“I won’t listen to such nonsense.” Mayzie picked Dreama up and swept out.
Giggling, Veronica got up and went to the small room Marta had appropriated for her sewing. Marta was seated at her table with the lovely green dress spread out in front of her.
“I think this is ready to be hemmed,” she said, holding the dress out to Veronica. “It’s taken a lot longer than I expected. If I had my sewing machine here, I could have done it in a day.”
Veronica smiled. She’d heard this same complaint every time she came in for a fitting. “Aunt Kyla does all her sewing by hand,” she said.
“Yes, and your Aunt Kyla could have done this dress, but she knew I’d do a better job, even without the machine.”
“She had to make her own dress,” Veronica objected. “And Mayzie’s, and—”
“I know, I know. And I had to make mine and Dreama’s and Abigail’s. Thank the gods, Leah will make her own.”
“Do you believe in the gods, Marta?” Veronica asked as she stripped off her dress and held the lovely green one up to her.
“I never did until I met Mother Esterville,” Marta said. “Put that dress on—but be careful. Don’t tear it or get it dirty.”
“I’m being careful.” Veronica slipped the dress over her head and hunted for the armholes. Marta jumped up to help her, and in a moment her arms were guided carefully to the openings and the dress was eased over her head and settled into place.
“Honestly, I think you’ve grown since I measured this on you last week.”
“I wish I had,” Veronica said, sighing. She hated that she was shorter than all the other girls her age. “If Mother Esterville is so good, how did she have a son as bad as Jerome?”
“Those things happen,” Marta said and, stuffing pins between her lips, knelt and began to turn up and pin the hem.
“I think he might have turned out different if she’d paid more attention to him and less to her gods.”
Marta jabbed a pin into the material and glared up at Veronica. In a muffled voice she said, “You think too much.”
“I have nightmares about Jerome sometimes,” Veronica confided. “I dream that he makes me do awful things.”
Marta spat out the pins and hugged Veronica. “He can’t do anything to you ever again. Where Ed put him he can’t get to us.”
“I hope you’re right. Just thinking about him scares me.” Veronica shuddered and added, giving Marta a pleading look, “I wish you and Ed would come live here. Do you have to go back to Sharpness?”
“We have a house there and a lot of friends. Ed has his carriage and horses, and I have my sewing. Between us we make a good living. I don’t know that we could here. And besides, Sharpness will be a good place to bring up a child.”
“Dreama’s so lucky, getting you and Ed as parents.” Veronica sighed. “I wish Aunt Kyla was as easy to talk to as you and Ed are. I wish I could go with you when you leave. I could help you with Dreama.”
“And before long you’d want to go back to Kyla,” Marta said, shaking her head. “It’s always easier to get along with people when you don’t live with them.”
“But she’s so strict with me. And Aunt Abigail’s even worse. You wouldn’t be like that.”
“You don’t know what I’d be like,” Marta said. “Kyla loves you very much, that I know. She’d be very hurt if you asked to go home with Ed and me. And we couldn’t give you the opportunities you have here in Port-of-Lords.”
Marta stuck one last pin into the dress, rose to her feet, and surveyed her handiwork. “I think that’s even. Take off the dress, and I’ll sew the hem. And let’s hear no more talk of you going back to Sharpness with us. Your place is with Kyla. Ed and I have Dreama now, but if you left, Kyla would have no one.”
“But Dreama’s just a baby. I’m not, and she treats me like one all the time.” Veronica struggled out of the dress, tossed it to Marta, and stalked from the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
NAMING-DAY
Marta had thought Naming-Day would never come, and now that it had she thought it would never end.
The number of members in the Gifted Community was much smaller than Marta had expected, only fourteen including Kyla and Abigail, and she’d unintentionally insulted Kyla by expressing her disappointment at that. Now, however, when all the members thronged into Kyla’s front room, to Marta they seemed a multitude. The room grew unbearably hot, yet she had to bear it. The candle on the table that would later receive the Naming-Day gifts gave off a sweet, heavy scent that made Marta feel nauseated.
While Kyla played the gracious hostess, Veronica insisted on taking Marta and Ed around to introduce them to each Community member. Marta murmured greetings and meaningless phrases to each one, hardly aware of what she was saying. At first she tried to remember the names of these strangers, but her mind was too preoccupied with the coming ceremony to concentrate. She wanted only to stand or sit next to Ed and take comfort from his presence. She glanced with envy at Abigail and Leah, ensconced on a settee placed against the wall, as much out of the crowd as it was possible to be in the small sitting room and generally being ignored by the rest of the attendees.
Marta did take note of one shy young man about whom Veronica whispered as they approached him, “Isn’t he good-looking? And I love his name—Winter Salas. I wish he were two or three years younger—or that I were two or three years older.”
When Veronica informed her that he was an empath, Marta understood both his shyness and the reddening of his face as Veronica spoke to him. He no doubt picked up Veronica’s fascination for him and found it terribly embarrassing. Marta guessed he was at least eighteen, possibly a year older.
“He’s studying art,” Veronica told her. “He’s very talented.”
The poor young man grew even redder at that and mumbled something about not being all that good. Marta felt bad for him and drew Veronica away to spare him further embarrassment.
Only one other Community member’s name stayed with her. She’d been told beforehand about the Honorable Camsen Wellner, a priest of Ondin. That a priest who served the god of Port Province should also belong to the Community of the Gifted, Marta found odd and rather jarring. Wellner, Kyla had told her, had the gift of throwing fire and of creating powerful illusions. “You should see the marvelous dragon he can form from smoke,” Veronica gushed when she presented him to Marta. He shook his head at that praise, almost as embarrassed as Winter had been.
Kyla had suggested, and Marta and Ed had agreed, that they should have two celebrants for the Naming Ceremony, rather than the usual one, and that the Honorable Camsen Wellner should perform the customary Naming-Day rituals, with Mayzie, as a native-born citizen of Port Province and the baby’s nursemaid, reciting the blessing-prayer.
After meeting the priest, Marta regretted that decision. It was clear to her in speaking to him that he was conflicted about his dual roles as a priest of Ondin and a member of a Community that honored the Power-Giver rather than the patron-gods of Arucadi’s twelve provinces. His awkward attempts to explain how he reconciled the two roles only made her uncomfortable.
Wellner seemed to Marta to take longer than necessary to deliver his remarks to the group and to dedicate the child to Ondin—an aspect of the service that Marta disliked. Dreama grew restless and fussy. Her cries, increasing in volume, drowned out some of the speeches. Just as well. Had the priest of Ondin really needed to rehearse the entire history of Port Province?
After Wellner finally finished, Veronica read the name blessing from the Breyadon, and Kyla called on the Power-Giver to protect the child and grant her the gift of power that would make her a part of their community. A young woman named Trille sang a song praising the innocence and beauty of babies. Her voice was lovely and the melody pleasing, but Marta could not follow the words. For Marta the ceremony droned on and on.
Dreama’s crying always made Marta nervous. Each time she rushed to comfort the baby, Ed told her she would spoil the
child. But he was just as bad. He adored this little girl who had miraculously become their daughter. It pleased Marta to have him standing so proudly beside her for the official Naming, rocking Dreama gently in his arms and beaming, not at all impatient as Marta was. When Dreama fussed and cried, he offered her his finger to suck, and risked the disapproval of the Honored Wellner by whispering to the child to calm her.
At last the ritual was concluded with first the priest and then Kyla addressing Dreama by name. Priest Wellner said, “I greet you, Dreama, daughter of Edwin and Marta Robbins, and I entrust you to Ondin and to the great gods Dor and Dora. May you bring your parents great happiness.”
Kyla kissed the babe on the forehead and said, “Dreama, may your life be filled with love and joy, and may the Power-Giver bless you with his gifts.”
Following those blessings, each guest walked past Ed and Marta, touched Dreama lightly on the forehead, and placed a gift on the table with the candle.
At last Mayzie could take Dreama into the back of the house and suckle her, while from the kitchen Leah and Abigail brought out trays of little cakes and glasses of a sweet wine punch.
Veronica, in her lovely green dress, circulated among the guests like a seasoned hostess, chatting animatedly, making certain each guest was served and punch cups kept filled.
In contrast, Marta stood woodenly, holding her plate and cup, unable to eat a bite. She itched all over, her stomach felt queasy, and her head throbbed. She wanted desperately to escape to the back of the house, get out of her hot clothes, and be alone with the child who now was truly, officially hers. Instead she nodded and smiled at the guests, not hearing their conversation, not caring about anything but being free to go to Dreama.
“Patience, love,” Ed whispered into her ear when for a moment no one was chattering at them. “They’ll all go soon.”
But the guests seemed determined to linger. Marta bit her tongue to keep from shouting, “Go home, all of you!” Ed slipped his arm around her and she leaned against him. It was wonderful how he sensed her unease and did his best to protect her. He would be a marvelous father to little Dreama. Picturing Ed as a father gave Marta the first moment of peace and contentment she’d had since the ceremony began.
The moment was cut short by a scream from the back of the house.
“Mayzie!” Marta raced from the crowded room, Ed close behind her. “Mayzie!” she called again, looking for the wet nurse first in Mayzie’s room, then in the kitchen and the sewing room. They found neither Mayzie nor Dreama.
“Maybe she went to the outhouse and carried Dreama with her. I’ll go see.” Veronica dashed out the back door. Until she’d spoken, Marta hadn’t noticed that she’d followed them. Marta saw nothing but the void left by the baby’s terrible absence.
In seconds Veronica returned, her face ashen. “It’s empty,” she stated, her voice quavering. “I checked all around. No one’s out back.”
“What could have happened?” Ed asked, looking stunned. “Mayzie wouldn’t have taken the baby anywhere, would she?”
“No, especially not on this day of all days,” Kyla stated,
Marta’s gaze met Veronica’s. The sudden horror that surged through her was mirrored on Veronica’s face. In unison they said, “Jerome!”
CHAPTER SIX
LOSS
It was Ed who fell apart. He sat on a kitchen chair rocking back and forth, moaning and repeating over and over, “Why did he take her? What will he do to her?”
Marta understood. He was reliving the abuse he had suffered as a child. She dared not give way to her own fear and rage; for Ed’s sake she had to hang on. She went to him and held him. “We’ll get her back,” she said with more conviction than she felt. “He won’t get far.”
“He could have simply killed her if that was what he wanted,” Kyla pointed out. “Why would he have taken Mayzie if he meant to harm Dreama?”
No one questioned that Jerome Esterville was responsible for the abduction. The moment that Marta had spoken his name in unison with Veronica, she knew. Jerome Esterville had caused them untold trouble back in Carey before Ed had transported him to a land that Ed had imagined into existence on a world in another plane. The discomfort Marta had felt throughout the naming ceremony hadn’t been because of the heat and the itching hadn’t been caused by the stiff new dress. She’d sensed the presence of evil but failed to recognize its once-too-familiar signature. As she recalled it, she remembered as well Jerome’s ability to transfer his rage and resentment to others—as he’d done to Veronica, then only nine years old. No wonder Veronica had sensed him when Marta did.
“All our gifted friends are still here,” Veronica said. “We’d better put them all to work.”
At least someone was still able to think logically.
Marta shook Ed. “You’ve got to help me,” she told him. “Maybe if you picture Dreama in your mind, your power can take us to her.”
He looked up, his eyes bleak. “If he’s hurt her …”
“We’ll get him before he can. You’ve got to pull yourself together. Use your power.”
He nodded and, standing, put his arm around her waist and held her tight against him. She saw his eyes close in concentration.
With no transition they stood on a desolate, wind-swept plain. Beside them a dry channel marked where a brook had once run, and at intervals along it dead, twisted tree trunks kept guard like grim sentinels.
Ed groaned and sank to the parched ground. “My beautiful land! My special place! What happened to all the fruit trees? The flowers? It’s nothing but a desert. He’s destroyed it.”
“Get up, Ed.” Marta tugged at his arm. “You can’t face Jerome like that. Where is he?”
Ed resisted her pulling. “I don’t know.” He scooped up a handful of sand and let it trickle through his fingers.
“Well, you were looking for him and for Dreama, weren’t you?”
“Yes, but—” He stopped and peered around. “This is where I always came when I was in trouble. It was my safe place.”
“So your mind brought us here now not to find Dreama but to be safe?”
“I didn’t mean to.” He sounded like a little boy whining to an angry parent. “I left Jerome here. It’s where he should still be.”
“Ed, get up.” Her fingers dug into his arm. “You have to try again. And this time, focus on Jerome, not on a place.”
He lumbered to his feet and linked arms with her. His eyes shut tight in concentration, but Marta kept hers open.
Nothing happened. The minutes snailed by, and Ed and Marta went nowhere.
Either Ed’s grief was blocking his power, or Jerome hid somewhere nearby, with Dreama and Mayzie. Marta sniffed the air, using her power to search for a scent of Dreama and the wet nurse. She sensed nothing. If they were here, their presence was shielded.
She and Ed would have to conduct a physical search. It would probably be a waste of time, but what else could they do? Marta didn’t have the ability to transport them anywhere, not even back to Kyla’s house.
“It’s no use.” Ed sank back to the ground. “I’m trying, but when I picture Jerome, all I can think of is what he might do to Dreama, and my power drains away.”
“So we’re stranded here,” Marta said, not adding the obvious fact that if this was not where Jerome had gone, his trail was growing cold and their chances of finding Dreama were fading.
When Ed and Marta disappeared, Veronica gave a whoop of joy. They’d find and rescue Dreama and Mayzie and be back in no time.
But Aunt Kyla looked as worried as ever. “Go ahead, Veronica, get the rest of the Community in here and let’s put them to work.”
Veronica didn’t want to leave the kitchen, so convinced was she that Marta and Ed would return at any moment. But since recruiting all the gifted had been her own suggestion, she could hardly refuse to go. She hurried back to the sitting room, told the others what had happened, and ushered them into the kitchen.
Ed and Mart
a did not return.
Abigail busied herself with gathering up the plates and punch cups and set to work washing the dishes. How like her to think of cleaning up at a time like this.
At Kyla’s direction all the others formed a circle, even Leah, though she had no gift. Kyla took Veronica’s hand and drew her into the circle. “Now,” Kyla said, “we’ll send our power searching for Mayzie and little Dreama. Since we can all picture them, we should be able to find them more easily than we could find Jerome, whom only Veronica, Leah, Abigail, and I know.”
Veronica didn’t agree. Jerome’s power signature would be strong, but Mayzie was not gifted, and what could an infant do? She thought it senseless to conduct a search for the two who could send no signals. She tried to tell them this, but Aunt Kyla and Aunt Leah both shushed her. They knew how much power she had, yet they insisted on treating her like a child!
If Ed and Marta got back quickly, it wouldn’t matter. But time passed, they did not return, and to Veronica her power was being wasted in the circle.
Without saying anything and without breaking her handholds with Kyla and Leah, she pulled out of the joint search and sent her own power hunting for Jerome. He would be shielded, but she knew his signature all too well. When she was a nine-year-old child, he had sent his anger into her and caused her to do a terrible thing she could never forget.
She caught a faint trace, a familiar evil scent. But it grew no stronger as she searched. Surreptitiously she pulled power from the others in the group to add to her own. They might notice the drain, but they would not guess its cause. Yes, it was wrong to do such a thing, but the situation called for desperate and daring measures. The added power increased her range, and again she picked up the elusive scent. She narrowed her focus and threw all her strength into an attempt to pinpoint its location.
A fuzzy picture swam into her mind. She thought she could make out Mayzie holding the baby and cowering in front of a male figure. That figure had to be Jerome, though it looked nothing like the man she remembered seeing five years ago. Not that the features were at all clear, but the form was tall and menacing and scarcely looked human at all.
A Mix of Magics (Arucadi: The Beginning Book 3) Page 3
