CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FIRE
Ed couldn’t believe the way Marta had thrown herself into his arms. The way she’d responded to his kiss. And now, her hand in his, they were walking to what would probably be their deaths.
He did not want to die. For the first time in his life he knew what it was to love and be loved. But if he had to die, he’d do it bravely with Marta at his side.
Before opening the front door, Kyla said, “Our intention is to keep ourselves alive, not to kill or injure any of them. I still can’t mindspeak Alair, and none of us individually has much if any power remaining, but if we join hands and pool our power, we may be able to do something. And Alair may be able to channel power to us even though I can’t hear his voice. We aren’t giving up.”
Ed only partially understood about the Power-Giver, whom Kyla called Alair. But sharing power made sense to him—it was what he had done in helping Abigail to heal Jerome. So he grasped Kyla’s hand, walking between her and Marta. Marta took hold of Leah’s hand, and Leah held Veronica’s. Kyla opened the door, and they went out to face the line of men arrayed against them.
Hardwick must have gathered every man in Carey, and only a few wore peacekeeper uniforms. In addition to the double line opposite them, men spread around the sides of the house, and Ed guessed they surrounded the entire large house. They carried long sticks topped with flaming rags. From the rear of the house came heavy black smoke, and sparks flew overhead.
All this Ed took in, along with the rifles the men in front had trained on them, in the few seconds before Kyla raised her free hand and called out to Hardwick, who was positioned front and center, “We mean no one any harm. Back off.”
“You can say you mean no harm after you killed my daughter?” Hardwick called back.
Someone fired a rifle. The ball whizzed harmlessly above Kyla’s head.
“Don’t fire! They have Veronica.” Ed recognized the shouter—Veronica’s father, Leo Crowell. “Don’t hurt my child,” he pled. “Let her go.”
“She’s not a prisoner,” Kyla said.
“Come here, Veronica. Come to me.” Crowell leaned forward, arms stretched toward his daughter.
The girl shook her head. “I don’t want you to hurt Miss Kyla and Miss Leah or anybody.”
“Just come here,” her father said. “I’ll take you home.”
Veronica clung to Leah’s hand. Ed read fear and distrust in her eyes. “I won’t come until you promise to let us all go.”
“You are not one of them,” her father shouted. “It’s not up to you what we do to them. Get over here to me. Now!” He moved toward her.
She let go of Leah’s hand and ran behind her, to crouch behind Kyla and Ed, grasping their arms. “I want to stay with my friends,” she yelled.
Crowell backed off a step or two and glanced at Hardwick. “I won’t have her hurt,” he said.
“Then get her, because I mean to avenge Genevieve.”
Veronica began to cry. “I didn’t mean to burn up Mistress Wirth. I only meant to scare her.”
Her father froze. “What are you talking about, Veronica? You didn’t kill Genevieve Wirth. The witches did.”
She shook her head.
“We tried to save her,” Kyla said. “Councilor Hardwick knows that.”
“You cast an illusion,” he said. “Crowell, get your girl and get away. I won’t wait any longer.”
Crowell approached them with his hands stretched out in front of them. “Give me my daughter,” he said.
“No, Papa, I won’t come.” Veronica stamped her foot. “You mean to hurt my friends. I won’t let you.”
“Don’t be silly. Nobody’s getting hurt. Come here.”
Veronica lifted her hand and pointed her finger at her father. Kyla released Ed’s hand to grab Veronica’s and push it down, toward the ground, just as a flame streaked from it. Crowell jumped back; the flame scorched the soil in front of him.
Hardwick raised his rifle. “It was the girl. She did it again.”
Veronica let out a little whimper of fear. Ed jumped in front of her to shield her.
“What’s going on here?” a loud voice called. “How dare you set fire to my house!” Mother Esterville marched up to the men, Abigail following her.
The men grabbed them, thrust them away. Rifles cocked, fired. Ed felt a burning pain sear his right arm. Leah crumpled to the ground, blood streaming from her body.
“No!” Veronica screamed and jumped forward. This time Kyla did not stop her. A sheet of flame swept in front of them. Behind it rose shouts of pain and terror.
Hardwick saw the fire streak from Veronica’s finger. He could not be mistaken. He saw the witch grab the child’s hand and deflect the flame that would otherwise have struck the girl’s father.
He couldn't understand what was happening, but neither could he continue to doubt the evidence of his own eyes. But Crowell ignored his shout. Then Abigail and Mother Esterville arrived and confused things further. He was trying to get rid of them when his men fired without waiting for his order. He didn’t think Captain Wronson had given the order. Where was the captain? He needed to control his men. Though most of the men were not members of his peacekeeper squad, they’d had orders to obey the captain. Orders that they were disregarding.
It was too much to take in—the confusion, the deafening shots, the choking smell of smoke, the screams and shouts. He cried out commands, but the men either did not hear or ignored them.
The girl came forward again, and he aimed his borrowed rifle at her. She had to be stopped. But before he could fire, Crowell knocked the barrel to one side and yelled, “Don’t kill my daughter, you fool!”
Then it was too late. Not just a jet but a wall of fire rolled toward them. Most of his men broke and ran. He dragged Crowell back from the flames. “Your daughter’s the one doing this,” he said. “You must have seen her.”
“They’re making her do it,” Crowell insisted. “They have to be.”
Hardwick shook his head. “They tried to stop her.” It wasn't easy to admit how wrong he'd been, but he forced out the words. “They warned me about what she’d do to Genevieve, but I wouldn’t listen. I caused my daughter’s death by not letting them help.”
“You’re crazy!” Breaking loose from Hardwick’s grip, Crowell darted into the wall of fire.
Marta felt the jolt of the bullet that struck Ed and lost her concentration. She heard Kyla cry out something, but her attention was fixed on the bright red blood seeping from Ed’s shoulder.
“Marta, help me hold her,” Kyla shouted, but Marta was tearing open Ed’s shirtsleeve and trying to stanch the flow of blood.
“It’s okay, Marta,” Ed said. “Leave it and do what Kyla says.”
“But you’re hurt bad.” Marta tore another piece from Ed’s shirt to bind the wound.
“I’ll be okay,” he said. “Leah’s hurt worse. And Veronica’s got to be stopped.”
Leah lay on the ground, blood pouring from her stomach. Abigail (where had she come from?) was kneeling beside her, and Mother Esterville darted around the edge of the firewall to join her.
“Join your power with mine again,” Kyla said. “Keep the flames in check. We don’t want a massacre.”
This time Marta understood what Kyla wanted, but still she went on binding Ed’s arm. “They meant to massacre us,” she said. “They will if we give them the chance.”
“We aren’t like them,” Kyla said.
“Help her,” Ed begged. “I’m doing what I can.”
Marta yielded and lent her power to the effort to contain the flames. It was something like shaping the mage light, only much harder. The wind was working against them, feeding the flames and spreading them out. The mage light didn't burn, but the heat from Veronica’s fire sent rivers of sweat pouring down her face and arms.
“If we bring it any closer to us, we’ll burn up,” she said.
“I’m trying to dampen it, but Veronica’s st
ill feeding it.”
Marta glanced at the child. The girl’s face was contorted with rage. She stood, hands on hips, glaring at the flames.
“Girl, you want to kill us all?” she called to her.
The child seemed not to hear.
A figure staggered toward them out of the fire, his clothing ablaze, his skin darkened. He reached toward Veronica and collapsed.
“Papa!” the girl screamed.
The flames died, leaving only a charred strip of lawn.
On the far side of that strip, Hardwick stood alone, deserted by his men. Marta thought she had never seen such horror and grief on a human face.
Then Veronica looked up from where her father lay, and her face mirrored the same grief and horror. “I’ve killed my papa,” she cried.
Kyla went to her, hugged her, and knelt beside Crowell. “He isn’t dead,” she said after a moment. “He’s badly burned, but— Ed, you told us Abigail healed Jerome?”
“She used a spell from your book—the Breyadon.”
“And I didn’t bring it with me,” Abigail sobbed, cradling Leah’s head in her lap. “I left it at home.”
“If you have the power to heal, you don’t need the book,” Kyla told her. “The spells are only aids.”
“But the materials—I don’t have them, either.”
“You don’t need any of that. The ability to heal comes from inside you.”
“If I could heal Leah, I’d never again call magic evil. I’d forgive you everything.”
“You can do it. Concentrate on pouring your psychic energy into her body,” Kyla instructed.
Marta watched closely. “If she succeeds with Leah, she’s needed for Ed.”
“She’s needed more for Veronica’s father,” Kyla said. “Though I doubt that she has enough power for that.”
“She can have mine,” Veronica looked up beseechingly. “But then she has to try to heal my papa too.”
“We can all feed her what power we have,” Marta said. “Though I don’t think that’s much right now. Where’s the Power-Giver now when we need him?”
“I think he’s channeling power to us even though he doesn’t mindspeak. Come on. Link with me.”
Marta stepped forward and gave Kyla her hand. Ed, too, joined them, though Marta noted how unsteady he was. He took Marta’s other hand. Pulling Veronica with her, Kyla led the others to Abigail and Leah. Marta, Kyla, Ed, and Veronica formed a circle around them.
Hardwick hovered behind them. Seeing no weapon in his hand, Marta ignored him and concentrated on channeling her power to Abigail. As she did so, she sent a thought-prayer: Claid, if you still have any affection for me, send me—send us—power now.
The blood flowing from Leah's wound slowed, then stopped. The gaping wound grew smaller, closed. Leah’s breathing grew more even. Her eyes fluttered open, focused on Abigail’s face. She smiled.
“Thank the gods!” Abigail cried. She leaned down and kissed Leah’s forehead.
“Come on now, help my papa,” Veronica urged, tugging at Abigail’s arm.
The woman rose reluctantly and walked to where Crowell lay. Her nose wrinkled at the odor of burnt flesh. “I don’t think—”
“Please, Miss Dormer,” Veronica said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please, you have to.”
Abigail sighed and sank down beside him. “I’ll try.”
The others clustered around her, again linking hands. Marta noted worriedly that Ed was pale and trembling. He needed healing, and he deserved it far more than Veronica’s father did. But she could not deny that Crowell was in much worse shape. She doubted that he could be healed.
Abigail began moaning and trembling, and Marta tried to channel power to her, but the power she had sent for Leah’s healing was her last reserve. Unless Alair was able to channel some to her, Kyla couldn’t have much remaining, either. And Ed, she was certain, had all he could do to stay on his feet.
But Veronica … she had amazing strength. Marta reached out, grabbed the girl’s shoulder, and thrust her close to Abigail. “Touch Miss Dormer,” she said. “Send her your power.”
The girl concentrated, and Abigail seemed steadier. But Marta suspected that all the power being channeled to Abigail came from Veronica. For her father the child gave willingly. But would it be enough?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
PARTINGS
Ignored, perhaps forgotten, Hardwick watched the proceedings with great fascination. Abigail Dormer had joined the wonder workers. And they’d given her power. It was hard to believe. They’d rejected his request to be gifted with power, but had selected her. And Simple Eddie. The boy was right there, hand in hand with the wonder workers. As disheveled as ever, his hair its usual bird’s nest, his clothes filthy.
Hardwick, glancing ruefully at his own sooty and sweat-stained clothing, had to admit he looked little better, nor did any of those present. At least Mother Esterville had finally shed her dressing gown in favor of some more proper but ill-fitting clothing.
What a strange collection of people they were: a child, a simpleton, a dignified, middle-aged schoolteacher and her younger colleague, an eccentric old woman, and the two young witches. How incredible that they should be able to command a power that created the deadly fire, saving themselves from death, and now healing the wounded!
He no longer desired power after witnessing the destruction it wreaked. Now he desired a return to normalcy. He wanted as badly as ever to rid Carey of the wonder workers, but his hatred and rage were gone, burned away in the fire that had frightened off his men and nearly killed poor Leo Crowell.
The firebrands he and his men had wielded had accomplished little. They'd set the Esterville home on fire, but that fire seemed to have gone out; its smoke no longer rose above the house’s roof and he saw no sign of flames. Perhaps it still smoldered in the rear of the house, where they’d started it, but more likely the same power that had ignited the wonder workers’ fire had extinguished the one set by Hardwick’s men.
The fire in his soul had gone out as well. He had the rifle. With no one even looking at him, it would be an easy matter to take aim and shoot the two witches. But they were attempting to heal Leo Crowell, and more than compassion for Crowell, he felt curiosity. He would wait to see whether they could bring someone so badly injured back from the brink of death.
So he stood quietly off to the side, observing.
With Veronica standing next to her, clasping her shoulder, Abigail placed her hands on Crowell’s face. Her skin turned red and blisters rose on it, as though she was taking into herself his injuries. Her face contorted and she let out a high-pitched whine that brought Leah Wesson to her feet. A bit unsteadily, Leah moved to Abigail’s side and put her hands on the older woman’s other shoulder. “Courage, Abbie,” she said softly.
Ed sagged against Marta, who threw her arms around him and lowered him gently to the ground. “Ed needs healing,” she cried. “He’s losing too much blood. Look how white he is!”
“Poor Mister Eddie,” Veronica said. “But Miss Dormer has to save my papa.”
Abigail screamed and collapsed, the skin on her face and arms looking as burnt as that of Crowell’s. “I can’t do it,” she whispered and fainted.
“No!” Veronica screamed, and stamped her foot.
Kyla caught her around the waist and whirled her away from Abigail and Leah. “Anger won’t help,” she said sternly. “Miss Dormer has tried very hard, but she’s used up all her power and ours.”
“She hasn’t used all of mine,” the child said stubbornly.
“Then you heal your father and Ed.”
The little girl pushed out her lips in an angry pout. “I don’t know how.”
“Neither did Miss Dormer, but she tried and found the way.”
Now Veronica began to cry. “I only know how to hurt people,” she sobbed.
“That’s because it’s the only thing you’ve tried to do,” Kyla said. “If you have the power to hurt, you may well al
so have the power to heal. You’d better try, because none of the rest of us has the strength to do anything right now.”
Two peacekeepers came sneaking back and sidled up to Hardwick. “Is it safe?” one asked.
Hardwick merely waved him to silence and continued to watch.
Wiping her eyes with her fists, Veronica walked slowly back to her father’s side. Marta had Ed stretched out not far from Crowell. Veronica knelt between them and placed one hand on her father’s chest. Her other hand stretched toward Ed until she could grasp his arm.
Her face screwed in concentration, the tip of her tongue visible between her lips, she stayed immobile for what Hardwick estimated must be half an hour.
“What’s she doing?” a peacekeeper asked.
“Quiet!” Hardwick ordered.
Slowly the blackened skin on Crowell’s face and hands changed to red and then to the color of normal flesh. Slowly the blood stopped seeping from Ed’s wound and his color returned. His eyes opened. He smiled at Marta, and she helped him sit up.
Veronica took her hand from Ed’s arm and shifted to place both hands on her father’s chest, her eyes closed, her face still taut with concentration. She didn’t move until her father opened his eyes and looked up at her.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Papa,” she said. “But now I’ve made you well again.”
She turned and put her hand on Abigail Dormer’s arm as Leah held Abigail’s head in her lap. Again she concentrated, but only for a few minutes this time. As Abigail opened her eyes, Veronica collapsed.
Her father sat up and grabbed her to him. “What have you done to her?” he roared.
Hardwick stepped forward. “They let her save your life,” he said. “She was amazing.”
“She’ll be all right, Master Crowell,” Kyla said. “She’s just worn out. She healed you, Ed, and Abigail. I’ve never seen such power.”
Crowell looked from Kyla to Hardwick to Leah and Abigail, then gazed down at his sleeping daughter. “What is she?” he asked, his voice a mixture of astonishment and horror. “What will happen to her?”
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