It was worse for Seph than for anyone else. The aelf-aeling made him hypersensitive—to the conjured storm, to the lowering cloud overhead, to the legions of wizards that drew close around the walls, like darkness around a shuttered lamp. It was as if his nerves had been sandpapered to exquisite tenderness. The magical activity at the boundary was a constant flickering, just out of his field of vision. He could see all of the possibilities, and they all looked bad.
He thought of the refugees out on the Sisters, and wondered how they were faring. They must think the world was truly coming to an end.
“Wonder what the weather people are saying about this one,” he muttered.
“One can only imagine,” Nick observed dryly, from his place by the fire. “Given that it is their habit to make a run-of-the-mill thunderstorm sound like Armageddon.”
The old wizard had drawn a wool blanket around his shoulders. He and Leesha sat, a chessboard between them. Either she was really good or Nick was letting her win. He seemed to be working really hard at cheering her up, for some reason.
Jack and Ellen came banging in, shaking off the sleet and rain like dogs. And after them came Will and Fitch.
Seph looked from Will and Fitch to Jack and raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t these two supposed to be on the Sisters?”
“They were hiding out,” Jack explained. “But it’s not like they haven’t been busy.”
“They’ve been mining the no-mans-land between the walls,” Ellen said, grinning, slapping Will on the back, sending ice flying in all directions. “We’ve been providing cover.”
Will and Fitch resembled high-concept members of the French Resistance, clad in black jeans and hoodies and black knit caps, faces smudged black so as not to shine out in the dark.
“The Roses are looking for hostages, you know,” Seph said. “Not a good idea to be out there.”
“Been hostages, done that,” Fitch said, poking in the refrigerator and coming up with a bottle of juice.
Seph turned to Jack for help. “Aren’t you afraid of blowing up our own warriors? I mean, we’re out there patrolling that area.”
“The motion sensors will tell us someone’s out there,” Fitch said. “But nothing blows up until I say so.” He produced an electronic device, small as an MP3 player, and dangled it in front of Seph.
“Anyway. We’re not going into the salt mines,” Will said, thrusting his chin out belligerently, as if anxious to put the issue to bed. “So forget it.”
“You don’t have a chance against wizardry,” Seph said.
Will’s response was something like “Hmpf.”
“All right,” Seph said. “Thanks. But don’t get killed, okay?” He made a mental note to try and put them out of harm’s way when the bad stuff happened. One more thing to think about.
Mercedes had come in while they were talking. So they were all there except . . .
“Anyone seen Jason?” Jack asked, looking around in an exaggerated fashion.
“Jason?” Seph shrugged. “He’ll be here. Probably got hung up. Why?”
“He was supposed to meet us two hours ago,” Ellen said. “To go over the layout of the camp outside the walls. He didn’t show.”
There was a long, charged pause, full of throat clearings and significant looks. “What are you suggesting?” Seph said testily.
“I just think it’s strange, that’s all.” Jack thrust the tip of the poker into the flames on the hearth. Sparks spiraled up. “I mean, he’s been a loose cannon all along. Crazy to leave.”
Seph waited for someone to disagree. No one did.
“Jason’s been frustrated, yeah, but that was because he thought he could do more good in Britain than here. He can’t still believe that.”
“So where is he?” Jack asked.
“Hey.” Ellen frowned at Jack. “Ease up.”
Silence crackled among them.
“Brooks saw him outside the perimeter just before midnight,” Jack said, propping the poker against the hearth. “He was headed for the Wizard Gate. No one’s seen him since.”
“What are you saying?” Seph asked. “That he ran out on us?”
Jack shrugged.
“He wouldn’t just leave,” Seph said flatly, feeling some of the old friction with Jack.
Without meaning to, Seph reached out with his mind, looking for the angry spark that was Jason. And did not find him anywhere within the perimeter. Could he have gone out to the Sisters? Was he somehow incapacitated so he couldn’t be detected?
If not, how would he have breached the outer perimeter and navigated the wizard lines outside?
“He wouldn’t run out on you,” Leesha said suddenly. They all turned to look at her. “He wouldn’t,” she insisted, shoving the chess board away so the pieces toppled onto the floor.
Jack gave her a look and rolled his eyes, as if to say, Consider the source.
“Nobody said that,” Seph said, looking around at the others, daring them to disagree. Jack fixed him with his blue-eyed gaze, but said nothing. Seph remembered what Ellen had told him, more than a year ago. Jack’s more wary than he used to be. Before Raven’s Ghyll.
“Perhaps we should discuss what will happen tomorrow,” Nick suggested softly.
Jack was conscious of overwhelming thirst. Fatigue dragged at his legs and arms like millstones. Or maybe it was the armor he wore. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the images of the men he’d killed, as if they were painted on his eyelids. So he struggled to keep his eyes open, blinking against the dust and sweat and blood caked on his face.
He was looking for his comrades. He’d somehow lost them during his last one-on-one with a wizard who wouldn’t go down. By the time he’d finished him, and yanked his sword free, he was alone among the trees, in a wood littered with bodies and watered with blood.
And so he moved silently through the woods, listening for the telltale clash of metal and magic that would direct him to the ongoing fight. But nothing. Even the birds had left that desolate place hours ago, understanding that it was no place for living things. It’s a peculiarity of man—this lining up and marching toward death. The only other creatures who don’t flee a killing field are the scavengers who come after the fact.
On all sides lay the detritus of terrible endings. Or heroic end-ings. The results looked the same.
Finally, he broke from the forest and onto a field pegged with ancient trees, many of them charred and splintered and broken, as yet unaware they were doomed, thrusting fistfuls of leaves into a brilliant blue sky. Stone buildings ringed the green on all sides.
The commons. And, everywhere he looked, bodies.
“Jack!” Ellen gently tugged at Jack’s arm. He responded by swinging his fist at her, and she captured it between her two hands, forcing it down onto the pillow. “Jack, you’re dreaming, cut it out!”
His body bucked and twisted as he tried to free himself. His red-gold hair was sluiced across the pillow, damp with sweat, and he muttered something unintelligible.
“Come on, Jack, you’re waking up the whole house!” Man, he’s strong, she thought, unable to resist a little professional envy.
Another near miss with that big fist, and she picked up a glass from the bedside table and sloshed the contents into his face.
He surged into a sitting position, spluttering, groping for his belt dagger. Good thing he didn’t have it, or she might have been skewered before he came awake. She avoided his grasp, slid to the floor, and retreated a few yards away, watching him.
Finally, his bleary blue eyes cleared and focused on her. “What the ...?”
“You were dreaming,” Ellen repeated. “You’ve been screaming and yelling half the night. Nobody can sleep.”
He stared at her as if she were a ghost. It was unnerving.
“I was elected to come in and put a stop to it. You sure wake up grouchy. Don’t take a weapon to bed, is my advice.”
“Ellen,” he whispered hoarsely, “I killed them. I killed them all.” He
gazed down at his hands, turning them palms up, as if they were covered in blood.
“You killed who?” Ellen asked, but Jack didn’t seem to hear her.
She came and sat on the edge of the bed. “Come on. It was just a dream.”
With that he threw back the covers and erupted from the bed, oblivious of his state of dress. Yanking his duffle bag from the closet, he emptied it onto the floor. He groped through the debris of clothes and came up with a chamois-wrapped package.
He sat down next to Ellen on the bed and ripped away the leather with trembling fingers. It was a mirror, its silver frame engraved with dragons and other fantastical images. He stared into the glass with a desperate intensity.
“Wow, that’s cool,” Ellen said, combing her fingers through Jack’s hair, which stuck out in all directions. “What does it do?” She leaned close so she could see. “Is it magic?”
What she saw was not Jack’s face, but an image that looked like a battlefield. Only familiar.
“Is that no-man’s-land?” she asked.
A lone warrior stood at the center of the field, the sunlight striking his red-gold hair, head bowed, cradling a comrade in his arms. And all around him lay the fallen—warriors from five centuries, surrounded by the gear and weapons appropriate to their time.
“That’s you,” Ellen said. “What’s it mean?”
Jack snatched the mirror away and flung it across the room. It smashed against the wall, and dropped behind the dresser.
Chapter Thirty-two
Don’t Look Back
Madison Moss had long ago mastered the gift of looking forward—of achieving that narrow focus on goals. Not that there wasn’t a price. Sometimes she wondered if she was doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past, since she’d trained herself not to look back at it.
But Maddie was, first and foremost, a survivor. Beyond that, she’d protect the ones she loved. Whatever it took. That, at least, gave her direction.
So, for now, she could set aside wondering what had happened at Bryson Farms. Set aside the Chicago Institute of Art and Seph McCauley.
Set aside Warren Barber’s threats.
It didn’t take her long to pack. She stuffed two changes of clothes into a duffle. After some thought, she returned her father’s gun to the wood box, made two sandwiches from the groceries she’d bought, and piled them in a six-pack cooler with a couple of cans of pop. She didn’t mean to stop.
Finally, she pulled on blue jeans and a sweatshirt and boots over heavy socks. Clothes that said she meant business. She set the duffel by the door and laid her silver-studded denim jacket on top, then tied her hair back with a bandana.
Her plan was simple—she’d drive back to Trinity and go directly to St. Catherine’s. Seph’s barriers and wards wouldn’t give her any trouble. With any luck, she’d take the Dragonheart and be gone before anyone knew she was there.
That was it. What would she do if she ran into Seph? She’d make something up.
She tried to think of what came after that, but drew a complete blank. She didn’t trust Barber, but she had no clue how to get around him.
She heard the clatter of gravel against metal as a car pulled into the yard, followed by a door slamming.
Had Barber come back for some reason? The police? County child welfare? None of the possibilities were good. She thought about running out the back, but she’d still have to get past whoever it was to get down the mountain. So she knelt on the floor beside the wood box like a cornered animal, one hand gripping the loaded pistol.
She heard footsteps cross the creaky porch, but still jumped when someone banged on the door.
“Come!” she said, aiming the pistol through the wood box at the front door.
The visitor stood silhouetted against a rectangle of sunlight, squinting into the darkened room, then took a few hesitant steps forward.
“Madison?”
“Jason?” She let go of the pistol and sat back on her heels, her breath whooshing out in relief.
The light struck his face as he moved out of the doorway. He looked better than when she’d last seen him, when he’d left for Trinity. His coloring was restored, though he looked like he’d not slept for days. His hair had grown out in a haphazard way.
She wanted to grab hold of him, to somehow hand off her load of problems. But he might not be an ally. She had only one agenda—could have only one agenda. His might be different.
She stood, a little shakily, thinking furiously. “So. Not to be rude, but what are you doing back here?” she asked.
The question seemed to take him by surprise, as if he hadn’t planned anything further than getting to Booker Mountain. “Well, we—um—that is, I wondered if you’d heard what was going on in Trinity.”
Barber had told her there was trouble, but she wasn’t sure what kind, and besides, it wouldn’t do to say she’d been chatting with Warren Barber. So she shook her head. “What’s going on in Trinity?”
Jason’s eyes lit on her duffle bag, sitting by the door. “Were you going somewhere?”
“Well.” She thought a moment, decided, and answered in a rush. “Actually, I was just getting ready to leave. To come back north. My . . .” She gulped, lost for a moment, then went on. “Someone else has the kids for awhile. So I thought ...”
“Great,” Jason said. “That’s great.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment, then he glanced toward the kitchen. “I drove straight through. Could I get something to drink?”
“Well. Sure.” She motioned him to the kitchen table and fetched him a cold pop from the refrigerator. All the while itching to be gone.
She set it on the table in front of him and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “You look better,” she said.
He grimaced. “Yeah. Well. I’m close to a hundred per cent. But a hundred per cent ain’t that great.” He didn’t say it like he was fishing for a compliment. “Damn Warren Barber, wherever he is.”
Yeah, she thought. Damn Warren Barber.
“So. How is Seph?” She couldn’t help herself.
Jason’s words came out in a rush, as if some internal dam had broken. “Bad. Look, Maddie. We need your help, but he won’t ask for it. Trinity is under siege. The place is surrounded, and they say they’ll attack tomorrow if we don’t surrender.”
She blinked, momentarily diverted from her urge to be gone. “What do you mean, the town is surrounded? By who?”
“The Roses. And D’Orsay. They’ve put up this mammoth wizard wall all around the town that keeps everybody inside—Weir and Anaweir. Well, first, Mercedes put up a wall. Remember? Will and Fitch told us about it when they came. But that one just worked on the Weir.”
Seconds passed while she processed this. “Okay. You’re saying there’s two walls, one inside the other. And the outside one catches the Anaweir. So nobody can get in or out of Trinity? How can that be? It’s not like no one would notice. What about the . . . the police?”
Jason dismissed the police with a wave of his hand. “What do the Roses care? The Anaweir authorities can’t do anything. Trinity is sort of isolated to begin with. They’ve clothed the wall in confusion charms, so no one can find us. Phones, TV, radio don’t work inside the wall. We might as well be in the Middle Ages.”
An image came to her—Trinity as a fifteenth-century university town under siege, in perpetual twilight, shadowed by menacing black walls. “But ...isn’t everyone going crazy inside? What about the kids at the high school? And people . . . people have jobs. . . .”
Jason hesitated, as if debating the wisdom of sharing a secret. “The Anaweir are gone. Seph snuck them out of town.”
“And Seph is ...”
“He’s using wizard flame,” Jason said brutally. “It makes him incredibly powerful, but it’s dangerous, I guess. He’s going to save the town and everybody in it or die trying.”
No. Focus forward. Don’t look back. There’s nothing back there but monsters. “But. Why are they doing this? What do they
want?”
“They want the Dragonheart.”
Madison turned and stared out the kitchen window, over the sensuous hips and shoulders of mountains that rolled into the distance. She hoped the view would soothe her so she wouldn’t vomit into the sink. “What do they want with it?”
She felt the hot pressure of Jason’s gaze on the back of her neck. “They think it’s a weapon—like, the mother of all weapons.”
“A weapon?” So that’s why Barber wanted it. Madison had never thought of it as something dangerous. But what did she know? “Well. If it’s a weapon, can’t you use it against them?”
“We don’t know how. We’re not even sure what it does.” He took a breath. “And ...we can’t get near it.”
She swung round to face him. “What? Since when?”
“Ever since you left. It’s like it’s got some kind of force field around it. If we try to touch it, it erupts in flame or slams us down on our butts.”
“You’re saying four wizards can’t pick up a stone?” He nodded, and she said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged unhappily. “I kept thinking it would settle.
I . . . I wanted to try and use it.”
Could things get any worse? “But you handled it before, didn’t you? The Dragonheart. Did you have any trouble then?”
“No.” Jason rubbed his stubbled chin. “Nick and Mercedes and I fooled with it for weeks, trying to figure out what it did. But it’s like something woke it up. Power just rolls off the thing. It’s like this big antenna that’s drawing wizards and Weir from all over.” He looked up at her, fixing her with his blue eyes. “It seemed to respond to you before. I thought maybe . . . your leaving . . . set it off. Somehow.”
She’d last touched the Dragonheart the day she left for Coalton County. It had blazed up, so bright it hurt her eyes. Magic had poured into her until she ripped her hands away.
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