, he could have crossed the creek and escaped into the fields beyond.

  She strained to see a sign of movement in the distance, but the darkness defeated her. She listened, but heard only the usual night sounds of insects and the mournful hoot of an owl.

  The sound seemed an omen. With a shudder she turned away from the creek and headed back to the house, carrying the hammer with her. Her lantern shook in her trembling hand, and its flame flickered, sending shadows tumbling about with eerie effect. She jumped at every sound, started at each shift from light to gloom.

  Cold and wet and fearful though she was, an impulse made her detour to the barn. She hung the shoeing hammer back in its rack and, without knowing why, went and got the spell book from under the bale of hay. Carrying it with her, she hurried back to the house.

  “Is that you, Abbie? Is something wrong?” Leah’s worried voice called down as she headed for the stairs.

  Thankful as she was that Leah was awake, she didn’t want to be seen with the spell book. She dashed into the sitting room and jammed the book behind the sofa. Then she ran to the foot of the stairs and called up, “Yes, come down. I’m afraid something terrible has happened to Edwin.”

  The house seemed to stir, to breathe, to groan. It was filled with small noises: a creaking board, a chirping cricket, a branch scraping against window glass, a loose shutter flapping in the wind, the scurry of a mouse in search of food, the loud tick of the clock on her shelf. Nothing alarming taken separately, but in combination the sounds produced a weird disharmony, a protest. Unable to sleep, Kyla rose, lit her kerosene lamp, and carried it out into the hall. She had no idea what she was looking for, but something was not right. She paused at Marta’s door, eased it open, and heard the reassuring sound of deep breathing. Softly she closed the door and went on to Ed’s room.

  She hoped to hear something merely by listening through the door, a snore perhaps. Hearing nothing, she considered whether she should look inside. She did not want to wake Ed and alarm him, but her sense of wrongness prevailed. She opened the door and let her lamp shine into the room.

  The room was empty, the bed mussed but not unmade, as if someone had lain on it without throwing back the spread. She stepped into the room and looked around. The clothes of Jerome’s that Ed had been wearing were folded and stacked neatly on a chair. His own clothes, washed and mended by Mother Esterville, were gone.

  Kyla detected no evidence of foul play. All signs suggested that Ed had wa
ited until everyone was asleep and then sneaked from the house for reasons of his own. Still, she felt driven to check on Jerome. She hurried to his room and knocked on his door, no longer trying to be quiet. When he didn’t answer, she tried the door and found it locked. Pitching her voice low, she sang to the lock until it clicked open.

  Like Ed’s room, Jerome’s was unoccupied and the bed covers undisturbed. Deeply alarmed, Kyla rushed to wake Marta. She shook her friend and, when she got a groggy response, explained what she’d found.

  Marta jumped from the bed. “We’ve got to find them before Jerome hurts Ed.”

  Kyla nodded. “Get dressed. I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.”

  When she emerged from Marta’s room, Mother Esterville hurried toward her in nightgown and brocade robe, hair put up in rags, face smeared with a white cream that reeked of mutton and almonds. “What’s happening? Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “Ed’s gone,” Kyla said.

  “Gone? Where?” The woman looked confused.

  “I don’t know. Outside somewhere. Marta and I are going after him.”

  “You mustn’t go out. I’ll fetch Jerome.” She spun around and headed toward Jerome’s room.

  Kyla stopped her. “He’s gone too,” she said.

  “Well, it’s all right, then. He must have heard Ed leave. He’ll find him and bring him home.”

  “Maybe he will, but we can’t rely on it.” Kyla didn’t share her suspicions of Jerome with his mother. “Marta and I can find him more easily.”

  “Perhaps you can, but it’s not safe for you to be out alone. I’ll go with you.”

  “Only if you’re ready when we are,” Kyla said, brushing past Mother Esterville. She refused to argue with the woman; she’d already wasted precious time.

  Mother Esterville didn’t protest. She clattered down the hall to her room. Kyla ran to her own room, yanked off her nightgown, and pulled on a shirt and trousers she’d borrowed earlier from Jerome’s things, wanting an outfit she could move quickly in if the need arose. She picked up her lamp, and hurried to meet Marta.

  She had no intention of waiting for Mother Esterville. The woman would need longer to dress. By the time she pulled the rags from her hair and wiped the grease from her face, they’d be well away from the house.

  Marta was already in the hall, carrying a lantern and wearing the blouse and skirt she’d worn on their arrival. They started down the stairs.

  “Wait, girls, I’m coming.” Mother Esterville’s call halted them.

  Kyla looked around and saw their hostess run to the stairs and hurry to join them. She’d wiped the grease from her face, though its odor lingered, stuck a bonnet over the rags in her hair, and exchanged her robe for a light coat worn over her nightgown. She made a ludicrous figure with her rag-bound curls poking from beneath the bonnet and her pink flannel nightgown visible through the gap in the front of the coat, but Kyla didn’t feel like laughing. They’d already lost too much time. Protesting Mother Esterville’s presence would only lose more.

  Kyla paused to leave her lamp on a table by the front door in favor of Marta’s more practical lantern. They exited the house and went to the street.

  “See if you can sense his presence anywhere,” Kyla said to Marta.

  Marta closed her eyes; her brow furrowed in concentration.

  “We must ask the protection of the gods,” Mother Esterville said. “I’ve already said a prayer to Harin and made a special plea to Liadra. You must ask your Power-Giver for help.”

  With a start Kyla realized she hadn’t consulted Alair. She sent a quick mental appeal: Alair, guide us. Lead us to Ed before it’s too late.

  She heard no answering voice in her mind, but Marta’s eyes popped open and she pointed east. “That way,” she said. “It’s not close. We’ve got a considerable distance to cover in a short time.”

  She set off at a trot. Kyla easily kept pace, but Mother Esterville lagged behind. Hearing her huffing and puffing in the background, Kyla felt sorry for her, but refused to slow. They’d covered several blocks and entered a less populous area when Marta suddenly halted.

  She turned to Kyla with a look of alarm. “It’s gone!”

  “What’s gone?” She turned around to verify that Mother Esterville still puffed along behind.

  “The sense of Ed’s presence. That’s what I’ve been following. His soul-trace. It’s gone. It cut off all of a sudden, as if … as if …”

  “As if he died?” Kyla finished grimly.

  Marta nodded and choked back a sob.

  Chest heaving, Mother Esterville reached them and leaned heavily on Kyla’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?” she managed between pants.

  “Marta lost the trail,” Kyla said.

  Mother Esterville looked around. “Well, it’s not hard to figure where he’d go. We’re not far from Abigail Dormer’s school. Ed worked there and lived in a shack behind the school building. That’s likely where he’s gone. I’ll show you the way.”

  She took the lead, and Kyla and Marta fell into place behind her. Their progress was much slower, but that couldn’t be helped. Probably, Kyla reflected, there’s no more need for haste.

  Abigail Dormer’s school. Mother Esterville’s words impacted on Kyla’s anxious mind. Miss Abigail’s school was the one the girl in her dream had wanted so badly to return to.

  If it was too late to save Ed, it might not yet be too late for the young teacher and the gifted but untrained pupil who threatened her life.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DAY AND NIGHT

  The insistent voice refused to go away. “Orville, wake up,” it shouted into his ear. “Someone’s downstairs pounding on the door.”

  He groaned, tried to turn over and put a pillow over his head. Nellie yanked the pillow from his hands, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him awake. “Orville, go see who it is,” she shrilled.

  He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The hammering from below registered now. He staggered to his feet and headed for the door.

  “Put on your robe,” his wife ordered, thrusting his dressing gown into his hands.

  He put it on over his nightshirt as he descended the stairs, tied it closed as he reached the door. “Who’s there?” he bellowed.

  “Roddy Sampson, Master Hardwick. Think I seen the folks you’re hunting.”

  Hardwick opened the door and let the man step inside. Sampson was a rangy, gray-haired man who was missing most of his teeth. Hardwick remembered that he worked as a gardener for the Brynnes. “You saw the wonder workers? Or Simple Eddie?” he asked, wondering if the man were drunk. He smelled of ale and sweat.

  “All of ’em—and more besides.”

  “Explain.” Hardwick had no patience for fools. He suspected Sampson had seen nothing more than the bottom of a bottle.

  “Well, sir, I woke up needin’ to pee, havin’ tossed back a few before turnin’ in. I was waterin’ a tree outside my shack when I seen a fellow kinda skulkin’ along the side of the road carryin’ a lantern fixed up so its light was partway covered and just shone right where the fellow was. He’s up to no good, thinks I, and when he’s gone by I step out into the street and watch him for a bit. That’s when I seen the other guy up ahead of the one with the lantern. Just seen him as a shadow, couldn’t recognize ’im, he was movin’ along at a pert good clip even in the dark. The lantern-carrier was followin’ him, that was clear. Well, I thought about trailin’ after ’em to see what they’s up to, but I didn’t want to get m’self killed if they was armed and up to no good, as I figgered. So I just watched till they were outta sight. I was all wide awake now and curious, so I stayed there a bit thinkin’ maybe they’d come back by. It occurred to me it might be one of the posse fellers followin’ Simple Eddie.

  “Well, I don’t know if t’was or not, but by and by here come two women, one o’ them with a lantern, only at first I thought they was a man and a woman ’cause one had on a shirt and trousers. Only when they got closer I
saw she had long hair, down near to her waist. And I says to m’self, 'Roddy, them’s the two women everybody’s been chasin’. You want to follow ’em, see where they go, and collect the reward.' So I snuck along after ’em, keepin’ behind bushes where they wouldn’t see me.

  “Then, lo and behold, did I get a fright! What comes chasin’ ’em but a sure enough witch! Old hag, she was, with a purple face and snakes peekin’ out from under her bonnet, and she was huffin’ and mutterin’ to herself as she trotted along, settin’ spells and curses, I’ve no doubt. I wasn’t gonna mess with her, no sir. I lit out for here to tell you what I seen and let you and the peacekeepers take over.”

  Until the part about the witch, Sampson’s story had nearly convinced Hardwick that the man had seen the wonder workers and maybe Simple Eddie as well. The tale of the witch dashed his hopes. Old Roddy had had nothing more than an ale-dream.

  Sampson must have read Hardwick’s expression and understood that his story was not believed. “Look, Councilor, I saw what I saw, I swear it. They was all headin’ toward Miss Abigail’s place, I’d guess. Leastways, that’s what’s just down the road a bit from where I seen ’em. Do I get my reward?”

  Hardwick’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Abigail Dormer’s place, eh? Might be so, at that. You’ll get a reward if we find them. I’ll give you a few coppers now to run to Homer Farley’s house and tell him what you told me. You know Master Farley, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. But I was expectin’ more’n a few coppers.”

  “If we recapture the fugitives because of what you’ve told me, I promise you’ll receive the full reward of one gold dorin.”