He visualized Marta as she had bid him good night and walked down the hall away from his room into her own, three doors down. The hall was not carpeted, and a couple of the boards creaked as she stepped on them. She’d smiled back at him before going into her room and closing the door. He’d taken a few steps toward the door before stopping himself, telling himself he could not follow her, could not open the door.
That door. There!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WAITING
The name of the spark was Anger. It claimed no other name. Set free from the mind that spawned it, the conscience that held it in check, the body that limited its reach, it roamed pathways that human feet cannot tread. It flew through regions closed even to thought.
It searched for a nurturing place. A place where it would not fade into darkness but burst into a consuming flame.
It found the tinder-ready hurt and rage in a small girl’s heart. In that crèche it smoldered, gathering strength, waiting for the release that soon must come.
It wasn’t night here, as it had been in the world Ed could no longer think of as his. The light streaming through the windows told him it must be close to midday.
Marta’s room was empty. He’d cautiously opened the door and looked in when his knock went unanswered.
The whole house had an empty feel. There were no sounds in it but his footsteps. No one answered his calls or knocks. Not even Mother Esterville seemed to be at home.
It was possible she was in her attic shrine. Ed climbed the stairs to the attic and entered the shrine. He paused in front of the hanging symbols of Dor and Dora. It gave Ed a strange sensation to be entering this sacred place that smelled of holiness and dying flowers. He felt that he was trespassing, that he had no right to be here, and that the gods might punish him for his audacity.
Once he stepped into the circle of shrines, he could see that he was alone in the attic. Nevertheless, he did not leave immediately, but crossed to the shrine to Harin. Kneeling at the bench in front of it, he bowed his head and offered a brief prayer for forgiveness and for help in finding Marta.
When he raised his head, he pivoted slowly to face each shrine in turn and mumble a few respectful words to each of the represented gods. Feeling a bit better about intruding, he ducked beneath the hanging sun and moon symbols of Dor and Dora, and started for the stairs.
He hadn’t reached them when he heard footsteps start up them toward him. Startled, he jumped back, hitting his head on the metal hangings and setting the sun and moon into circular motion. He had come here looking for someone, yet a feeling of guilt at being caught in this sanctuary drove him to try to hide. But there was no place to hide. He could do no more than crouch behind the bench at Harin’s shrine.
Mother Esterville walked into the room and stopped short, staring first at the revolving sun and moon, then slowly lowering her gaze to focus on Ed. He stood and stepped forward, ready to offer an apology for being found in her sacred place.
Before he could say a word, she rushed forward and embraced him. “Oh, Ed, praise Harin. He brought you back in answer to my prayers. You’re the protector I’ve been beseeching him for, and here you are, stepped right out of his shrine.”
He wanted to explain that he had not stepped out of the shrine but had merely been crouching in front of it, but she gave him no chance, and her next words drove everything else from his mind.
“Kyla escaped, thank Harin—and her Power-Giver—but they have Marta, and they’re going to hang her this afternoon.”
“Hang Marta! Why?” He could barely speak the words.
“Council Master Hardwick convinced the rest of the council that she was a witch, and I don’t know what-all. It’s ridiculous, of course. We have to save her. Though I don’t know how. But you have power—Kyla and Marta both say so. You’ll be able to do something, I know you will. Though we could use Jerome’s help, as well. Where is he?”
Focused as he was on Marta’s desperate need, Ed didn’t want to think of Jerome. “He’s still back there,” he said.
“Back where, dear?”
“Back in my special place. Only it isn’t, not really. I mean, I thought it was, and I took Jerome there with me, only then we got into a part that wasn’t mine, so I don’t know where it is, or what it is. But Jerome is there,” he finished lamely.
“I don’t understand that at all,” Mother Esterville protested. “You’ve left Jerome in the Fields of the Blessed?”
“Uh, no. I mean, the Fields of the Blessed isn’t where I go. I don’t think so, at least. It’s a place I made up, or thought I did.”
Her look of utter perplexity forced him to tell her of his special place and describe it as he had envisioned it. He didn’t tell her of Jerome’s attack, only that somehow Jerome had been caught up with him and transported there. He had to tell her how they had left the part he’d imagined and found the ruined building with all the fallen stones. She was frowning by the time he confessed to having left Jerome in the rock-strewn courtyard while he went exploring. He didn’t tell her what he’d seen in the building. The encounter with his pa was too private to speak of. He only told her that he’d come out on the far side of the building and had found his way back to his own world—without returning for Jerome.
“He’ll be scared, I know,” he concluded shamefacedly. “He doesn’t like it there. He thinks he’s dead.”
“We must go and fetch him,” Mother Esterville declared.
“But we can’t. We have to save Marta.”
“We may need Jerome’s help for that. And we can’t leave him in a place where he’s frightened and alone.”
“But I don’t know how to get back where he is.”
“Why, the way you got there the other times,” Mother Esterville said.
“All those other times I was real scared of something,” Ed blurted.
“Aren’t you afraid now for Marta?”
Ed nodded, not adding that it was precisely that fear that made him unwilling to waste time looking for Jerome.
Mother Esterville regarded him closely and then said, “I know Jerome isn’t perfect, but he’s my son, and I’m afraid for him. I’d go by myself if I could, but only you can take me to him. You must at least try. We have more than two hours. We can get Jerome and then come back and do what we can for Marta.”
Ed considered. He didn’t want to do the wrong thing. He needed to reach Marta, though he didn’t know how to help her. Yet he was responsible for Jerome's being where he was.
No, actually, Jerome himself was responsible. If he hadn’t been trying to drown Ed, he wouldn’t have been transported to that other world. And if he hadn’t refused to go inside the building with Ed—well, who could say what might have happened in that case.
Unnerved by the steady gaze Mother Esterville fixed on him, Ed found it impossible to refuse her. “All right,” he said slowly, unwillingly. “If I can get us there, we’ll go for Jerome. But we have to hurry. I have to get back in time to save Marta.”
Marta awoke from a deep sleep, yawned, and stretched. Only when her hand struck the stone wall did she remember where she was. She got up from the prison bunk and stood on tiptoe to peer out the high, narrow window slit. She couldn’t see anything, but by the angle of the light she judged it to be late afternoon. That meant she had little more than an hour to wait for her scheduled execution.
Not surprising that she’d fallen asleep, considering how tired she’d been and how little sleep she’d had the night before. She listened for any sound that indicated that Mother Esterville had been recaptured and brought back to her cell, but everything she heard suggested that the old woman had escaped.
Apparently Kyla, too, was still free. Although if they did capture her, they wouldn’t repeat the mistake of putting them together in the same cell. She looked through the small window on the cell door into the portion of hall in front of her cell. That portion held two guards. Both wore peacekeeper uniforms. How many more there might be she could
n’t tell. The two she saw were relaxed but alert.
One noticed her and came to the door. “Don’t even think of trying anything,” he said. “You aren’t leaving that cell until time to go to the gallows.”
“When will that be?”
“Not long from now.” The man chuckled. “Better pray to whatever gods you believe in. Not that it’ll do you any good. Won’t anything keep ’em from stringing you up.”
The other guard lumbered to his feet and slapped his companion on the shoulder. “We aren’t supposed to talk to the witch,” he said. “You know what happened to the last bunch.”
The first man nodded and stepped back, away from the window but still within the area Marta could see. Without looking at her, he made considerable show of picking up his rifle and aiming it toward the cell door.
“No fear,” he said to his companion. “That little witchie isn’t going anywhere but to the gallows.”
Marta went back and sat on the bunk. Her sleep had restored her power, but even so, she didn’t think she had much chance of escaping past armed guards. She didn’t have Kyla’s talent of creating a shield of invisibility, nor could she cloud the guards’ minds as Kyla could have.
If Kyla remained free and knew Marta’s danger, her friend would come to her rescue. But Kyla wasn’t likely to know about the council meeting. She’d probably wait until well after dark to free Marta, not knowing that would be too late.
No, she couldn’t count on Kyla’s help. She’d have to act on her own. It had been a long time since she’d done that—she, who’d grown up not trusting anyone, not relying on anyone but herself. She’d followed Kyla because Kyla could hear and speak with Alair. Yet Marta’s power was no less than Kyla’s. It came not only from the Power-Giver but also from Claid. The time had come for her to use that power apart from Kyla’s shadow.
She did her best to prepare herself without knowing exactly what she could do. She’d had narrow escapes, but never before had been this close to death.
When the guards came, shackled her wrists and ankles, and led her out, she could only hope she was ready.
CHAPTER TWENTY
DETOURS
The sun hung just a bit above the trees when Kyla followed Leah from the back door of the school to a path that bypassed the road and led in the general direction of their goal. They’d hidden all night in the school so as not to alert Abigail to their presence, and beginning at dawn had tried several times to leave, only to catch sight of peacekeepers or civilian search parties and have to return to hiding.
The guardhouse stink still permeated Kyla’s clothes. How she wanted a bath! Before the searchers came, Leah had offered a change of dress, but she had no chance to accept the offer. She hadn’t even been able to borrow a jacket against the chill fall wind.
Autumn leaves crunched under her feet, a sound and feel she normally found pleasant. Now every noise that advertised their passage made her nervous. She was taking a big risk, being abroad in full daylight, and she was putting Leah in danger as well. But she had no choice; she was certain that very little time remained before her vision became reality.
She dared not use the invisibility shield to protect them from discovery. It would require too much power. What she had left she must conserve. Leah had told her of their attempt yesterday to warn the young teacher. Kyla had to assume that Councilor Hardwick would be guarding his daughter’s house today as he had then. She would need all the power at her disposal to elude him, find Veronica, and ensure Genevieve’s safety. She and Leah agreed that when they reached the house where Genevieve lived and taught, Leah would distract Hardwick while Kyla slipped around the house and sneaked in through the back door. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all they had.
Kyla worried that by helping her, Leah could put herself in danger of being arrested or shot. She would have preferred not to involve the kind-hearted woman, but she needed Leah to lead her to her destination.
The thought continued to haunt Kyla that if Abigail had supported her, she would have more hope of success. If only it had been Leah and not Abigail who had the gift of power! She still didn't understand what made some people receptive to the gift and others unable to receive it, no matter how much they might desire it. It wasn't a choice that Alair made. He could channel the gift to those able to receive it, but he could no more choose who those were than she or Marta could.
Nowhere had the gifts seemed less appropriately bestowed than here in Carey. She thought of those they had found: Ed, with his fearfulness and sense of inadequacy; Jerome, who would most certainly misuse the gift if he could; Abigail, who despised magic and wanted no part of the gift; and Veronica, a nine-year-old child with a temper.
She would gladly have imparted the gift to Mother Esterville or to Leah, but they weren't able to receive it. She had no idea what factor or factors determined who could and who could not. Those who received the gifts seemed to have little else in common. Kyla resolved to research the matter when her work in Carey was finished. If it ever is. If Marta and I get out of here alive.
Then the trail emerged from the protection of the trees, and all Kyla’s thoughts turned to avoiding notice as they stepped out onto a dirt road. Only a short distance farther the dirt road turned onto a brick street lined with fine houses. Luckily—and surprisingly for a Oneday afternoon—they saw almost no one in the street or around the houses.
“It’s close now,” Leah whispered. “Just two streets down and one over.” She pointed eastward.
It sounded like an impossible distance to Kyla. She nodded and motioned Leah on.
Hardwick stood guard in front of Genevieve’s house, fondling the grip of his pistol as he watched his daughter through the large window of the room where she taught the six- through nine-year-olds. He was so proud of her—his beautiful daughter, the best thing that had ever happened in his life. The wonder workers were mad to think he’d allow any harm to come to her.
Why should they have threatened her? Probably because they knew what she meant to him. But why make a child the instrument of that threat?
It had to have something to do with Abigail Dormer and her school. Abigail was an imposing woman. As a parent he’d found her intimidating to deal with when Genevieve was a student in the Dormer School. The wonder workers had chosen to side with her—that was clear from their championing of Simple Eddie. They were angry for her sake about the closing of her school, though it had nothing to do with them.
Since their arrival, they’d been kept on the run with no chance to display their power and solicit funds. Maybe what they’d wanted from Abigail was money. She didn’t have any, not now, so they were out of luck. They probably regretted spurning the offer of help he’d made when they first arrived. Their regrets would do them no good; it was too late.
Too late, at least, for the one in custody. Her time was almost up. Already most of the peacekeepers and many of the townspeople were heading for the town square. He consulted his big pocket watch. Almost time for Genevieve to dismiss her classes for the day. Shortly after that, Ben Muller would come to relieve him. Then he’d hurry to the gallows in time to give the order to tighten the noose and drop the trapdoor.
He hadn’t given up hope that the second wonder worker would be captured in time to witness her companion’s execution. His men were under strict orders to notify him immediately if they apprehended her, but as yet he’d heard nothing.
If she knew of her friend’s date with the hangman, it might well be that she would go there and try to rescue her. He’d already given the order to have peacekeepers posted all around the perimeter of the area. He’d taken every precaution he could think of to be certain that the hanging would proceed without interference and that if Kyla put in an appearance she’d be caught and placed under heavy guard.
He’d have to answer to the rest of the council for the extra guards he’d hired. Their pay would wreak havoc with this month’s budget. The council would have to cut corners somewhere else. Most of
them would agree. After all, he was Council Master. He’d have a problem with Slamm, but so long as he could convince the others, Slamm couldn’t make trouble.
What else was he to do? After two escapes, it should be clear that more guards had to be posted in the cellblock. Men were needed to hunt the other witch. And he could only watch the front of Genevieve’s house; he had to trust others to protect the sides and back. Slamm could hardly accuse him of a personal indulgence in setting guards around his daughter’s house, when so many had heard the witch’s warning of trouble for Genevieve.
He took his eyes off the street for a few moments to watch Genevieve’s class through the window. The students were getting restless as they always did this close to dismissal time. That hadn’t changed since he was a schoolboy. He could see them shuffling papers, and he smiled to see one girl stifle a yawn.
The class was orderly. Genevieve was young, but she knew how to maintain discipline. She was her father’s daughter in that respect, he thought proudly.
Footsteps on the street behind him sent him whirling around, his pistol drawn.
Leah Wesson strode purposefully toward him. What was she up to? As emphatic as he’d been yesterday about refusing to allow her to talk to Genevieve, she couldn’t think he’d changed his mind overnight.
She seemed undaunted by the pistol aimed at her. “Councilor Hardwick,” she said as she reached him, “Abigail Dormer is ill from worry about Ed Robbins. I want to know what you are doing to find him.”
The request took him by surprise. Why would she want him to find Ed? She knew the charges against the boy and what he would face when caught.
“Miss Wesson, I've been doing what I can to find Ed. I thought you and Abigail were convinced that he drowned. If he is alive, I want him put away where he belongs. But that outcome isn’t going to improve Miss Dormer’s health, and you know it.”
Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2) Page 23