Jerome seemed dazed. He’d said nothing all the while Ed cared for him, and now he closed his eyes obediently and slid into sleep. Why had he been so afraid of this man.
Jerome had tried to kill him, but Ed had saved himself. Could he always have done that? Or was it only here, in his special place, that he could be strong enough to defeat his enemies? He’d used this as a hiding place, a refuge. Until now, he hadn’t seen it as a place of strength. Maybe it had only become such a place since Kyla and Marta had taught him to use his power.
Marta. If he could bring her here, show her this place, she’d be proud of him. He could convince her that this was a safe and special place. Here he wouldn’t have to hide how he felt about her.
Only he didn’t know how to bring her here. Of course she’d have to consent to come. He couldn’t just drag her off. He’d brought Jerome by accident. He hadn’t wanted him here. How could he bring someone he wanted?
Sitting beside the sleeping Jerome, Ed tried to puzzle it out. He had no idea how to get back to the other world, where Marta was. He wasn’t sure how had he done it before. It had just happened. He’d lost the sense of danger that had sent him here, and with the return of calm he’d found himself back there. He was calm now, but he was still here. He had more confidence in himself than he’d ever had before, but that newfound strength hadn't carried him away from this world. He’d never been here so long. Maybe Jerome’s presence had somehow changed the rules, and it was possible that they could never get back.
He’d often thought he’d like to stay here forever, but that was before he’d confessed to himself his feelings for Marta. He remembered that he’d been about to run away from her. Now the thought of never seeing her again frightened him, and he knew he had to find a way back. His strong desire to return should take him to her, but it didn’t.
It must be because of Jerome. He couldn’t go and leave Jerome here. He had no idea what happened to his world when he wasn’t in it. It might vanish into nothingness to reappear only when he needed it again. If he left and Jerome remained, the world could vanish and take Jerome with it.
Or it might remain and become Jerome’s world instead of his. He wouldn’t want that. Or it might turn against Jerome. The bear might finish what it had begun, or other dangers might appear.
Was that the cry of a hunting fellcat in the distance? It might not come near him, though he hadn’t imagined fellcats in his world. But certainly Jerome wouldn't be safe from it.
Ed would have to keep Jerome with him and find a way to take them back to the world where Marta waited. The world where worse things than fellcats threatened.
The sky grew light as he pondered all these things. The night had been short; time here moved differently than it did on the other world. The real world.
Was this world less real? Ed used to think it existed only in his imagination, but he now believed differently. He thought maybe he hadn't really created it, but instead it had always been here and his need had somehow made it known to him. In that case, it could hold unsuspected dangers.
A bird awoke in a nearby tree and launched into joyous song. The frogs and night insects fell silent. A squirrel chattered on a branch over his head. It was time to wake Jerome and find the meadow. He stretched and extended his hand toward Jerome, was stopped in midreach by a voice calling his name.
He jumped to his feet and looked around, saw nothing. He heard it again: “Edwin?” A woman’s voice, muffled, coming as though from a great distance.
“Marta?” He said it aloud. Louder: “Marta?”
Jerome stirred, groaned. Don’t wake up yet, Ed willed. Not till I find where she is.
Again the voice called, louder and clearer. Not Marta’s voice after all. Miss Abigail.
“Edwin? Can you hear me?”
This time Ed answered. “Yes, Miss Abigail. I hear you, but I can’t see you. Where are you?”
“Oh, Edwin.” Sobs made her words difficult to understand. “I’m at home. But you … you’re dead? Where are you? What is it like? Did you suffer?”
“Suffer? Dead?” he repeated, puzzled. “No, I’m …” How to explain about his special world? “I’m in another place, a place I—”
“Dead! Yes, I knew it!” Jerome leaped to his feet, shouting. “Dead. We’re dead.”
He ran like a wild thing into the trees, shouting all the while, and Ed was forced to chase after him. Only when Jerome tripped over a tree root and fell was Ed able to catch up. He tackled Jerome as he struggled to his feet, sat on his back to hold him down.
“Listen to me, Jerome,” he said. “We aren't dead. I told you that before. This is a place I made up—or maybe found.” The thoughts he’d had through the night led him to add that last.
Jerome groaned. “No, we’re dead. She said so, didn’t she?”
“She asked. And we’re not,” Ed said firmly. “Do you hear that, Miss Abigail? We’re not dead. We’re in another place, that’s all.”
No answer came. Whatever link had allowed her to speak to him had been broken by Jerome’s outburst and flight. He called several more times, still sitting on Jerome. Finally he hauled Jerome to his feet and, holding him tightly by the arm, led him back to the clearing where he’d heard her voice. There he called until he grew hoarse, but she did not answer.
“We’re dead,” Jerome muttered. “I know it.”
“Dead men don’t get mauled by bears,” Ed said.
“If we’re not dead, if you just brought us here as you say, then take us back.”
“I will—when I figure out how.”
“Hah!”
“I’ll find a way,” Ed insisted, hoping it was true. “You must stay with me so you won’t get left behind when I do. Don’t wander off alone.”
Sullen, Jerome turned his face away. Nevertheless, he didn’t resist when Ed guided him from the clearing and onto a path that was plain to see by light of day.
As Ed had hoped, the path led to the meadow. Keeping Jerome with him, Ed searched through the meadow grasses until he found the healing herbs he wanted. He ordered Jerome to sit still while he unwrapped the wounds and applied a poultice of the herbs. Crushed, the herbs gave off a tangy fragrance that seemed to calm Jerome. He let Ed re-bandage the cuts and gouges, then rose and walked meekly by Ed’s side.
They breakfasted on apples while Ed, now shirtless, considered where to go. It probably didn’t matter. The way home wasn’t to be found by walking. But Jerome expected him to do something, go somewhere. So it was best to keep moving while he tried to think of some way of getting back.
Since it didn’t matter, Ed decided to cross the brook and head across the fields to the unknown lands beyond. If he couldn’t find his way back to the other world, he could at least learn more about this one.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
INTO THE UNKNOWN
Abigail stared with hatred at the book on her lap. Against all her convictions, all her cherished beliefs, the spell had worked. The book was not a fraud or a trick; it was genuine. And it had brought her the knowledge of Edwin’s death.
She thrust the book off her lap, letting it fall to the floor. I should burn it, she thought. I should rid myself of its evil.
She rose to check the fireplace to see if any live embers remained from the fire Leah had built earlier. A small voice of reason whispered that she shouldn’t blame the book for Edwin’s death. The spell that let her hear his voice confirmed his continued existence in an afterlife. She should be grateful for that.
She was in no mood to listen to reason. She slammed a fist against the stone side of the fireplace when she found only cold ashes. Well, she’d build a new fire and throw the book onto it.
“Abbie, the spell book. It’s here!” Leah spoke behind her.
She hadn’t heard Leah come downstairs. She turned slowly to face her. Leah clutched the book to her breast as if she’d found a treasure.
Abbie couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes. “I … I found it. When I was hunting for Edw
in. It … I thought it might help. I was desperate.”
“Did you try?” Leah asked eagerly.
“Yes. It didn’t work. It’s silly superstition, just as I thought.” The lie loomed like a wall between them; she felt its weight on her chest.
Leah’s eagerness faded. Her disappointed gaze dropped to the book in her arms. “But it does hold magic of some kind. It must. Otherwise, why can you read it and I can’t?”
“It holds evil, not magic,” Abigail said stubbornly. “It’s an instrument of deception. I’m going to burn it.”
“Abbie, you can’t! It belongs to the wonder workers. They told us that.”
“Wonder workers! What wonders did you see worked last night? Wonder workers wouldn’t have gotten themselves thrown into the guardhouse.”
Leah’s frown deepened. “They said they’d used up their power searching for Ed. They did help us. You know they did.”
“We didn’t find him, did we?” Abigail couldn’t halt the flow of bitterness though an inner voice told her that her anger was misdirected. “The wonder workers couldn’t save him and couldn’t save themselves. They’re as useless as that book.”
Leah’s eyes flashed. “They gave me hope,” she said. “I liked them.” With a defiant toss of her head, she added, “And I believe in them.”
“The more fool you are,” Abigail said. “Edwin is dead. I’m sure of it.”
“If he’s dead, where’s his body?”
“Where you wouldn’t let me search. In the bottom of the creek, caught in weeds.”
“Marta said it wasn’t.”
“On the basis of her supposed magic,” Abigail said scornfully. “Really, Leah, I can’t understand how you can believe such nonsense. Those fairy stories you insist on reading to your class have gone to your head.”
“So I suppose you won’t do anything to help Kyla and Marta. You won’t do what Kyla asked you, about talking to Veronica Crowell’s parents and warning Genevieve Wirth.”
Abigail remembered resolving to do those things. In her present state of mind she saw no reason why she should. “You know Veronica. Do you honestly believe she can be any threat to Genevieve? What am I to tell her parents? Don’t they think badly enough of me already, without my going to them with a silly story about Veronica having some kind of magical powers? And where else am I supposed to tell them to send her to school, with my school closing?”
Leah stared at her through eyes brimming with tears. “Abigail, this is so unworthy of you. You’re refusing to help those who helped you. You’re giving up—on Ed, on the school, on everything. If that’s the way you want it, so be it. I’ll see the Crowells, and I’ll find a way to get this spell book to its rightful owners. You can stay here and wallow in self-pity.”
She stormed from the room leaving Abigail stunned and consumed with guilt. But I’m right, she mumbled to herself. She’ll find out, and she’ll come back and tell me how wrong she was and how sorry she is, and I’ll forgive her.
Maybe you’re the one who’s wrong, an insistent voice deep in her mind whispered. She refused to listen. She had behaved badly, but it was because she was tired and anxious, not because she was wrong. Leah would come to understand.
She should go upstairs and try to get some sleep. She was exhausted, and she thought she might be taking a cold from poking around in the creek. A rest would help her keep her temper in check, so she and Leah could work things out.
But her nerves were too on edge, demanding activity. The events of the night and the morning played over and over in her mind. She couldn’t stop them, couldn’t get off that mental carousel. The horses were racing and leaping, carrying her round and round at dizzying speed.
Horses! She needed to care for the horses. That had been Ed’s job, but since his disappearance, she and Leah had taken turns seeing to their feeding and grooming. She grabbed a jacket because she was having a chill and hurried out to the barn.
A horse and the carriage were gone. Leah must have taken them to go to the Crowells. Abigail tended to Mite and Bitsy, the remaining horses, though she was sure Leah hadn’t left without first feeding the animals.
While the horses munched the hay she put in their feed bins, she wandered across the barn and found herself staring at the shoeing hammer. Had it been, as she believed, the instrument of Edwin’s murder, or had he survived the blow, as Marta claimed?
She ran her hand along the smooth wood of the handle, touched the cold iron of the head. A sudden chill wracked her body; a momentary spell of dizziness made her grab the wall for support. But instead of flattening against the wall, her hand closed around the hook of the shoeing pick and hammer.
Closed over a ghostly hand and arm that also gripped the hook. To her horror she saw the hammer slam against a phantom head. Edwin’s head, his eyes wide, frightened. His face contorted with pain. She snatched her hand away. The hammer crashed to the floor.
The sound drove away both vision and dizzy spell. She must be running a fever. Her mind had replayed an imagined scene, nothing more.
She bent, gingerly picked up the hammer, and put it back in its rack. The hallucination did not recur. But it had looked so real. She thought this must be the sort of thing Marta saw when she touched and sniffed the hammer.
Still, Marta had reached the conclusion that the blow had not been fatal, but Abigail had seen the hammer smash into Edwin’s temple, had seen his eyes glaze, had seen blood well from the point of impact.
No. She could not have seen all that in the instant the vision had lasted. Fever and an over-active imagination were combining to paint the picture in her mind. She would not let this happen to her.
She turned her back on the wall of tools and headed from the barn. As she passed through the wide doorway, another wave of vertigo seized her. She staggered to the side and clutched the doorframe.
Again ghostly figures appeared before her. Hardwick and his men, dragging Kyla to their carriage. She saw Kyla turn her head, heard dimly her voice speaking of Veronica, saying, “She’s unhappy with her new teacher. It’s urgent that you see her and calm her. She has power, she—” The big man holding Kyla cuffed her. The vision faded.
Abigail shook her head as if to rid it of these unwelcome visitations. She had, after all, witnessed this event. Her memory was merely reliving it.
She had to get back to the house, take a dose of calomel, and go to bed. She’d wrap herself in blankets and sweat out the fever that was bringing these visions. No, not visions—memories. Hallucinations. She’d not yield to them, not suppose that they had any cause other than her own fevered imagination.
Kyla let Mother Esterville take the lead, though she couldn’t possibly see where she was going.
“I think I’ve reached the top.” As Mother Esterville spoke, Kyla felt the rough edge of the banister’s end. Simultaneously came a loud splintering noise and voices in the hall below.
Overwhelmed by the hopelessness of their situation, Kyla stood still. The searchers had torches, and already she could hear them clomping up the steps. Why go on, when the outcome was inevitable?
Mother Esterville pulled her through an open doorway. “We’ll find a hiding place,” she said.
Some light filtered into this room through a crack in the boards covering the window. By that light she was dismayed to see Mother Esterville fall to her knees in the far corner of the room. This was not the time for prayer. Though in all honesty, Kyla could think of nothing else they could do, with the searchers already on the stairs.
But Mother Esterville was not praying. She pried at something on the dusty floor, saying, “Do something to stall them while I get this open.”
Kyla concentrated on summoning what little power remained to her. A grunt and a loud creak broke her concentration. Mother Esterville had pulled open a trapdoor. “Down here, quick!” she said, pointing.
Kyla dove for the opening, saw a rickety ladder, and lowered herself onto it. “It’s a crawlspace linking all these buildings,”
Mother Esterville whispered. “You’ll find a way out.”
With that, before Kyla realized what she was about, Mother Esterville lowered the trapdoor. Kyla heard the searchers storm into the room. The gallant woman had allowed herself to be caught to give Kyla a chance for escape.
If she returned to help Mother Esterville, she’d only be taken herself. Probably she would be anyway. Surely the searchers would spot the trapdoor.
Kyla climbed down until her feet hit a solid surface. No light spilled from above to illuminate the tight, low passage in which she found herself. Somehow Mother Esterville must be concealing her escape route and convincing the men that she was alone. As Kyla edged her way through the narrow space, her hope that the searchers would be gentle with the older woman became submerged in a growing fear that she was trapped in this tiny, stifling passageway. Choking on dust, trying desperately not to cough or sneeze and give away her hiding place, she forced herself to keep moving despite the cobwebs and grit her hands encountered and the occasional skitter of an insect across her hands or face.
Mother Esterville said there were openings into the other buildings. If they were above her head as in the building she’d left, she should run into a ladder, but only dust obstructed her passage. Nearly overcome by claustrophobia, she sent a frantic plea to Alair without expecting a response.
The familiar voice in her mind startled her so that she did not immediately recognize how weak it was. Courage, dear one, the Power-Giver sent. I can’t say much … a Dire Lord … angry … sorry.
The implications of Alair’s fragmentary message stopped her. It must have been an angry Dire Lord who had been blocking her communication to Alair—the same one who’d frightened Ed so badly. Alair might be in terrible danger. So might she. Ed almost certainly was.
She renewed her slow progress through the passage, so deeply disturbed that she no longer noticed the dirt, the spiders, the stale air. She had to do something to free Marta and to rescue Ed—but what? Her primary responsibility was to find and save the young teacher of her dream before the terrible fate she had foreseen came to pass. The tasks were daunting. And before she could begin, she had to find a way out.
Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2) Page 18