"It would be easier to work with a man than a woman." He frowned over his tea. "But you are here now."
Jean toyed with her dagger. Interestingly, while she had shown some Macrae weather talent, she didn't seem to have sensitivity to iron that male Macrae weather mages did. Magic was so complex no one could ever truly understand it.
But—one could try. "Would you like me to attempt to evaluate your abilities?" she asked. "I need your permission to enter your mind, though it wouldn't be painful. Not like the night of the storm."
His frown deepened as he weighed her offer. "Will you be able to read my thoughts or see the events of my past?"
"Rarely can thoughts be read, though I will certainly be aware of your emotions." She finished her tea. "Details of events are also unlikely, especially since I won't look for them. My only goal would be to map the dimensions of your power. If I'm successful, we will have a better idea of your potential."
"I want to be able to use the power I suppressed to survive." His dark brows drew together. He hated admitting that he needed anyone. "And I can't do it alone."
"I'm not sure I can be the teacher you need, but I can at least evaluate your power." She extended her hands to him. "Are you willing?"
He hesitated. "It is not easy to trust you."
But he wanted whatever information she could give him. "Do you think it's any easier for me to trust you?" she retorted. "You kidnapped me, threatened me with assault and slavery, threatened the lives of my family. I am willing to help because your mission is a noble one, but if you don't trust me, leave now and let me be."
"Witch," he said, mouth tight, but he clasped her hands.
Once more energy blazed between them. Instead of resisting it, this time she dove into that stream of power, letting it sweep her into the labyrinth of his mind.
Despite his complexities, his inner blaze of passion and anger and idealism were easy to read, to a point. "You're a natural finder. The ability to locate things such as corsair ships can be strengthened. There are great reserves of power in your nature, including your ability to knock others unconscious by pure mental energy, but much of this potential is...I suppose walled off is the best way to describe it."
She probed further, without success. "This goes beyond the way you suppressed your power to protect yourself as you grew. There is another factor at work, one I'm unfamiliar with. I can sense power on the other side of the barrier. I even tapped into that energy during the storm, when I was desperate. But I can't evaluate it now."
"How does one break down the wall?"
"I don't know. I've never seen anything like this." She let her mind flow around the mysterious well of energy. "I believe the barrier is related to your African heritage. The nature of African magic is somewhat different from the Guardian magic I know. You would be best served by finding an African mage."
"How the devil does one do that?" he muttered.
"One of my friends in Marseilles is African. His family also runs a shipping business, so he set the captains to finding an African priest. The priest visited Marseilles and stayed long enough to teach Moses what he needed to know. Perhaps Sekou would be willing to visit you here. Moses probably knows how to find him."
"Assuming your friend Moses would help a man who had kidnapped you." Nikolai released her hands, frowning. "Tales of slavery made you violently ill. Do you hate the idea enough to help me fight it?"
Her brows arched. "You might not be able to end slavery by yourself, but you've proven that you can make a difference to some people. I can't even do that. While you have my sympathies for your cause, I'm of no practical use."
"Your teaching can make a difference. I will seek an African mage, but that could take years. Anything I learn now will make me more effective while I wait for the right training."
He blazed with passion for his cause, and she envied that. She had never been happier than when she was part of the fight for Scotland's freedom. A burning need for freedom was part of every Scot's soul, and that passion made Gregorio's quest echo within her. Yet there were limits to what she could do. "I'm not African, and I wish to go home. But for what time I have before leaving, I'll teach what I can."
His eyes burned. "Will you swear a blood oath to do that?"
"Is that necessary? If my plain word is not good enough, swearing in blood will not change anything." A vague memory surfaced. "Unless there is a magic in blood that I am not aware of?"
"There is magic in ritual, though you northern Protestants don't seem to recognize that." He drew his dagger and cut across his left palm, then offered the weapon to her hilt first. "And yes, I feel this is necessary, though I cannot explain why."
Jean knew better than to argue with the intuition of a mage, even an underdeveloped one. "I should use my own blade." She turned away from him and bent to lift her hem, then turned back with her knife.
Schooling herself not to flinch, she made a small, neat cut on her left palm. She extended her left hand. The left side, closer to the heart. She wondered if Gregorio was conscious of why he'd chosen the left hand.
As she began to speak, energy rushed through her, pure and transcendent. "I swear that I will always oppose slavery in any way I can, even if the cost would be my life." She wasn't sure where those words came from, but the source was higher than her conscious mind. She caught Gregorio's gaze. "I also pledge to share with you any knowledge I possess that can aid you in your just crusade."
They clasped left hands, blood to blood—and the world turned inside out. Power blasted through the room like a thunderstorm, blinding all the senses in chaos. Jean fell from the chair to her knees. She was in a tunnel of energy that roared from unknown past to unknowable future. Screams of souls and events beyond imagining resonated through her, tearing at mind and body. Her hand locked with Gregorio's, and she was dizzily uncertain who was saving whom.
A thump reverberated and the energy faded away. When her vision cleared, she found herself kneeling on the floor, her fingers still interlaced with Gregorio's. He was crunched into a ball beside her, his face haggard.
And beside them, appearing from nowhere, lay an African woman. Though she wore a neat European-style gown and a white headscarf, loops of beads around her throat and wrists gave her an exotic appearance. In her forties, with smooth black skin and a strong, shapely body, she lay sprawled on her back as limp as death. An embroidered pouch of animal skin was slung over her shoulder.
Wondering where the devil the woman had come from, Jean crawled the few feet between them and tried to find a pulse with shaking hands.
The woman choked, then inhaled, opening dark, stunned eyes. Her gaze went from Jean to Gregorio and lingered. Relief in her eyes, she asked, "When am I?"
"You're on the island of Santola," Jean answered.
"Not where," the woman said forcefully. "When?"
Chapter
EIGHTEEN
When? While Nikolai stared, Jean replied, "It's the year of our Lord 1753."
The woman breathed, "The magic worked." Her eyes closed and she lay still, her chest rising and falling gently.
Jean glanced at him, baffled. "Do you know who she is?"
"I've never seen her before." Nikolai managed to get to his feet without falling, though it was a near thing. Every spark of energy had been sucked from his body, like when he'd helped the Scottish witch fight the storm. "Which is interesting, for I know everyone on Santola. She is a stranger on an island where there are no strangers." He extended his hand to Jean Macrae.
She accepted his help in getting to her feet. Even though she seemed as exhausted as he, a spark hummed between them when they touched.
"She looks like someone who has just performed a great magical work and barely survived it," Jean said as she studied the motionless woman. "The fact that we feel the same way suggests that she had to use some energy from the two of us to arrive here."
Since the woman didn't belong to the island, there was only one other possibility, thoug
h it seemed incredible. "Could she have traveled here from another place by magic?" Nikolai asked.
"I've heard that a few powerful mages can travel from one place to another, though I've never met anyone who could. It's one of those magical abilities that may be legend rather than fact. But I don't know a better explanation for her." Jean frowned. "We should try to lift her onto the bed."
"I'm not sure we can manage that in our current state. The carpet will do for now." He pulled a blanket from the bed and spread it over the woman.
Jean tucked a pillow under the stranger's head. "I don't think she is merely from another place. Look at the cut of her gown. I've never seen one quite like it. She may have come from another time. From the future."
Nikolai whistled softly. "That would explain her asking when she was. Is such a journey even possible?"
"I've never heard of traveling through time, but that doesn't mean much. I'm no scholar of the lore." Jean knelt by the woman again, her gaze on the bracelet on the woman's left wrist. Large black beads of a curious design were threaded between smaller beads of transparent black stone. "There is magic in that bracelet. If one looks with mage vision, it burns with power. Can you see that? Relax your eyes and look for the energy patterns rather than at the surface."
He stared at the bracelet and tried to relax his eyes. Seeing his scowl, she said, "Try looking through rather than at it."
Using her advice, he let his gaze slip out of focus—and abruptly he recognized that the bracelet really did burn with power. He saw it as brilliant white light with the large beads flaring brightest of all.
There was also a faint, streaky glow around the unconscious woman. A stronger golden glow around Jean Macrae. He stared at his own hand and saw a pulse of transparent color around his body, but the shade was deeper, more red. "Good Lord," he breathed. "Yes, I see. Mage vision? That's a powerful first lesson."
He bent and reached toward the bracelet. Jean caught his wrist hard. "Don't touch it! Not without knowing more. The bracelet is bespelled." She pointed toward a gap on the bracelet. The cord holding the beads looked slightly charred. "This looks as if one of the large beads burned away. That might have been part of the magic that brought her here. Don't touch her pouch, either." Her brows furrowed as she studied the sleeping woman. "What is your story, madam?"
"I presume she'll tell us when she wakes up. For now, she needs rest and nourishment." He had enough strength to pour what was left of the cold tea into a cup. He raised the woman's head and held it to her lips. She drank the half cup of liquid without opening her eyes. He made a mental note to ask his cook to make more broth.
As he stood, Jean smiled wryly. "Are you sure that you want to know more magic? The great mages do not walk an easy path."
"Oh, yes," he said softly. "I want to know more." He studied the mystery woman, who was resting peacefully. "And perhaps the ancestors have sent me a teacher."
Adia's head pounded like drums when she woke, but she was glad to see that she really had gone to another place and time. Her ghastly passage through other worlds had not been for nothing. She cautiously pushed herself up on one elbow. She was nicely tucked up with a pillow and blanket on a lush Oriental carpet, her arm curled protectively around her medicine bag.
A soft voice said, "Good morning. I am Jean Macrae. Would you like a drink?"
Jean Macrae was the pretty redheaded girl Adia had seen when she arrived in this place. She looked very young, but she had an air of competence.
"Please." Adia's throat was so dry she could barely speak.
The girl brought her a cool tumbler of fruit juice. After the first long, welcome swallow, Adia pulled off her headscarf and shook out the dozens of narrow braids that confined her long hair. Her coiffure seemed to have made the journey with less struggle than the rest of her. After finishing the fruit juice, Adia said, "I am Adia Adams."
"You have come from the future?"
As Adia studied the girl's face, she realized that Jean Macrae was not as young as she looked at first glance. "You are clever, but of course you are a powerful sorceress."
The girl laughed. "Not so very powerful. But I have lived among great mages."
Feeling stronger, Adia got to her feet. "I have much to explain. Will you summon your husband so I can tell you my story at once?"
"Captain Gregorio is not my husband," the girl said emphatically.
"No?" Adia said, surprised. "When I looked at the two of you, there was a visible bond."
"Perhaps, but it's not the bond of lovers or mates. Opponents, perhaps. Sometimes uneasy comrades." The girl headed to the door. "I'll have food sent up while I look for him." She shook her head as she left. "My husband?"
Amused by the girl's unwillingness to accept what was clearly evident, Adia explored the room. She gasped when she stepped onto the terrace and saw the sea and the broken ring of islands. Where was this place? The two people she'd met were white and spoke English, but many of the people she saw in the village below were Africans.
This island reminded her a little of the Indies, but the light was different. Perhaps the Mediterranean? Certainly it was a place she had never seen before. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she sat on a bench before she collapsed. This was 1753. Though she had chosen this path, the knowledge that she would probably never see her home and family again made her ache in every fiber of her being. She folded over, wrapping her arms around her body as she shook with shock and grief.
Slowly the dizziness passed. Her reasons for risking such dangerous magic were as powerful as ever, and at the least, she seemed to have come to a kind place. She would survive as she always did.
She hoped the food arrived soon. She was famished.
Nikolai looked up when the door to his study opened. Though he'd been trying to work on accounts with Louise, he was having trouble concentrating, and his companion was irritated with him.
Jean entered the study. After inclining her head politely to Louise, she said, "Our visitor, Adia Adams, has awakened and wants to speak to you and me, Captain."
He almost leaped from his chair. The twenty-four hours since the mysterious woman appeared had crept with painful slowness. "Good. Louise, your accounts appear to be in fine shape, so you don't need me anymore."
"It amazes me that a man who will fight slavers with his bare hands will seize any excuse to run from a ledger," Louise said acerbically.
"Perhaps if the ledger fought back, it would be more interesting," he said as he crossed the room.
Isabelle flew from her perch to land on his shoulder. He scratched the macaw's neck. "Stay and keep Louise company, ma belle." He returned the bird to her perch, where she rocked restlessly from foot to foot.
"Isabelle will be better company than you have been," Louise said as she bent over her ledger again. "Mam'zelle Macrae, I have a lotion that protects pale skin from the sun. I shall send you some."
"Thank you. That would be welcome," Jean said, a little surprised by the offer.
Nikolai ushered Jean ahead of him and up the stairs. As she climbed, she asked over her shoulder, "Is Louise your housekeeper?"
"Among other things. She has a gift for figures, so her main work is managing the accounts for the shipping business that supports most of the island. She lives two houses down, so she is here often. She cares for Isabelle when I am away. That useless bird likes Louise better than me, I think."
When he entered Jean's room, he didn't see the visitor, so he crossed to the terrace. Adia stood by the wall, looking out at the island and caldera.
When Jean and Nikolai stepped onto the terrace, she turned to greet them. She was a tall woman and a commanding presence. "This is a very beautiful place," she said, her English touched by only the faintest hint of an accent. "I think you called it Santola, Captain Gregorio?"
He nodded. "The island is a sanctuary for those who have been freed from slavery. We are located in the western Mediterranean."
"A sanctuary for freed slaves? No wonde
r I was brought here."
Guided by intuition, he said, "I was a slave. You also?"
She nodded. "Since this is the Mediterranean and you are white, you might have been enslaved by Barbary pirates?"
"Yes. But I am not wholly white. My grandmother was as African as you."
Adia's eyes widened at what she heard. "I wonder if that is why the magic brought me here?"
"Where and when do you come from, Madame Adia?" Jean asked. "I'm perishing with curiosity."
"Sit, please, this will be a long discussion." Adia moved under the covered area and settled onto a chair opposite the bench. Nikolai and Jean took seats on the bench as far from each other as possible. "I have come from London in the year 1787."
Her words fell into total silence. Though he and Jean had deduced that Adia must have come through time, to hear her say as much was shocking. So many questions were raised that his mind boggled. First and foremost…"Why have you come?"
Her gaze was piercing. "My mission is to find warriors who will join the fight against slavery."
Her words blazed through him like lightning. "Dear God, is slavery being fought in your time?"
"I think we may be witnessing the beginning of the end, though it will be a long struggle." Her expression became abstracted. "I best start at the beginning, I think. I was born in West Africa, not far from the Slave Coast. When still a child, I was captured by slavers and taken to America. First the Indies, then the Carolinas." She halted. "We are in 1753, you say? I have just been enslaved!"
"I am having trouble grasping the idea of time travel," Jean said. "You can be in two places at once?"
"I must be," Adia said ruefully. "But I do not truly understand it, either."
Impatient to hear more of her story, Nikolai said, "You were a slave in America, but you came here from London? How did you escape?"
Adia toyed with her bead bracelets, her long fingers restless. "That is a complicated tale. Thirteen of the American colonies revolted against Britain in 1776. They wanted their freedom. Many noble speeches were made, but of course they wanted freedom for white men, not African slaves." Her voice was bitter. "So the British offered liberty to any slaves who came to their side and fought the rebels."
A Distant Magic Page 14
