Silence followed that statement. Ackerly wondered what was going on in the girl’s head. He didn’t have enough magic to break through her natural armor.
“I can’t trust a man who gives me drugs that make me sick. I’ll just pretend I’m a slow learner.”
Aha! so that was why Kalen didn’t pick up the principles of distant communication as readily as she had fire and telekinesis. Ackerly smiled as he listened. He wondered what would happen if he reduced the doses of Tambootie and turned the lessons into games. Would Kalen be tricked into stretching her magic for the fun of a game?
He pictured himself crawling around on the floor with a bunch of toddlers.
No. These children were too old for such infantile amusements. He hadn’t been around children at all since he left home at the age of twelve to become an apprentice magician. None of Druulin’s apprentices had had time or energy for play, unless you considered practical jokes and stealing extra blankets play.
What games had he played at ten and twelve? He remembered vaguely boisterous contests with balls and sticks, of hide-and-go seek, of follow my leader. Yes, he could still play those games—but with a magic twist.
Where? Not outdoors where such rambunctious games were meant to be played. Winter’s last storms still raged around their ears with snow and howling winds. When the thaw came, the island would be a sea of mud. He hoped that day was not far off. He’d had enough of chilblains and runny noses. Perhaps he could organize games in the refectory. The trestle tables and benches could be pushed aside after each meal. The center of that long hall would make an adequate ball field. The children would have to learn control to keep witchballs confined and not knock over rushlights and candles. The rest of the school provided infinite hiding places and obstacles to overcome. Yes, he’d start the games tonight.
But he wouldn’t eliminate the Tambootie from the curriculum. He needed the apprentices to become dependent on it. Just as Nimbulan had. Then, gifts of the drug—or withholding of it—became tools. Tools to keep his pet magicians performing while he collected enormous rental fees for their services.
He almost tasted the gold as if he were already biting into the coins to test their purity. The weight of them filled his hands and pockets with satisfaction.
Soon. Soon the school would begin to pay. He just had to be patient a little longer.
Ackerly turned away from his eavesdropping, satisfied he had outsmarted two very bright children.
Kalen’s voice rose once more, but he didn’t pay attention to her complaints. He’d learned what he needed.
“He’s gone now, Powwell.” Kalen pressed her ear to the door.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. His aura left an imprint on the door. Now it’s fading.”
“I can’t see it.”
“Look with your magic, not your eyes.”
“You sound just like Nimbulan.” Tears filled Powwell’s eyes. “I wish you could have known him.”
“He sounds like he was more honest than anyone else at this s’murghing school.”
“We’re not supposed to curse, Kalen,” Powwell gasped.
“There’s no better word to describe this place. I wish Papa had never brought me here.” She stamped her foot and plopped down on the floor again, arms crossed over her skinny chest. She scrunched up her face as if trying not to cry. “I want to go home to our house in Baria. It was the most beautiful house ever. I want to go back to the time before Lord Hanic burned the town, before Moncriith discovered me. Before magic was more than a bright, shiny toy.”
“You haven’t gone hungry since you came here. And you haven’t had to sleep in the fields, cold and wet,” Powwell reminded her.
“That’s true. But before we came, I wasn’t sick all the time from the drugs, and if I got tired, it was from walking and carrying my baby brother, not from forcing strange magic. Magic that could hurt someone if I lose control. He can’t work real magic, so he doesn’t know how bad I feel all the time.”
“Master Ackerly is a good teacher. He explains things ever so simply.”
“Have you ever seen him work any magic?”
“N . . . no.”
“That’s ’cause he’s got precious little talent for magic. What he does is mostly illusion. He makes you think he’s doing magic. Like he made you think Nimbulan was dead.”
“But he was! I saw him die.” Powwell’s eyes went wide with disbelief and hope at the same time. “What makes you think the master lived?”
“His niche in the crypt is empty. The body’s gone, but his formal robes are there, neatly folded.”
“Master always was obsessed with neatness and order when he wasn’t too deep in a drug trance. He’d never leave anything untidy after a good sleep and a full day without a dose. Do you suppose the Stargods took him to heaven in their cloud of silver fire?”
“No. I think he woke up from a deep trance and walked away. That’s what I’d do. That’s what I want to do.”
“You’re making this up. I saw Master Nimbulan die. I helped lay him in the niche.” Powwell jumped up from where he sat on the floor. Suddenly the room was too small, the air too close. He couldn’t believe what this little girl . . . this troublemaker, said. If she was right, he couldn’t stay here. He’d have to go in search of his true master, Nimbulan. He’d have to leave the security of the school. This was the first place he’d ever lived where the taint of bastardy didn’t follow him. Every village his mother moved to, even when she claimed to be widowed—a common enough occurrence these days—someone always found out that his father was a wandering misfit who hadn’t bothered to return and marry the daughter of his host. He’d promised to come back. But promises were easily broken.
“I’ll show you the empty crypt, Powwell,” Kalen whispered as if afraid Ackerly might return and overhear.
Powwell stared at the floor, wondering if he had the courage to follow her and discover the truth.
Chapter 23
Myri poured another bucket of water over the hot rocks in the brazier. Aromatic steam gushed upward, filling the tiny hut with the scent of crushed herbs and a little of the essential oil of the Tambootie. The old woman lying on the thin pallet coughed heavily in the onslaught of steam.
The coughing spasm continued, racking her frail old body with shudders, robbing her of air, slowly choking life from her.
Each time Karry’s grandmother gasped for air or clutched her chest in pain, Myri endured the same. Her strength faded almost as rapidly as the old woman’s.
(Resist the need to Heal with magic,) the voices whispered to her as they had guided her all night.
“I can’t let her die,” Myri sobbed. She’d tried every mundane remedy she could think of. Granny Katia’s fever and cough only worsened.
(Hold back. Don’t waste your strength on her. She will die anyway.)
Myri gritted her teeth and sought the courage to ignore the voices. Resolutely, she placed her hand on the old woman’s chest. Blue sparks shot into the air the moment she made contact. She poured her energy deep into Granny Katia, pulling fluid away from her lungs and attacking the fever.
She wished for Amaranth’s comforting presence, but knew the superstitious villagers feared that cats sucked breath out of babies and ailing old people. They’d forbidden her to bring her familiar into Granny Katia’s home.
Another great spasm of coughs racked the old woman’s body. Shudders ran the length of her wasted frame. Myri helped her patient bend over and expel the fluid in her lungs.
“Drink some water now, Granny Katia.” She held a small cup to the old woman’s lips, still keeping one hand on her back. Strength continued to drain out of Myri into her patient.
Granny Katia tried to push the cup away. Her hands were so feeble she barely touched the cup.
(You can’t help her. She’s too ill, too weak. Save yourself. Your strength is needed elsewhere.)
An uneasiness in the back of Myri’s neck, like an itch tha
t got worse with scratching, followed the whisper in the back of her mind. She knew a sudden urge to pack her few possessions and move southward. She could travel no farther east.
She pushed the compulsion aside. She’d had enough of being manipulated by magic when she was with Televarn.
“Please, Granny. You have to drink.” Karry and the other villagers will never forgive me if you die. They’ll blame me, threaten me, drive me away.
Or burn me. The villagers had heard Moncriith preach. If Granny Katia died, they would blame her.
“I want to stay here. This village feels like home.” You promised me a home, she accused the voices.
The old woman passed into uneasy sleep before Myri could force more than a few drops past her thin lips. Myri’s talent reached out. She poured more magic into Granny Katia, trying once more to draw fluid out of her lungs.
Dizziness scattered Myri’s senses. She had trouble concentrating on the healing. Her lungs felt heavy and her breath rattled when she exhaled. Her eyes refused to focus. The walls of the tiny hut spun around her. She dropped her head and scrunched her eyes closed.
“If you don’t take the medicine, you’ll die, Granny. You have to drink,” she said when the room righted itself and she could concentrate once more.
The old woman roused slightly and took two small sips before losing consciousness again.
Myri bathed Granny’s fevered brow with a cool cloth. The old woman’s skin felt too dry and thin, like a fragile leaf ready to fall in autumn. The fever burned her vitality like fuel in a hearth. Every ragged breath stole air from Myri’s lungs as well.
“The cure isn’t working, Myri.” Karry stood in the low doorway of the hut, arms crossed, grief already dragging down the corners of her mouth.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do for her.” Myri bowed her head.
“I can see that you have tried all within your power.” Karry looked pointedly at the blue glow of energy surrounding Myri’s hand where it lay against Granny’s shrunken chest.
Myri resisted the instinct to jerk her hand away and hide the evidence of magic. She tried distracting Karry’s gaze by pressing the cup of medicine on Granny once more.
“Leave off with your smelly cures, child,” Granny Katia whispered weakly. “Let me die. I’m too old to endure another Festival. ’Tis the Equinox Festival today. A good time to die. Make room for the new lives beginning tonight.” She chuckled dryly and coughed again.
This time Myri had to lift her body to a sitting position, so she wouldn’t gag. Her lungs gasped in sympathy with the old woman.
Karry rushed to wipe the bloody spittle from her grandmother’s mouth. “She’s coughing blood now.” Fear widened her eyes.
“She’s been coughing blood all night,” Myri said. She wiped a few drops of blood from her own lips with the back of her hand. Her empathy with her patient had brought the disease into her body already. Would she have the strength to cure herself?
(Leave the woman. Her death is killing you!)
Tremendous heat pushed her hand away from Granny Katia’s chest. This time, Myri let the power separate her from her patient.
Karry sat back on her heels. Her face paled, and her hands shook. Amaranth pushed open the door Karry hadn’t closed completely and climbed into the pub-keeper’s lap. He rubbed his head against her chest, offering his sympathy. She wrapped her arms around the cat, clinging to his body as if he were the spirit of her beloved grandmother.
Granny Katia gasped again as another coughing spasm gripped her. Myri tried to lift her inert shoulders. A curious rattle replaced the old woman’s ragged breathing. Air and phlegm tangled in Myri’s lungs, too. Katia’s eyes glazed and rolled. Her entire body shuddered once and went limp.
A vital part of Myri’s talent wrenched away from her body, trying desperately to follow the dying woman into the void. No amount of willpower could control the need to grab her patient’s essence and bring it back to the body that was too weak to support it.
Utter blackness closed around Myri.
With a nauseating lurch she found herself back in her own body. She closed her eyes as the hut spun around her, upsetting her tenuous balance.
Silence filled the too-warm room. Gradually, Myri came back to herself, weak and shaking.
Karry clutched her grandmother’s hand to her ample breast.
“I’m sorry, Karry. I have nothing left to try.” Gently, she closed the sightless eyes.
“Pass easily to your next existence, Granny,” Karry murmured.
They sat in silence a moment. Karry rocked on her heels, still clutching Katia’s hand. Amaranth purred gentle comfort in her lap.
“I guess I should leave. This village won’t look to kindly upon the healer who lost a favorite patient.” Myri bowed her head in regret. She liked the people in this little fishing village. She had almost dared hope they would welcome her, let her stay. Maybe even hide her when Moncriith came looking for her.
Magretha had warned her how often villagers preferred to blame healers for every problem and forget the good they had achieved. Most of Myri’s childhood had been spent fleeing one village or another—often with Moncriith hot on her heels.
“You don’t have to leave, Myri.” Karry reached across her grandmother’s failing body to hold Myri’s hand. “You saved my Katey and her baby, Katareena. No one else thought to reach in and pull the baby out, ass-backward. If you hadn’t, they’d have died and the Katareenas would end with me. And don’t forget Yoshi’s fever. You cured him last Solstice. We’re grateful for those of us you have saved.”
“But I couldn’t increase the fishing catch. How many of the men blame me for that? They’ve been drinking heavily for two days, anticipating festival tonight. Some of them get very mean when they are in their cups. We have both broken up a dozen fights a day this winter. Will they turn on me when drink fires their courage?”
After a long and barren winter, the fish had returned to the bay in the last day or two. But many of the men didn’t want to believe in the fish. They’d rather drink and complain and fight among themselves.
More and more frequently, Myri heard the men mutter that the village resided under a curse. If Moncriith arrived and pointed to Myri as the cause, the men were ripe to believe.
She forced herself to think about the pretty flowers and the lilting music nine women practiced by the Equinox Pylons. This village could have been home.
(We will give you a safe home.)
“We want you to stay, Myri.” Karry pressed her hand reassuringly. You are welcome to join in the Festival dance tonight.”
A moment of longing pressed deep inside Myri. She remembered other Festivals. Lilting music guided her steps widdershins around an Equinox Pylon. Men danced deosil in the same pattern. Each pass brought the men and women closer together, brushing suggestively against each other. A hand reached out and loosened the laces of her bodice—all the girls had painstakingly reversed the order of lacing so the simple garment opened from the top. By the end of the dance, several hands had tugged at her clothing, exposing her breasts, heightening the sexual anticipation of the night.
She clamped down on her desire to join the village in the ancient fertility rites.
Amaranth leaped from Karry’s lap to prowl restlessly around Myri’s ankles.
(Betrayal!) The voices came sharp and insistent. (You must leave. Now!)
“Merow,” Amaranth agreed with the voices. He twitched his ears as if listening.
Myri walked to the door, looking out at the preparations for tonight’s Festival. She sought a glimpse of something out of the ordinary that might reveal who betrayed her.
From the safety of the cliff edge, children watched mandelphs sporting in the warm currents just beyond the Dragon’s Teeth, the wickedly sharp rock formation in the center of the cove. Birds danced in the air above them, dipping down to feed among the rich schools of fish. Winter storms no longer drove them into the depths of the bay beyond the reac
h of men’s nets.
Children, flowers, and wildlife burst with energy on this first day of the new season. The entire planet seemed poised for Spring with abundant life.
She needed to belong to the joyous celebration tonight, perhaps find a permanent mate among the fishermen. Instead she would have to run away again.
(Betrayal.)
She stood rigidly staring at the three times three Equinox Pylon, not seeing it or the floral decorations. Awareness of Karry, the dead woman, the village, faded as she listened only to the voices that had guided her so often.
(Go. Now.) Urgency to be out of the village pressed on her.
(Now.) A circling wind began to whip the tops of nearby trees. Her feet needed to follow the wind.
“I can’t stay.” Disappointment tugged her toward the Pylon. The voices pulled her in the opposite direction.
(Hurry!)
“The men will be disappointed you won’t stay to lift your skirts for your partner in the dance.” Karry crossed her grandmother’s arms upon her sunken chest and brushed her thin gray hair away from her face.
Myri listened for the voices again, ignoring Karry’s persuasion. Did she have time to pack some provisions? The sense of urgency lifted. A little. Not much time. Food and extra clothing were necessary. She wouldn’t be coming back here soon.
“Look with your FarSight, Lan. Look into the store-houses, look into the fishing nets, look at the fertile fields ripe for the first touch of plow and seed,” Televarn whispered seductively.
Nimbulan looked down from their hidden perch on the cliffside above the village plateau. To the west of the village, the fields spread wide, ready for tilling. To the east lay the ocean and a cove pierced by a spreading rock formation. Just beyond the jagged spires of rock, screeching gulls dipped often and plucked squirming fish from the warm currents.
“Look at the Equinox Pylon the women decorate. Three times three poles erected over the place where three ley lines meet. Three is a powerful number. It represents the three Stargods. This village is rich in fertility as well as magic.” Televarn pointed at the proud collection of stout poles presiding over the center of the village. Weddings, funerals, and judgments all took place at the base. Three times three granted extra blessings to those events.
Dragon Nimbus Novels: Vol II, The Page 23
