“Aren’t you glad they’re coming, Aunt Abigail?” Veronica asked, wrinkling her forehead in puzzlement.
“Of course she is,” Leah answered for her.
“I’m happy for the little one,” Abigail said. “I doubt they’ll want to stay here in Port-of-Lords, once they have her.”
“Aunt Kyla says they’ll have to stay until the baby is weaned,” Veronica said. “She keeps hoping they’ll move here permanently.”
“That would be wonderful,” Leah said, smiling broadly.
“Well, yes, of course,” Abigail said. “Kyla could use their help with the Community, now that it’s growing so. But I’ll warrant they won’t want to do that.”
Aunt Abigail always looks at the downside of things, while Aunt Leah looks at the bright side. I wonder how they manage to get along and even love each other.
Aloud Veronica said, “Well, I’m going to hope that everything goes so well that they’ll like it here—the city, the Community, and being with us again—and they’ll stay.”
“Yes, we’ll certainly hope that,” Leah said.
Abigail handed Ed’s letter back to Veronica. “It’s been my experience,” she said, “that the more you hope for something to go well, the more likely it is to go bad.”
CHAPTER THREE
PORT-OF-LORDS
Neither Marta nor Ed had ever seen a city this large. They stood outside the railway station clutching their valises and staring at the tall buildings and teeming traffic. The salty, fishy tang carried on the wind alerted them to the nearness of the ocean, though they could catch no sight of it.
“Mister, for the last time, do you and the lady need a cab?”
Ed jerked into alertness. The man must have been calling out to him for some time.
“Yes, we do,” Marta answered before Ed could recover.
The man ignored her. “Sir?” he said.
“Yes,” Ed said and handed him the map Kyla had sent. The man took their valises and helped them into the carriage. “Your first visit to Port-of-Lords, sir?”
Ed agreed that it was.
Taking his seat on the front, the driver cracked his whip across the horses’ backs, driving them into motion.
Ed frowned. He never found it necessary to beat his horse to make her go. When these horses plodded too slowly for their driver’s liking, he applied the whip again, not lightly, but sharply across their flanks.
Guessing that the driver would not take kindly to a stranger’s criticizing his methods, Ed forced himself to remain silent. When the driver again sent the lash across the horses’ backs, the whip flew back and struck him across the face. His loud outcry was doubtless due more to startlement than pain, but it made Ed smile. The whip’s behavior had been no accident. Marta had used her power.
The driver took them a little farther without any more use of the whip, and stopped in front of a neat white house in a somewhat rundown part of town. “This is your address,” he announced. Ed jumped out and helped Marta down, since the driver made no move to do so. They picked up their valises, and Ed paid the driver a silver trium. Without an offer to give change or a thank you for the generous payment, he put the coin into his wallet and the wallet into his back pocket. As he climbed up to the driver’s seat, the wallet lifted gently from the pocket and flew to Marta’s hand. She extracted the silver coin and sent the wallet flying back into the cab, where the driver could find it later—if his next passenger didn’t find it first and pocket it.
“He was robbing us,” she said in response to Ed’s disapproving look. “The way he treats horses and women, he has no right to that coin.”
“Better we lose a coin than get arrested for stealing,” he said.
She shrugged and marched up to the house. Ed followed more slowly, taking time to observe the crowded buildings and wrinkling his nose at the odors of fried sausage, onions, and garlic that permeated the air. Kyla’s house stood out from its neighbors by virtue of its slightly larger size and much neater appearance.
The door opened before Marta could knock. Kyla threw her arms around Marta and drew her into the house. Ed waited, and in a moment Kyla reached out again, pulled him through the door, and enfolded him in a warm embrace. Then she drew away and looked up at him with a big smile. “Ed, you’ve grown a beard. It looks quite distinguished.”
He grinned. “Marta says it makes me look older.”
“I mean that in a good way. It makes people take him more seriously. And Kyla, you’ve cut your hair!” Marta touched the neatly bobbed brown hair that had hung below Kyla’s waist when Ed had last seen her.
“Yes, Veronica talked me into it.” She laughed. “I should say she shamed me into it. ‘Aunt Kyla, long hair is so out of fashion here in Port-of-Lords.’” Kyla imitated a teen-ager’s disdainful tone. “‘You look like a country bumpkin with your hair hanging way down your back.’ I said, ‘Well, I am a “country bumpkin.” I was born and reared in a country town even smaller than Carey, where you come from.’ Her answer: ‘Well, we live in a big city now, and we should look like it.’” Marta laughed. “After that scene replayed at least three times, I gave in and let Veronica cut and style my hair.”
“How is Veronica doing?” Ed put in quickly, before the conversation about beards and hair could go any further. “And where is she?”
“She’s at school. She’ll be home in about an hour. She can’t wait to see you. She begged me to let her stay home from school so she’d be here when you arrived, but I insisted that she go.” A worried frown creased Kyla’s brow for a moment. “She’s doing well, but she’s headstrong. When she’s determined to do something, there’s no dissuading her. Like about the length of my hair.”
“Has she learned to control her power?” Marta asked.
“She can control it very well—when she chooses to do so,” Kyla said, and quickly added, “That’s most of the time. She certainly hasn’t forgotten how dangerous it can be. She hasn’t harmed anyone, but she has played some unkind tricks, mostly on classmates but occasionally on her teachers. She doesn’t try them on me—she knows better.”
Ed grinned but Marta shook her head. “She hasn’t yet, you mean. She may get more rebellious as she gets older.”
Kyla shrugged. “She may also grow wiser and more cautious once she makes the transition from child to woman. At fourteen she’s in this in-between time that’s hard on all of us—including Veronica herself.”
“Maybe while we’re here we can help you out with her,” Marta said.
“That would be wonderful. I’m so glad you’ve come,” Kyla said. “Four years without seeing you is far too long. Your letters just haven’t been enough.”
Marta bristled. “Well, considering that I could neither read nor write until Ed taught me, I think I do very well.”
“You do indeed,” Kyla said quickly. “I think it’s wonderful how well you’ve learned. I was commenting on their frequency, not their content.”
“Marta has so much sewing to do, she’s busy all the time,” Ed put in, remembering too well the heated bickering the two women so easily fell into and wanting to deflect it before they could get started. “We’ve both had all the work we can handle.”
“I’m glad you’ve done so well,” Kyla said, leading them to armchairs in the comfortably furnished front room. “But raising a child takes time. You won’t be too busy, will you?”
“Of course not. We’ll make time,” Marta said emphatically. “We’ve come because of the child. Where is she?”
“She’s in the back room, with Mayzie Tellent, the wet nurse I’ve hired to care for her. I’ll have Mayzie bring her in.”
Marta’s hands trembled, making Ed suddenly aware of how sweaty his own hands were. He wiped them on his trousers before reaching over to take Marta’s hand in his.
Kyla left them and returned in seconds, a tall, buxom young woman at her side. The woman held a blanket-wrapped bundle. Kyla pointed to Marta, and the woman lowered the bundle into Marta’s arms
and backed away.
From out of the blanket a tiny face peered up into Marta’s, the deep blue eyes fastening onto hers. A smile dimpled the soft pink cheeks. A tiny hand reached out and clutched Marta’s extended finger. “She’s beautiful!” Marta breathed.
Ed could only nod. He reached to touch the tiny girl with one tentative finger, and found that finger clutched in her other wee hand.
“She likes you.” Kyla laughed and added, “Both of you.”
Could this tiny, adorable little girl truly be theirs? She had to be. Ed read that determination in Marta’s face, and he felt it no less than she. He thought he hadn’t minded not having a child the way Marta did, but this child awakened in him a protectiveness and love so fierce it rivaled what he felt for Marta.
His daughter. His daughter to be loved and cared for and provided for. To fill a void in his life he had not known was there until now. He lifted her from Marta’s arms, held her to his face, and let her tiny fingers play in his beard. She was so soft, so fragile. He breathed deeply of her clean, new-baby smell.
Marta looked up at him, her face radiant. “Our little daughter,” she whispered as though afraid to say the words.
“She is our daughter,” he said firmly. “She must be.”
The child cooed and gurgled in agreement.
“Does she have a name yet?” Marta asked without taking her eyes off the baby.
“No, we’ve left that to you,” Kyla responded with a grin matched by Marta’s wider one.
“She’s a dream come true,” Marta said. “Maybe we should call her Dreama.”
“I like that!” Kyla said, clapping her hands. “It’s perfect for her. We’ll have to have a big Naming-Day celebration and invite the whole Community of the Gifted. I’m eager for you to meet them all.”
Ed didn’t care for that idea, but not wanting to argue, he just said, “Is the Naming-Day a big custom here? It’s only observed occasionally in Sharpness.”
“Oh, yes, here it’s always done. The rite will establish you officially as the baby’s parents,” Kyla replied, then added, “It’s a part of the state religion, and although we don’t follow that, I’ve found it important to follow local customs when we can so that we blend in. You know all too well how much opposition some people have against the gifted. We try to avoid creating controversy as much as we can.”
Marta frowned, but Ed understood all too well. He said, “We’ll definitely want to do whatever it takes to make this little girl legally ours.” Then he quickly changed the subject, Kyla’s “we” having reminded him to ask about their other friends from Carey. “What about Abigail and Leah? I expected to see them here.”
“They’ve moved into a flat of their own. They felt they needed more privacy, and we needed space for Mayzie and the baby. They’ll be by when they know you’ve come.”
“They’re both well?” Marta asked.
“Oh, yes, though I have to report that Abigail is as cantankerous as ever. She doesn’t even want to be part of the Community of the Gifted we’ve formed here because Leah can’t be part of it, not being gifted.”
The baby screwed up her tiny face and began to cry. Mayzie stepped forward—Ed had forgotten she was there—and said, “Shall I take her? It’s time for her feeding.”
With obvious reluctance Marta surrendered the baby into Mayzie’s outstretched arms. The woman carried the baby into the back of the house.
Immediately the room where they sat felt empty, the child’s absence creating a void. Ed found himself wanting to go after Mayzie, to beg her to return with the baby and feed her here.
“Mayzie is very good with her,” Kyla said. “And she has plenty of milk, having just weaned her own child as she started nursing this poor little one. He was ready, and this one needed all her milk. I doubt we could have kept the baby alive if not for Mayzie.”
“Oh!” Marta said. “What will we do when we leave? We have a four-day journey by train to reach home. And I can’t think of anyone in Sharpness who could nurse the child. I wonder if Mayzie could—”
“No,” Kyla said, smiling slyly. “Mayzie would never leave her husband and little boy. If you want the child, you’ll have to stay here with me until she’s weaned.”
Marta stared, unbelieving. “But that will be months!”
“Yes,” Kyla said smiling. “It will.”
CHAPTER FOUR
PREPARATIONS
Veronica sat on the living room floor and played with the baby. Little Dreama. She liked that name. It fit the tiny girl, with her crystal blue eyes, her pink-cloud softness, and the hide-and-peek dimples in her cheeks. The name wouldn’t be officially hers until her Naming-Day, but that didn’t matter to Veronica.
“Dreama’s really already your name,” she told the baby, bouncing her up and down while the child gurgled with laughter. “It’s just not official yet, but we don’t care about that, do we?” She clapped Dreama’s tiny hands together. “And we’re going to hold the ceremony right here in our house, Dreama. And the whole Community will come here. Some of them haven’t even seen you yet. And you know what? They’ll all bring presents for you.” She tickled the baby’s stomach, inducing more laughter.
The house would be crowded with the whole Community gathered in it. Usually they met either in member Marchion Blandry’s house because the wealthy merchant lived in a large house with an elegant living room that they all fit comfortably in, or they met at Petros Birge’s home, which was also large. Petros lived with his parents, who were happy to see their crippled son take part in a group that accepted him and ignored his handicap. They generously turned the house over to him and his friends and went out for dinner or to see a play while the Community met. So having the Community come here would be different and exciting even if it wasn’t as comfortable as it would have been to have the ceremony at Mr. Blandry’s house or Petros Birge’s.
Despite all the frantic preparations and all the extra work it meant for her, Veronica couldn’t wait for the day to come. Not only, not even especially, because that day would confer on the baby her name and official personhood. Not even because Veronica had been granted the privilege of standing with Ed and Marta on that day and reading the name blessing from the Breyadon, though that prospect thrilled her.
She’d expected Aunt Abigail to do that, or Aunt Kyla. Among all those who’d received the gift of power, only she and Aunt Abigail could see as normal Arucadian what appeared to all others as unknown words and odd symbols. Aunt Kyla could sing over it until the words became legible for her, but they had decided that such singing would distract from the naming service. And Aunt Abigail had expressed her usual reluctance to use her power. So the honor had fallen on Veronica, much to her delight.
But the thing that most excited Veronica would come when Dreama’s Naming-Day was over. Ed had promised to try to teach her how to travel to other places, other worlds. Maybe even a world of her own making!
Ed had created his own world, his “special place,” as a refuge from an abusive father. He’d made it a beautiful world, with woods and hills, meadows full of flowers, and sparkling streams filled with fish. He didn’t go there anymore, though. He’d taken an evil man there, a man bent on murder, a man whose gifts of power made him doubly dangerous. Veronica shuddered at the memory of Jerome Esterville and the harm he’d caused before Ed had transported him to that lovely but lonely place and left him there where he could do no more harm. Jerome was as wicked as his mother, the saintly Mother Esterville, was good. Veronica never understood how such a good woman could have such an evil son. It defied explanation.
Just as Ed’s ability to create his own world defied explanation. His need had opened the way. Veronica had no such need, but she was certain she could develop the talent with Ed’s help. There was a need, though it was Aunt Kyla’s, not hers. And it was not to create a world but to visit that nexus between worlds where the Power-Giver existed as a mind sealed in a great crystal. Aunt Kyla explained that the Power-Giver, who had o
nce been a mage named Alair, still channeled power to those who could receive it, but he no longer communicated with her through mindspeech. Aunt Kyla was desperate to find a way to reestablish that communication. She felt sure Ed and Veronica together had the power to visit the Place of the Sphere.
“And she’s right, Dreama,” Veronica said, tickling the baby again. “I know she is. I haven’t told anybody but you, but I’ve practiced using my power to jump from one place to another, and I can do it. Once, I was going to be late to school. I was too far away to make it on time even by running as fast as I could. So I pictured the classroom and my desk and there I was! The teacher was just calling roll, and was she surprised when I answered to my name! She’d seen the empty desk just seconds before. But I pretended I’d been there all along, and since nobody had seen me come in, she couldn’t prove I wasn’t. It made her real nervous. She thinks, see, that I do things like that to torment her, but I don’t.”
The baby gurgled and laughed as though sharing the joke.
Mayzie came into the room. “Veronica, Miss Marta wants you to come try on the dress she’s making you. And it’s time for the baby’s feeding.”
“Time for Dreama’s feeding,” Veronica said, not moving. “Call her Dreama, Mayzie.”
“It’s bad luck to use the name before Naming-Day. I’ve told you over and over.”
Veronica laughed. “That’s a silly superstition. Even Aunt Kyla says so. We gifted don’t believe in such things.”
Mayzie sniffed. “You gifted don’t believe in a lot of things us normal folk know to be so.”
“You mean like the gods?” Veronica asked, feeling mischievous. Aunt Kyla had warned her not to tease Mayzie, but Aunt Kyla was out shopping. And Veronica did enjoy seeing Mayzie get all flustered.
“Hush, you know what I mean,” Mayzie said, rubbing her hands together nervously. “It’s not smart to mock the gods, whatever you think, young missy.”
Veronica laughed. “Our Power-Giver is stronger than Ondin. His power isn’t limited to just this one province. I’ll bet he’s stronger than all twelve undergods put together.”
A Mix of Magics (Arucadi: The Beginning Book 3) Page 2
