by Lou Hoffmann
Henry, unaware of the silent exchange, said, “Olana left?” And then without waiting for an answer, “Lucky, do you have a fever? You look a little flushed.”
Thurlock said, “Her energy was quite spent. I had supper sent to her room. The others—the Droghona men here with her from the Fallows—ate with Rose and Lem and the others at the manor.” He paused and his face took on an intensely thoughtful look complete with furrowed brow and pursed lips. As if dictating a memo to himself, he mumbled, “We’ll have to squeeze in some kind of formal reception for them if the sky doesn’t fall before we can get that done.” Then, returning to his response to Henry, “And no, Luccan doesn’t have a fever. Judging from the look on Han’s face, what the boy has is a case of caught-in-the-act.”
Henry hesitated but then asked, “What act?”
Thurlock snorted. “Who knows? Could be anything. Shall we eat?”
To Lucky, dinner felt like a family gathering. Thurlock’s table was neither too large nor too small, the faces gathered around it familiar and loving, and the food plenty. The three other men sharing the meal all seemed ravenous and for a time nothing seemed more important or pressing than the need to ask for the potatoes or to pass the salt. What little conversation took place often seemed suffused with gentle humor, and never touched by anything darker than mild concern. The harmonious spirit reminded Lucky of suppers at Morrow’s farm, and that reminded him of Rio.
Lucky continued to pick at his food, but it was mostly an excuse to “accidentally” drop something he knew Maizie would love. He didn’t in any way resent that fortune seemed to be smiling on Han and Henry, yet their subtle glances and almost-smiles across the table between bites underlined his loneliness for the boy he thought he loved and might never see again. Where he’d been eating little before, now he stopped eating altogether. The others seemed all at the same moment to notice his lack of enthusiasm for the meal and, while they didn’t say anything at first, they started to chew slowly and spend an awful lot of time looking at Lucky.
Finally, Thurlock looked to Han and Henry—as if he thought they’d be more capable of deciphering the actions of a teenager—and said, “He doesn’t seem to be eating much.”
Han sent Lucky a piercing look, and Lucky threw up his mental shields.
“I’m just not very hungry,” Lucky said, trying to head off an inquisition. “And please don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
“Are you feeling sick?” Han asked.
“No,” Lucky said, thankful that it was the truth, because if it wasn’t, telling the lie would have made him even sicker.
Henry’s turn. “Too tired? Want to lie down for a while?”
“No.” That was the truth too. Lucky felt tired, but he was in no hurry to be by himself.
Han surreptitiously dropped a morsel to Lemon, then looked around at the table. “You don’t like meat, potatoes, and gravy anymore?”
“I do,” Lucky said, though honestly he had grown pleasantly accustomed to the vegetarian fare at Morrow’s farm when he was there.
Han and Henry looked at each other. Then, as if they’d decided they’d done an adequate job of level-one inquiry, turned expectantly back to Thurlock.
Thurlock stared at Lucky, eyes narrowed, twirling a strand of his silver beard around his index finger while the muscle in his cheek twitched repeatedly. The tic always seemed to make itself known when something involving compassion troubled the wizard. Suddenly, Thurlock released his chin hair and smacked the hand down on the table, perhaps a little harder than he’d intended because he flinched. He recovered quickly, though, and said, “I know. Why don’t we skip straight to dessert!” He rose from the table, but before turning away, he said, “Lucky, sit right there. Han, Henry, clear some of this away and come to the kitchen. I’ll need you in there.”
Han and Henry managed to balance an awful lot of the clearing up in their arms as they obediently and hurriedly headed for the kitchen, never sparing Lucky a glance. He began to wonder if he was in trouble, though he hoped Thurlock had been serious about dessert because that craving for sweets had stayed with him. While the three other men were in the kitchen, which was just on the other side of some saloon-style swinging doors, Lucky could hear them mumbling and possibly snickering and just maybe humming something rather tunelessly.
Suddenly, the chandelier dimmed to a sparkle and all three large men burst through the archway at once, Thurlock carrying a fancy cake with sixteen candles all aflame.
“Happy birthday to you,” they all sang together.
Lucky’s heart did a forward roll, a cartwheel, and a backflip. He hadn’t even known it was his birthday, and this was the first time ever he’d had a real birthday cake and three beloved people singing him their wishes for his happiness. Though the serenade was more sincere than melodious, in an instant Thurlock, Han, and Henry had turned what might have been his worst birthday ever into the very best.
Chapter Seventeen: It’s All Connected
LUCKY LAY on his bed in his room in Thurlock’s house, his resentment against the wizard once again gaining steam. Here he was, once more left out of all the talk about important matters, just as if they didn’t concern him. Or as if he hadn’t learned a single thing in all the crazy stuff he’d experienced in the last year. As if he couldn’t possibly understand and especially couldn’t possibly help.
Slow-burning anger was making him miserable, and that made him angrier still, because not half an hour ago he’d felt all aglow with birthday joy. The cake—chocolate on chocolate, filled with raspberries, and topped with thick whipped cream—had been just what he needed. The sweet had seemed to warm him through and push out the last vestiges of despair left over from his dreams—whatever they’d been. But then, just as he’d sat back to bask in the glow of it all, Thurlock punctured his cloud nine.
“Luccan, I can see you’re feeling better, yes?”
“Much!”
“Good. Anything else you need, tonight?”
Lucky shook his head no, but he’d started to get worried right about then. This line of questioning seemed destined to end with something like a “see ya later, then.” He’d been right.
“Well, then, why don’t you head up to your room and get some real sleep. You’ve got your Key and the Black Blade with you, and I’m setting some wards not even the ghost of a ghost should be able to get through.”
He’d tried to argue, but Thurlock wouldn’t engage. In the end, Han and Henry both followed Thurlock up to his tower after they’d all said good night at his bedroom door, and now here he lay on his bed.
This is just like last summer, in Earth, and like last fall. They go about things as if I don’t matter at all. And apparently they don’t think “sixteen and just back from an epic quest” is any more grown-up than “fifteen and doesn’t believe in magic!”
He had grown up some, though, and he wasn’t about to go tearing off into the countryside like he did last year, when so much was obviously afoot. But somehow he was going to have to make them understand he needed to be part of things. It made him crazy being left out of the loop all the time.
I’m supposed to figure out how to be Suth Chiell! How can I do that in my room alone?
He detected a nearly silent step descending the stairs from the tower. Someone managing the creaky wooden stairs that quietly could only be Han.
He stopped outside Lucky’s door and knocked lightly. “Are you awake, Luccan?”
No, he thought with vehement sarcasm, even though the lie hurt. Too late he realized his mistake.
Han burst out in a hearty laugh. “Well, then, wake up, lad. I’m coming in.” He came in carrying a candle and lit another one from it, looked at Luccan for a minute, and said, “You’re not happy.”
Lucky sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed to sit on the edge. Looking Han right in the eye, he said, “No, Uncle Han. I’m not. And here’s why. Thurlock sent me to bed like I’m a child who doesn’t matter and doesn’t know a
nything. I know that what you’re talking about in that meeting concerns me, and guess what? I might not get everything, but I’m smart enough to figure out the important points. And I know some of it is bound to be hella scary, but I can deal with that. And you know what else? I hate not knowing things! For as long as I can remember—even if that’s not all that long—I’ve felt like if I at least know what’s going on, I stand a chance of surviving it. So no, I’m not happy. In fact I guess you could say I’m kinda pissed.”
“I agree,” Han said. “And believe it or not I managed to convince the stubborn old wizard upstairs. So it’s good you didn’t bother to undress. Come on upstairs. We have a lot to discuss, and I’d like to get on with it.”
Lucky was all set to argue, so he was left speechless for a moment. He caught up with Han on the stairs and said the only thing that came to mind. “Oh. Okay, then. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome. And Luccan, I think I know you well enough that I probably don’t have to say this, but just in case. Do listen a lot and only talk if necessary.”
“Because children should be seen and not heard?”
“Not at all. It’s pretty much how I do meetings like this. It just works out best.”
Thurlock’s tower seemed tidier than usual, and that seemed odd to Luccan until he remembered that Thurlock had been gone for months. Considering that, it was a wonder it felt so well warmed and comfortable. The fire blazed in the hearth with ordinary-looking flames, a couple of candles sat on the table warming the cool glow of Thurlock’s special “light from nothing at all” lamps. The table had been moved away from its usual niche against the wall, and six chairs had been set around it.
Lucky hesitated at the door, unsure, now that he was here, what he should do.
“Sit down, Luccan,” Thurlock said.
Which, of course, was the obvious answer to his dilemma. Henry, who was already seated, caught Lucky’s eye and indicated with a tilt of his head Lucky should take the chair next to him. When he sat down, Henry gave a wink Lucky interpreted as meaning we new guys will stick together, and some of Lucky’s meeting-virgin fears slipped away. He was having some trouble figuring out what to do with his hands, but finally decided to clasp them together and let them rest on the table. He thought it might make him look professional. It surely helped him to not fidget.
Thurlock looked at him over the rims of his spectacles. “Lem and Rosishan will be joining us as well, Luccan, so just sit tight for a moment while I make some notes and Han prepares my tea.”
From across the room at the sink counter, Han said, “That made you sound selfish, sir.”
“Nobody’s perfect, Han, and I think that chocolate gave me a headache.”
“Perhaps you should consider eating less of it next time, sir. Meanwhile, here’s your tea and some water. Might I suggest you take some aspirin?”
“Not a bad idea, Han,” Thurlock said. “About the aspirin, I mean.” He held his hand out, cupped palm up, and two small white pills appeared in it, which he then swallowed with the water.
Han turned to Lucky and said, “I’m also making tea for Rose and Lem, and coffee for Henry and myself. Do you want either, or perhaps just a glass of water?”
Lucky thought instantly of how good the tea the Wraith Queen had served him was, and even though he knew this wouldn’t be the same, he decided it might be good. “Tea, please,” he said.
“Ah,” Thurlock said without looking up from the paper lying on the table before him, which remained completely blank. “Maybe you have grown up a bit after all.”
Lucky privately thought that was ridiculous, but he didn’t have time to think about whether to mention it. Rose came in followed a few seconds later by Lem. Both were clearly happy Thurlock was home, but also weary. They settled quietly into their seats, Han brought everyone’s beverages out, and sat down, Lemon jumped up on a chair by the hearth, and was evidently surprised to find Mishka—Rose’s cat, though he mostly hung out at Thurlock’s—already there. He jumped back down, and instead started to bathe sitting on the hearthstones.
All was ready, and Thurlock said, “I’ve made myself an agenda.” He tapped the blank sheet and what looked like hen-scratches filled the page. “We’ll start as close as we can to the beginning. Han, earlier you said, and I quote….” He paused to adjust his spectacles and read from his newly appeared notes. “‘There’s a lot of other stuff going on, most of it no good at all, and I tried to get some things in order as much as I could.’ I assume Rose and Lem are already in the know. Catch the rest of us up, if you would please.”
Han began to speak, covering issues and points one after the other in a straightforward and systematic manner, and Lucky did what Han had suggested, which was also what came natural in the circumstances—he listened.
For the first time he found out what the “trouble in the Fallows” that had required Han to take the troops south last fall was about, and he didn’t have any trouble understanding that the failure of communication over all the intervening months had made things worse. Now, the Droghona elders had come, probably, to cement some sort of alliance or assistance in dealing with trouble there. That meant they weren’t the problem—never had been.
And because I was dreaming… unconscious… I guess sick, nobody has even had time to talk to them about it yet.
“I asked Lem to write me a report after he debriefed Koehl and the troops who escorted the Droghona north. I picked it up from my drop box when I went to change.” He pulled a sheaf of papers with a lot of dark, bold handwriting on it out of the vest pocket in his tunic and turned to Thurlock. “A couple of other reports in here too. Is it okay if I pass them around the table for everyone to take a look?”
“Yes, as long as you pass it this way first.” Thurlock stopped to meet the eyes of each person at the table, passing quickly from one to the other. “And as long as everyone here knows and agrees that for now the information stays within this circle.”
There was nodding around the table, but Han’s brows arched.
“Thurlock,” Han said, “it’s all well and good for us to try to keep this under wraps for now, but… I’m sorry, sir. I don’t see it happening. I’ve been involved with military personnel a long time and the conventional wisdom…. Well, the saying goes, ‘If one soldier knows, it’ll be a marching song within a week.’ That might be a slight exaggeration, but it’s not that far off the mark.”
Lem was nodding his agreement. Thurlock didn’t look happy, but he seemed to recognize this might not be the sort of thing wizarding could fix. Even Lucky understood—people will be people.
“Well, we’ll do our best, then,” Thurlock said and motioned for Han to pass the report to him.
He passed several of the pages to Rose, but Lucky noticed he held back the last page, rather secretively sliding it into the pocket of his robe. So at least one report he didn’t want leaked. Unable to contain his curiosity, Lucky inquired mentally of Han what that page was about.
“An untrustworthy wizard” came Han’s reply. “And Thurlock was right to hold the info back. I should have realized.”
Lucky felt suddenly disillusioned, but he did his best to keep the emotion off his face when he told Han, “I thought wizards were the good guys!”
“Luccan, if I could do it without Thurlock noticing, I would roll my eyes and cluck my tongue. Surely you realize the problem with that idea. Never mind that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are simplifications. There are wizards of every stripe just like—”
“Okay, I get it. Just like everyone else. Jeez. Sorry!”
Thurlock sighed deeply, shifted his gaze between Han and Lucky twice, and said in a way that would brook no nonsense, “Stop it.”
The report had made its way around the room and landed in front of Luccan. It was about why the Droghona had come seeking help, and what the soldiers had seen in the Fallows. Lucky wasn’t sure he understood it all, as he wasn’t as good at the written language yet, and it also used a lot of what s
eemed to be military jargon. What Lucky did understand, he didn’t want to think about, so he was glad when Thurlock started to speak, the chronic tic in his cheek starting up, a tiny spasm that always looked like the old man was wincing in pain.
“It’s about children, then, it seems. And about things that don’t belong in Ethra at all. And Han, you told me about what you and the young people ran into in the north, those children enslaved and brutalized and kept in cages.” He nodded toward Han. “What you set up to deal with that piece has my full approval, by the way. But I suspect that is tied up with this mess at the Fallows, and when I tell you what I saw in another place entirely, you’ll probably think, as I do, that whatever is going on is too big for the Sisterhold to deal with alone. We’ll have to find a bigger solution, but later. For now, here’s a bit of my tale.”
He told them then that when he’d been on his way to Earth, he’d landed “completely by accident” in a world brand-new to him, and that it turned into “one of the worst experiences of a very long life.” There had been a strange-looking people, not quite human as Earthborns and Ethrans understood the word. They were tall and thin, with narrow heads, intelligent, and “apparently heartless.”
“They had children kept in a kind of suspension, it seemed, long rows of them hooked up to tubes sending blood out and some other ingredient in. It almost looked like Earth’s medical procedures”—he shivered and made a face—“but what they were doing certainly wasn’t healing. It was more like… mining…. Or at least that’s how it seemed to me. What made it so very horrible is that I was powerless to do anything about it. It’s a miracle I even got away to Earth.”
Thurlock had paused in his speech, and Han got up suddenly from his chair and started pacing. He stopped and looked at the wizard, bewilderment written clearly on his features.
“Gods, Thurlock! Gods! What…?”
“I know, Han,” Thurlock said. “Sit down, please. You’re making yourself sick.”
