by Kyra Halland
She put on her duster coat and left Silas’s room. In the front hall, Mr. Coltor and Dr. Filburn were discussing the doctor’s bill. Mr. Coltor said he would take care of the payment; Lainie resolved to settle up with him later. She slipped past them, out the front door, and carried the cloth-wrapped bundle of black bullets out to the ranch smithy.
The blacksmith, unusually thin and wiry for a man in his trade but with muscles like bands of steel, was finishing up a horseshoe. Lainie waited; getting a horse properly shod was more important than just about anything else. When the shoe was finished, the smith said, “I’ll be right back,” and headed out to a corral behind the smithy. Lainie stood by the door and watched as the smith put the shoe on one of the horses there. He appeared to be very good at what he was doing.
When he returned to the smithy, he asked, “What can I do for you, little lady?”
She held out the bundle of bullets. “I need you to smash this.” The Sh’kimech were wicked and dangerous; she would never deny that. Given half a chance, they would possess her or anyone else of power they could get hold of and use that person as their weapon to destroy all the mortal creatures that walked in the sunlight of the Wildings. But they called her Sister, they served her, they cared for her in their own greedy, inhuman way. She commanded them, and they helped her when she needed it. Now, in their distress, she could find some mercy for them.
The blacksmith peeked into the cloth bundle. “Never seen ore like that before.”
“It’s poisonous. Just smash it, and make sure you keep it wrapped up. Don’t touch it.”
“You got it.” He took the bundle from her and set it on his anvil. The lean, ropy muscles of his arm and shoulder bunched up as he raised a large hammer, then he swung the hammer down onto the bundle with a heavy thud and a crunching sound. “That do it?”
Lainie opened the bundle. The bullets had been reduced to small, grainy lumps. No resemblance of bullet shape remained. “Sure did. Thanks.”
He dipped his head in return. “Coltor said you and Vendine are to have whatever you need. I already re-shod your horses; looked like you’d been running ’em hard for a long time and they needed it. Fine animals.”
Fresh guilt flooded through Lainie; in her exhaustion and her worries about Silas, she had completely neglected to check on Mala and Abenar. “Are they okay? Where are they?”
“In the stables, over that way.” He gestured with his thumb out beyond the corral where he’d shod the horse. “Eating and resting, almost good as new.”
Lainie’s guilt eased. If the smith was any indication, the horses were in good hands with Mr. Coltor’s people. “Thanks. I’m much obliged.”
She tucked the bundle of Sh’kimech ore into her duster pocket and headed over to the stables, where she found Mala and Abenar comfortably settled in. She stroked their necks, apologizing for running them so hard and neglecting them, and fed them some cut-up apples. Then she borrowed a mount and a small shovel, and rode out on the range a good distance away from the cluster of ranch buildings and the grassy pastures to a rocky patch where the ground started to rise towards the Blueclouds.
She scraped away the light covering of snow and dug a hole as deep as she could reach, then knelt and shook the ore from the kerchief into the hole. Go home, she said to the Sh’kimech.
Our thanks, Sister, they answered. She had expected an argument, but all she felt from them was relief at being freed from the unnatural form they had been forced into. There will be vengeance on the vermin that did this to us, there must be, but now we only want to go home. With that, they fled back to their realm deep beneath the earth, leaving behind gray, spent powder in the bottom of the hole where the ore had been.
Lainie remained kneeling by the hole, struck anew by Elspetya Lorentius’s arrogance and ambition. It wasn’t only the Plain settlers who would be harmed by her plans, or the “savages,” as she called the A’ayimat. She had taken these ancient, powerful beings, not knowing their true nature and what they were capable of, or, worse, knowing and too proud and ambitious to care, and turned them into her own weapon of devastation while making them suffer terribly. Madam Lorentius threatened everything the Wildings was and all who made their home there.
“There will be vengeance,” Lainie whispered after the Sh’kimech. With that vow, she filled in the hole, then mounted up and rode back to the house.
* * *
SILAS WAS ASLEEP when Lainie came back, more deeply asleep than in the whole time since she had rescued him. Careful not to disturb him – it would make this a lot easier if he stayed asleep – she sat cross-legged on the bed beside him and rested a hand on his bare shoulder. She felt much more calm and collected now, and when she gathered her power, she was able to control it easily.
With the feel of his skin beneath her hand anchoring the connection between them, Lainie reached into Silas with her mage senses. The cold, the pain, the agonized, furious presence of the Sh’kimech were all gone, leaving a emptiness where his fears and confusion wandered loose and aimless. She went deeper, making her way to the shield of deep violet power that shut away his magic, his mind, his personality, everything that was him.
Off to the side, a slight misalignment caught her attention. More damage from what Madam Lorentius had done? Lainie turned her attention to it.
Again likening the non-physical things she was sensing to things in the physical world, she found that the misalignment was a short tuck or seam in Silas’s inner being, held closed with complex stitches of fine strands of power – his own power, cut off from the rest of his power but still being fed from the well or source inside him where it was generated. The work was neatly done and showed none of the violence that marked her grandmother’s handiwork.
Driven by growing curiosity, Lainie probed at the seam. Behind it she felt – Potential. Rich, vibrant, filled with life –
She had found the fertility block.
The significance of her discovery jolted Lainie back to herself. She opened her eyes and sat staring down at Silas. She had found the fertility block that had been placed on him, as on all mage children, when he began to mature, the fertility block that could only be removed by a member of the Mage Council. Silas had told her that terrible things would happen if someone tried to remove the block on their own, and she could certainly see how it would be very difficult if not impossible to untangle the stitches yourself, without having a clear outside view of them. But if they could be removed by someone from the Mage Council, why not by some other person?
She jumped up from the bed and dug in her knapsack for the pinecone and feather wishcatcher the A’ayimat woman Kesta had given her last winter. It was still there, wrapped up in a bandana, slightly smashed, but Lainie checked for the wish it held, that a way would be found, an unexpected path would open up, to allow her to have a child. The wish was still there. She drew the spell, a flutter of magic definitely A’ayimat in flavor but not entirely foreign to her, out of the wishcatcher and into herself.
This time, as she extended her mage senses back into Silas, they seemed sharper, more sensitive, able to pick up on things she had missed before. The pattern of stitches on the fertility block showed sharp and clear, and now she could sense the traps woven into them, spells that would be triggered if the stitches were removed incorrectly. They ranged from uncomfortable to downright cruel – embarrassing digestive upsets, painful and disfiguring boils, complete and permanent impotence. No wonder Silas had adamantly refused to let her try to remove the block herself.
But now, with the help of Kesta’s wish, she could see exactly how it should be done, how to pull out the stitches in reverse order, starting at the last stitch and ending with the first, unweaving the traps so the spells they contained would harmlessly dissipate instead of being triggered.
Again, she withdrew her mage senses. She looked at Silas, wondering what he would want her to do, if she should go ahead and remove the block now or wait until she could ask him first. But if she waited
until she removed the block on his mind and power and then asked, he might be too afraid to let her. Or if he did, he might resist in spite of himself and make removing it more difficult. Also, the wishcatcher spell might not last that long. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you if I could, darlin’, he had said so many times when she was mourning not being able to have babies of her own. She had to believe he had meant it.
If she ran into the slightest bit of difficulty, she promised herself, she would stop. But she had to try. This was her best chance, and maybe her only chance, to remove his fertility block and be able to have children.
Nervous excitement plucked at Lainie’s concentration. She forced it back; she couldn’t afford any distractions. This was only a seam that had to be taken out, that was all. And if there was one thing she was good at, it was picking out stitches.
She extended her mage senses back into Silas and took hold of the end of the magical thread that held the fertility block closed. Carefully, stitch by stitch, she drew it out, never forcing it but just letting it slip free, like pulling the stitches out of a seam when you wanted to avoid ripping the fabric and breaking the thread. When she came to a place where the thread of magic crossed over and under itself a number of times, anchoring a trap spell, she gently and patiently teased it free, aided by the heightened mage senses and magical dexterity Kesta’s wish gave her. As she went, she constantly felt ahead for hidden trap spells and stopped whenever she encountered the slightest bit of resistance in the thread. She checked for concealed spells, changed the angle and pressure of her pull on the strand of magic, then went on, one stitch at a time, until finally she reached the starting end of the thread and pulled it free.
A flood of rich, warm energy, of pure life force, washed over her, filling her in places that she hadn’t even realized were empty with a pleasure almost like the climax of lovemaking. She let herself bask in the glorious sensation of that unique form of magic, Silas’s potential to create new life, until it settled into its proper place inside him. Her body’s own desires had awakened in answer, and she had to take a moment to recover and let them settle as well.
Then she turned her attention to the dark purple shield. The increased senses and skill from the wishcatcher spell were still with her; now she could see more clearly the ragged, scraped edges where the patch of violet power was embedded into Silas’s inner being. She didn’t know if the damage could be repaired, and she was going to have to do even more to remove the block. But there was no help for it; the block had to come out before it drained his life away.
Slowly, she began working the edges of the block free, severing the bindings that held it in place. Several times she had to dig more deeply than she would have liked in order to free an especially stubborn piece of the shield. She didn’t let herself think about how much more damage she might be doing to Silas’s inner self; every fragment of her grandmother’s power had to be removed so it wouldn’t fester like dirt left in a wound or continue eating away at his life force.
After a while, the effects of the wish spell began to wear off and Lainie started to feel the drain on her own power. But finally she worked the last piece of the shield free and severed the final binding that was feeding Silas’s life force into it.
The scrap of dark purple magic dissipated and an onrush of Silas burst out from where he had been trapped for so long. Relief, joy, recognition, affection flooded around her, engulfing her, then his burgeoning presence inside his own body pushed her out.
Lainie came back to her physical senses, sitting beside him. He groaned and stirred. Heart pounding, she caught her breath and waited for him to wake up. Eagerness rushed through her to see him back to his old self again. But instead of waking, he fell quiet and slipped back into his deep sleep.
Lainie let out a long sigh. Her excitement drained away, taking with it the energy that had kept her going through the difficult tasks. She shouldn’t be disappointed; the gods knew he probably needed the sleep. There was nothing to do now but wait for him to wake up.
If he ever did. And even if he did, there was so much damage inside him, he might never be the same again.
She pushed away the thought. She had done her best. No one could do more than that. Somehow, everything had to turn out okay.
She still had the small pot of ointment Kesta had given her; she smeared some on Silas’s incisions and fed a little healing magic into them. Then she laid a fresh set of his clothing within reach of the bed, in case he did wake up and wanted to get up. With nothing else she could do for him, she left him to sleep, and went to find a way to pass the time that would keep her from losing her mind while she waited to see if he would wake up.
Chapter 6
SLOWLY, HE DRIFTED into consciousness, and his surroundings took shape around him. He was in bed… in a hotel room? Or Lainie’s room at her Pa’s house? But the white plastered walls of this room didn’t fit with his blurred recollection of the Banfrey ranch house.
Disjointed memories drifted through his mind. Burrett Banfrey’s face, but the face of an old woman, not a man; the last thing he remembered from before the world went dark and he was split in two. Banfrey’s mother, the mage grandmother Lainie had told him about? What did she have to do with anything?
Before that, he had been shot, he knew that much. Cold, darkness, pain, voices shrieking in agony obliterating everything else from his consciousness… He had heard those voices before, felt that pain. He searched through scraps of memory and came up with a cavern, a cave-in, Lainie’s soft, warm lips pressed against his. Sh’kimech, the word came to him. The ancient beings who lived beneath the earth of the Wildings. He had taken their power into himself that other time; had he done so again? He couldn’t remember; he didn’t think so.
It had started when he was shot. Could it be that the bullets had been made of Sh’kimech ore? Was that even possible? Remarkably effective, he remembered the old woman saying as she examined him. Lainie’s grandmother, bullets of Sh’kimech ore… More memories drifted through his mind, things he had seen and heard and felt while the part of him that was capable of understanding all of it had been shut behind that dark barrier. It all had to mean something, but he couldn’t make sense of it; his thoughts skittered away from him even as they formed.
He turned his attention to his body, assessing his condition. He still hurt, but it was a good pain, clean and honest, free of the cold, sick, screaming darkness that had filled every moment, waking and asleep. If it was the bullets, they must have been removed. The thought triggered memories of stabbing, cutting, tearing pain and the sound of his own screams; he flinched away from them, and they faded.
Now another memory came to him, a face that mattered to him more than anything else, though he hadn’t known who she was. Somehow, though, he had known she would make everything all right. Even when she had walked out of his prison without him, with hard words coming from her lips and thunder bursting from her hands, he had known he could trust her.
Oh, Lainie. Pain tore through him as though his heart was breaking. By all the gods, what hells had she been through? More words came back to him, She’s a clever girl, she’ll think of it herself. It had been a trap set for her, to what purpose he couldn’t begin to guess, and he remembered desperately willing her to stay away, to not come after him, to flee to safety on the other side of the world. But she had come for him, his brave, beautiful, magnificent Lainie, and somehow she had managed to get both him and herself out of the trap.
Lainie…
He didn’t know how long he had been asleep, but all at once he was tired of lying in bed. Or, at least, of lying in bed alone. He sat up, groaning as his stiff, aching body fought against the movement, and reached for the pants that had been left neatly folded on a chair near the bed.
* * *
LAINIE SAT CROSSLEGGED on the sofa in the front parlor, throwing down random combos from a Dragon’s Threes deck she had found on a side table. The cards were beautifully made, with the fines
t artwork she had ever seen on a deck, but they looked like they had been used and weren’t just for show, so she figured it would be all right to borrow them.
A full night and day had passed since she removed the block on Silas’s mind, and he still hadn’t stirred. She had eaten and slept and eaten again and helped with the chores, but now, with the day’s work done and the Coltor family retired to their bedrooms, there was nothing else to do but try to keep from worrying herself to death while she waited for him to wake up.
She threw down another three and figured up the points, trying to beat her high score. Behind her, a soft footfall sounded on the floor, then a hand caressed her hair. She dropped the cards and spun around; Silas was standing there behind the sofa.
Relief and joy burst inside her. “Silas!” She scrambled over the back of the sofa and threw her arms around him, tears filling her eyes.
He hugged her close to him. “Lainie, darlin’,” he said into her hair, his voice quiet and rough.
She wiped her eyes, then pulled back a bit and looked up into his face. He looked thin and worn down, and the new lines in his face were still there, but he stood straight, no longer hunched over in pain. His dark eyes were clear and bright, and she could see him in them, the Silas she knew, gazing down at her with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
She blinked back more tears; she couldn’t cry now, not now that he was awake and everything was all right again. Smiling up at him, she pushed his hair back from his face. “How are you feeling?”
The corner of his mouth bent up in a faint, tired grin. “Well enough. Come on.”
He took her hand and led her back to the bedroom. There, he shut the door, shuffled off his pants, and got back in bed, making room for her next to him.
