A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5)

by E. Rose Sabin

Uncle Matt shook his head. “I’m sure Les has the power. I sensed it when I met him all those years ago. Figgered that was what drew you two together. Mean to tell me all this time you never knew?”

  Again Trevor pressed the cold pop bottle to his temple. Les, gifted? Impossible. “If he’d had the gift, he’d have told me. Several times he asked me to do some little thing—sometimes just for fun, sometimes to help him out. Like once when he dropped his dad’s good hedge clippers into the well, he asked me to raise them for him, and I did. He used to try to do the things I could do, but he couldn’t. I’d try to help him—push him a bit. But I found nothing to push, no power to spark on. After a while he accepted the idea, and it didn’t bother him anymore.”

  Uncle Matt stroked his beard. “Never heard of a person without the power being able to receive mind-to-mind. It takes a sense normals don’t have. But the power comes in many different forms. He may be gifted in a way you’ve never recognized.

  “Ahh! Yonder comes the bus. We’ll know soon.”

  Trevor heard the rattle of the bus’s motor, saw the blue vehicle bounce down the dirt street. Jubilantly he raised his pop bottle high, then swigged the remaining soda before the bus rumbled to a halt in front of them.

  The doors opened with a squeal, and Les bounded off. Trevor grabbed his hand. “I knew you’d come!”

  “Did you leave me any choice?” Les’s wide grin robbed the words of reproach. “Dad’s probably still scratching his head over the excuse I gave for taking off during rye harvest. You might have given some thought to how hard it could have been for me to get away. Lucky Dad had plenty of other help, or I wouldn’t have been able to come no matter how hard you made the worms squirm in my brain.”

  “Sorry, Les. It’s just that with me leaving for Tirbat in two weeks, this is probably our last chance to share some fun.”

  Les punched Trevor’s arm. “There’s more to life than fun, y’know. Hey, your mom thinks you’re in Essell buying clothes for Tirbat. Bus take a detour?”

  Trevor hung his head. “Missed the bus to Essell,” he said. Then he looked up and laughed. “Isn’t this better than shopping?”

  Uncle Matt cleared his throat. “Fellas, we’d best get home. Ellen’ll have dinner waitin’.”

  “Les, you remember my Uncle Matt?”

  “Couldn’t forget him.” Les stuck out his hand and Uncle Matt grabbed it. “Great to see you again, son.”

  Trevor caught an undertone of anxiety beneath Uncle Matt’s friendly greeting. He followed his uncle’s quick glance toward the three or four other passengers who’d descended after Les. Two of them he didn’t recognize, but he certainly knew Mistress Hanley, Maribeth’s mother. A red and gray kerchief tied over her hair, she hurried into the general store when he turned to look at her. Through the window he saw her head for the crank telephone beside the counter. He remembered Maribeth speaking of relatives in Sharpness; her mother was probably calling to announce her arrival.

  The fourth passenger was Jasper Ryles, who’d lived alone as long as Trevor had known him. He’d been married once, but his wife had died not long after the marriage, and he’d never wed again. Trevor had been told that the man had no relatives anywhere. What business could he have in Sharpness?

  Uncle Matt cupped a hand around Trevor’s elbow and steered him away from bus and store. Les followed.

  “Keep walking,” Uncle Matt whispered into Trevor’s ear. “Don’t look back. Guard your thoughts.”

  Trevor followed his uncle’s instructions, though he couldn’t imagine that Jasper Ryles, curmudgeon though he was, could be bent on causing trouble.

  Les caught up to him. “What’s happening, Trev? Something wrong?”

  “Uncle Matt thinks so.” Trevor cast a backward glance at his uncle, walking behind them. “I guess he’ll explain when we reach the house.”

  Relaxed, stuffed with good food, Les leaned back in his chair and grinned at Trevor, having forgiven his friend for using his mental powers to bring him here.

  They sat around the large oak table on which Aunt Ellen had spread a feast: roast pork and gravy, turnips and carrots, peach dumplings and pear pie. A cool breeze drifted in through the open window, bringing the scent of fresh mown hay to mingle with the lingering odors of the food. No one had said anything more about whatever had worried Trevor’s uncle, and dinner was a joyous occasion.

  Les shoved back his empty plate and patted his belly. “Best meal I’ve had in ages,” he said. “You sure are a good cook, Mistress Blake.”

  “Call me Aunt Ellen, please, Les. After all, you and Trevor are closer than most brothers.”

  Delighted, Les jumped up from his chair, went to Aunt Ellen, and hugged her. “I’d be mighty proud to have you as my aunt.”

  She pulled his face to hers and kissed his cheek. “You and Trevor are very dear to us, Les. It’s a pity his folks barred him from coming here for so many years. We were cheated of the joy of watching the two of you grow up. We last saw you as children, and now you’re young men ready to make your mark in life. All those years between—” She began to sob.

  Les hugged her to him until the tears stopped. She raised her apron and used it to wipe her eyes. “It’s been hard, not seeing you, not knowin’ how you turned out. We’d hear reports now and then, of course. But we would’ve had you both here every summer if Trevor’s folks hadn’t been so opposed.”

  “I never did understand that,” Les said. “Oh, I knew it had to do with Trevor’s special powers, but I could never see why his folks were so bound and determined to keep ’em a secret. He said they thought other people would be jealous, but I knew about ’em and I never felt jealous. I wished I could do the things he could do, sure, but I accepted that I couldn’t, because Trevor was special. And I was proud that he was, and proud to be his friend.”

  A curious look passed between Trevor and his uncle. Uncle Matt cleared his throat and waved Les back to his seat.

  “There’s more to it than jealousy, my boy,” Uncle Matt said. “But right now I need to talk to you about something else. You say you aren’t gifted, and Trevor thinks you can receive his mental sendings because the two of you have had such a long and close friendship. But that explanation doesn’t satisfy me. Those who aren’t gifted can’t receive sendings. I think you’re mistaken when you say you don’t have the power.”

  Les shook his head violently, too startled to speak, his mind suddenly flooded with thoughts of all the times he’d tried in vain to duplicate Trevor’s feats, of the nights when as a child he’d prayed for even a tiny portion of the power—prayed to his parents’ gods and also prayed to the Power-Giver, as Trevor had confided his aunt and uncle had taught him to do on his memorable summer visit. But as he grew older Les resigned himself to being normal, though he didn’t share Trevor’s parents’ belief that being normal was best.

  Uncle Matt was regarding him with an expression both stern and anxious.

  Les met Uncle Matt’s gaze. “I don’t have any gift, sir,” he said.

  “We think you do, Les,” Aunt Ellen said in her soft voice. “Would you be willing to let me test you?”

  “Test?” The word sent a chill laddering up his spine. “What kind of test? What will it do to me?”

  “Nothing at all,” Aunt Ellen assured him, rising from her place at the table. “It doesn’t hurt, it won’t take long, and it’ll settle the matter once and for all.”

  “Of course he’ll have it,” Trevor spoke up, his face eager.

  “Let him answer for himself, son.” Uncle Matt gave Trevor a sharp glance before turning back to Les. “Being gifted can cause trouble. Trevor’s gift has put a breach between him and his folks, as well you know. Your dad and stepmom, now, they’re good people, but they might be against what they don’t understand. Reckon you wouldn’t want them to turn against you.”

  Les sat up straight and directed his gaze at Uncle Matt. “I’m not a coward, Mr. Blake,” he said. “Much as I love my folks, I wouldn’t hide from
the truth to spare their feelings. And I don’t think they’d be opposed like Trevor’s folks. So give me the test. I want to know.”

  Aunt Ellen left the dining room and returned in seconds with a candle and a small wooden box. She lit the candle, set it in the center of the table, and turned the stem that extinguished the flames in the gasolier above them. The dim light of the single candle sent shadows dancing over their faces, giving Trevor’s familiar features a sinister look.

  Uncle Matt spoke up, apparently wanting to calm Les’s apprehension. “One of Ellen’s gifts is spell-casting. This is a spell she’s used before. It won’t take long and won’t hurt a bit.”

  Aunt Ellen opened the wooden box, took out a pinch of gray powder, and sprinkled it into the candle flame. The flame flared, flickered, and returned to a steady glow. A sweet scent filled the room. Aunt Ellen spoke a word unknown to Les—perhaps from a strange language. After that, the room was quiet. No one spoke or moved, but sat like statues, hands resting on the table.

  So gradually that Les thought at first it was only his imagination, the faces and hands of his three companions began to give off a pale blue light.

  No, he was not imagining it. The ghostly aura shimmered around Trevor’s head and played over his hands. It imparted an unearthly glow to Aunt Ellen’s homey features. It transformed Uncle Matt’s beard and sideburns into a silvery halo.

  Les looked down at his own hands. Ripples of cold blue fire danced over them. He gasped.

  “It’s the gift light that the spell calls out.” Uncle Matt broke the silence. “I’ve never seen it so bright.”

  Trevor’s awed whisper followed. “It’s all around you.”

  Uncle Matt sounded no less awed. “You not only have the gift; you have it stronger than any of us.”

  “But I haven’t … I can’t …” Les’s words failed. He stared at the blue radiance streaming from his hands.

  “You have it,” Aunt Ellen asserted. “You haven’t discovered how to manifest it. You need training. We’ll have to find a way—”

  A loud banging on the front door interrupted. “Open up,” a deep voice shouted. “We know you’re there.”

  A shriller voice screamed, “Come out, you godless sorcerers! Come out or be burned out!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  DOWNPOUR

  Aunt Ellen jumped up, relit the gasolier, and extinguished the candle. The blue auras vanished with the snuffing of the candle flame.

  Uncle Matt called out, “Hold on! I’m coming.” He headed for the front door.

  Trevor and Les started after him.

  “Wait!” Aunt Ellen ordered, her voice sharp. “Let Matthew handle this.”

  Trevor wanted to take his place at his uncle’s side. He headed for the door. “No, Trevor. You’ll only make it worse,” Aunt Ellen said. “You and Les, come with me. We can watch and listen without being seen.”

  She led them upstairs to the bedroom at the front of the house, moving confidently through the dark rooms. The shouts and curses of the crowd at the front door carried clearly through the open window. But it was not, as Trevor at first assumed, the window that was to provide the view Aunt Ellen promised. She pointed to a grate in the floor, made visible by light from the room below. Through it they could see and hear what was happening without being seen. The three of them knelt over the grate, their heads bent over it until they touched.

  Jasper Ryles was shaking a bony finger in Uncle Matt’s face. “You can’t deny it, y’know. We seen you through the window.”

  “So you admit you were trespassing on my property,” Uncle Matt thundered. “And what gives you the right to spy on people like a common peeping Tom?”

  “A man does what he has to do to protect his community, Mr. Blake. People got a right to know when their neighbors is conjurin’ the Dark.”

  “Neighbors, you say? But you don’t live in Sharpness.”

  “Aye, we’re from Amesley, and so’s those two young devils you’re encouraging in evil ways. I can’t turn my back on that. It’s time I avenged my wife.”

  “That was an accident.” Uncle Matt’s voice was soft, but Trevor heard the sharp edge beneath the silk. “It was long ago. We aren’t harming anyone now.”

  “That shameless nephew of yours has done plenty of harm.” Mistress Hanley hopped up and down in her wrath. “You think we don’t know the trial he’s been to his folks? Oh, they tried to keep it hidden that he was cursed, and they forbade him to come here. I know that for a fact.”

  “And why should it be a crime for my nephew to pay his aunt and uncle a visit?” Uncle Matt asked.

  “On account of the sorcery you’re encouraging him in,” Mistress Hanley screeched. “Not that he needs encouragement. He’d never have won the scholarship that should have gone to my Maribeth ’less he used the dark arts.”

  “That’s not true!” The words burst from Trevor.

  Aunt Ellen clamped her hand over his mouth and drew him back, away from the grate.

  He could no longer see him, but he heard Uncle Matt say, “We’ve been doing no one any harm. We were just having a quiet family meal.”

  “No point o’ you tryin’ to hide what you are, mister,” Ryles declared. “We seen you through the window, all o’ you, ashine with fox fire. We brung friends with us, and they all seen it. I’ve known what you are, and now all the folks hereabouts know, too.”

  Mistress Hanley said, “You can’t deny you’re calling dark powers, not with what we saw through that window.”

  Trevor leaned close again, eager to see as well as hear what was happening in the room below.

  “Doesn’t make much sense that you’re accusing us of using light to call the Dark, does it?” Uncle Matt asked reasonably.

  Ryles sneered, and Mistress Hanley elbowed Jasper Ryles to one side and confronted Uncle Matt, her face contorted with hatred. “You needn’t try to trap us with your conjure talk. We’ll show you light. See those men outside with torches?” She waved her hand toward the door. “You bring out your nephew and his pal, or they’ll torch the house.”

  Trevor jumped to his feet, his fists clenched. “They’re crazy!” he said.

  Les and his aunt pulled him back down. “Stay quiet,” Aunt Ellen whispered. “Trust your uncle.”

  “We’re going to haul ’em back to Amesley.” Mistress Hanley glanced up at the grate and said loudly, “We’ll take them before the council and show the council and everybody what Trevor Blake is. He won’t be going to the university, not he. My Maribeth will go, as should have been chosen in the first place.”

  Trevor groaned. Mistress Hanley must have been watching him all the time, waiting and hoping for a chance to discredit him. And he’d given it to her by breaking the vow to his parents not to use his power.

  “I’m going down,” he said, standing again. “I’m the only one she really cares about. If I go out, maybe they’ll leave the rest of you alone.”

  Les scrambled to his feet. “You’re not going alone. I’ll go with you.”

  Aunt Ellen rose and grabbed their arms. “Trevor, Mistress Hanley is here for you, but that Ryles fellow wants to get us all. He won’t be satisfied until we’re all dead.”

  “Well, we have to do something.” Trevor pulled away from her and blundered through the dark room, hunting the door.

  “Come back here!” his aunt said, her voice low but forceful. “We can stop them from up here if you keep your wits about you. They have us outnumbered, but they’re afraid of our power. We can scare them off.”

  Trevor halted. “How?”

  “We need water,” Aunt Ellen’s voice came through the darkness. “There’s a full pitcher on the washstand against the wall to your right. Find it and bring it to me.”

  As Trevor groped for the pitcher, his aunt went on. “Les, you move quietly to the front window and unhook the screen. It pushes out, and you can crawl onto the overhang above the front door.”

  “I should be the one to do that,” Trevor objected.
Pitcher in hand, he made his way toward the window.

  “No!” Aunt Ellen’s sharp rebuke halted him. “I need you to help me in here. Do as I tell you. Now hold the pitcher steady.”

  Despite his impatience, Trevor held the pitcher as she instructed. Aunt Ellen spoke words over it, chanting in a strange language as she had done with the candle in the dining room. Finally, to Trevor’s surprise, she leaned close and spat into the pitcher. In the meantime, Les had moved quietly to the window, eased open the screen, and climbed out onto the overhang, exactly as Aunt Ellen had directed.

  “Pass the pitcher out to Les,” she ordered Trevor. “Be careful. Don’t spill it.” She guided him to the window. As he handed the pitcher out through the open screen to Les, crouched on the narrow strip of roof, she whispered, “Les, when I tell you, empty the pitcher over the heads of the crowd.”

  Trevor leaned out and saw eight or ten people milling about, their lighted torches illuminating the area. Aunt Ellen grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  “Give me your hands,” Aunt Ellen commanded, and intertwined her fingers with his. “Now,” she said, “think rain!”

  He hoped Aunt Ellen knew what she was doing. He had not seen her exercise her power before tonight. But as she ordered, he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of rain. Not a mere drizzle. He pictured a hard, pelting rain, a furious, driving rain. He remembered the worst rainstorm he’d ever seen, one that had come with slashing, blinding force, that peppered fields and livestock with hail, flattened the stalks of grain, filled the ditches and lanes, transformed cropland into marshland, and made houses into islands in a vast lake.

  He heard a loud rumble. Was it thunder?

  “Look! On the roof! One of ’em!” At the shout, Trevor opened his eyes in time to see a flaming torch hurled onto the roof.

  “Throw the water and come inside,” Aunt Ellen shouted.

  Les stood, kicked the torch from the roof, tossed the water after it, and scrambled through the window. He handed Aunt Ellen the empty pitcher.

  Another torch landed on the roof. This one smoldered on the dry shingles. In seconds little tongues of flame sprang up and waggled like hungry nestlings screaming to be fed. Soon they would join and devour and grow and consume. Unless—