Keepers of the Flame (14 page)

“He…was…appalled…A…doctor,
rational person…” He hadn’t loved her enough.

Two
small forms settled on either side of her. One purred near her abdomen. She
reached out and tangled her fingers in long, soft fur. Sinafinal, as the cat. A
long nose nuzzled the back of her knee.

I
made Elizabeth cry. I am very sorry. I will make it up somehow
. A doggy sigh.
I
could not resist the nuts. A little one comes. We both need energy and Power
and Song for it.

That
made no sense to Elizabeth.

Alexa
said. “You will take care of all the photos for Elizabeth. Not one must be
lost. We’ll see what we can do about having them, um, hard-copied.”

The
absurdity of that—hard-copied from a dog’s stomach?—just made Elizabeth cry
harder.

T
he sick child
was a girl of about seven or eight, sturdy. Probably too heavy for the mother
to carry, but she held her child with desperate strength.

With
a careful sweep of his arm, Sevair shoved the stacks of papers aside, then took
the child, carried her to the conference table.

“Sevair,
this is not the place…” said one hefty man shrinking back to the side of the
room. Sevair and the woman—now twisting her hands in her apron—were between the
citymaster and the door, otherwise Bri thought he might have bolted.

“This
is exactly the place. Exactly our priority. Exactly our duty.” Sevair bit the
words off. He gently laid the girl on the table, grabbed his overtunic, stuffed
it under her head.

“Medica?”
His look was a demand.

Bri
found herself rubbing her hands. She stopped, shifted her shoulders, drew in a
deep breath and went to the child. The girl was unconscious, so no talking to
her about where it hurt. Opening her mouth, Bri caught sweet, labored
breathing. No coating of white on her tongue. She checked under her eyes.
Nothing there, either.

No
use. She’d just have to trust in the healingstream, in the magic and Power of
this dimension. That everyone was right and her hands would be enough. Sure
weren’t any antibiotics around. She stroked the child from head to toe, heat
radiated from her throat and her abdomen.

Keeping
in mind what the medica had said, Bri strained to
hear
the chakra
centers, the chimes. Cacophony clashed in her mind, in her ears, rocking her
back and making her shake her head to get rid of the sound, like cars crashing.
Terrible sound.

One
more lung-filling breath. Ease it out and
reach
. Again Power slammed
into her. Her body jerked. Strong hands grasped her shoulders, excess energy
went through that link.

Heal
her
,
said Sevair.

She
looked for the chakras, couldn’t make out the jumble of colors. So Bri shut her
eyes and prayed. Found the Song again. The Song of the child. The Song of
herself. The throbbing Song of the Power flowing through her.

But
it needed to be controlled, focused, sent to the right organs in the correct
order, so the most important systems were strengthened first to support the
healing of the rest. Power flowed through her. Had she reached for it? She
didn’t know, but knew there was plenty here.

The
Songs drowned out all thought. She touched young flesh. She healed. Without
thought and without plan and without reason.

Later
she found herself shivering, lifted and folded into a chair, Sevair’s tunic now
draping her. Her vision cleared, and she saw a bunch of people near the table,
the citymasters, the woman holding and rocking her girl, tears and snot
streaming down her face, a big man in rough clothes.

If
Bri could have spared the breath for a sigh of relief, she would have. She’d
done it. She was so much stronger here to be able to heal a strange,
debilitating sickness in one session.

There
was no sign of the hefty citymaster.

Songs
washed through Bri, pulsed around her. Still fearful strident notes from the
father and mother, the girls’ sweet tune, the intricate pattern of the
citymasters.

Sevair
was tapping a map with his index finger, looking at the man. “You live here?”

“Ayes.”
The man nodded.

With
a brusque nod of his own, Sevair placed another red dot on the map.

“Outlying
farm area, again,” a woman said.

“Yes,”
Sevair said.

“I
don’t see any kind of pattern we can work with.” An older man crossed his arms.
“Hard to stop such a sickness if we don’t know where it will strike next.”

“Let
alone why,” said the woman.

“Who
all have you been with today?” asked a different woman of the farm wife.

The
farm woman dragged a rag from her pocket, wiped her face and nose. “Ella
collapsed in Noix Market Square.”

“Wonderful.”
Deep sarcasm came from the older man.

“We
must send people to the farm and the square,” Sevair said. “I’ll have an
assistant accompany these folk home.”

Bri
stirred, tried to stand, couldn’t, she felt like an aged grandmother. After
licking her lips, she forced words from a dry throat. “Bring the girl to me.”
With her quavery voice she even sounded like an old grandmother. At least the
typical stereotype. Her own were professional women. And her brain was
nattering.

The
man in farmer’s clothes lifted his daughter and carried her to Bri, setting her
across Bri’s lap, supporting her.

The
girl looked fine. Good color. Bri tested her forehead, temperature seemed all
right, checked her tongue and eyes again, all good.

She
slipped her hand through the gaping shirt. Again warm skin, her patient’s heart
thumped with a regular beat, her lungs filled and emptied. After a couple of
sips of breath, Bri opened herself to the sound of the chakras. They hummed
with what she was beginning to understand was healthful normality.

Incredible.

“She’s
good,” she said to the man watching intently.

He
smiled and she saw even, white teeth, then he took his daughter. “Yes, medica,
she
is
good. A good girl, good daughter. We would have been sad without
her.” His commonplace words were backed by Song, and Bri first heard the tones
of a loving family: father, mother, two sons, two daughters. All experiencing
euphoria at the saving of Ella. All sending Bri their utmost gratitude.

Too
much to handle seriously. She cleared her throat, “Tell me, sir, do you raise
vegetables?”

His
brows winged up at being called sir, then he smiled again, his chest puffed
out. “The best chouys in Lladranan.”

“Chouys,
huh?” Bri caught Sevair’s eye. “We will keep him in mind, right?”

“As
you wish, Exotique.” Sevair did the torso incline.

“My
thanks and my woman’s thanks,” the farmer said formally to Bri, then to the
guildspeople.

The
farm woman came over to Bri, studied her.
“Merci.”
Reached out her hand.
Bri took it and their fingers locked.
“Merci.”
The woman squeezed her
hand, let go and followed her husband to the door, she drew herself up and
said, “It is good that you Summoned an Exotique Medica for us all.” They left.

While
Bri was still contemplating these words, Sevair scooped her from the chair.

“I
can walk!”

“Can
you?’

“Yes.”

He
set her on her feet, but kept an arm loosely around her waist, steadying her.
Her legs were a little wobbly, but the feel of the stone under her feet seemed
to help. She straightened, took a step, paused, took another step. Everyone
watched her. The women smiled. The old man scowled. “If this is the Power cost
of Healing one child, we have big problems.”

“Yes,”
Sevair said briefly.

“They
healed sixteen last night,” someone said.

“We
were together,” Bri said. “My twin sister and I. And we were in the Castle with
a lot of Power.”

“And
with the Marshalls, who themselves are greatly Powerful,” Sevair said.

“This
room is good,” Bri said.

The
woman nodded. “We will scout out other places of Power that will be good for
healing if an epidemic comes.”

“When
the epidemic comes,” Sevair said.

Bri
shuffled faster and made it to the door before the argument truly began. She
stepped away from Sevair’s arm, tilted and had to brace a hand against the
wall.

Sevair
finished snicking the lock to the door behind them, and held out his arm with
old-time courtesy. Bri took it, managed a weak smile, and they walked very
slowly down the corridor. Every other man she knew would have been impatient
with her, would have picked her up and carried her to wherever they were going,
not simply walked step-by-step in silence. Sevair Masif was a real stand-up
guy.

When
they reached the door, he held it open to show a carriage pulled by a team of
horses just beyond the pillared portico. “The Citymasters’ equipage to take you
to your new home,” he said.

Before
they even crossed the threshold, there was the sound of hoofbeats, rustling and
a protesting neigh from Mud.
Me!
It was loud, demanding, and
inescapable.

11

T
he volaran
pranced.

“It’s
only a few blocks to her new home,” Sevair said.

Mud
rolled big eyes at him.

Sevair
sighed. “Very well. The tailor will be coming shortly and we are, as usual,
running late.” He lifted Bri and mounted behind her. Sevair projected a pretty
square full of mature trees and flower beds, surrounded by three-story town
houses set closely together. He indicated one with pillars in the front and a
long back garden.

Mud
lifted off, as light as a feather caught by a spring breeze. She soared over
the square and people cheered again, sent blessings Bri could actually feel
along with a rise of Song. Fabulous.

She
leaned against Sevair, solid behind her, and observed as they skimmed over
roofs.

The
square with the house wasn’t more than two streets over, and the neighborhood
was smaller than she realized, cozier. A lot of people seemed to be in the
park, “casually” watching. No doubt everyone knew she’d be living here.

It
was finally sinking in that she was a celebrity. How very odd. She’d been in
places where her skin or face weren’t the same as most of the local population,
and she’d earned respect from people, but nothing like this.

Mud
landed softly in the beautifully landscaped backyard. Sevair lifted her down.
This was
her
new home? Her nerves jangled. She’d never even thought of
buying a house, let alone something as—substantial—as this one. It was a full
three stories and of creamy-colored worked stone, like the limestone she’d seen
in the English Cotswolds. Looking down the block, she saw a variety of styles,
all melding into a harmonious whole. No doubt all belonging to upstanding and
sober citizens.

She
was in over her head. The soles of her feet prickled. “It’s…it’s lovely,” she
forced out.

Sevair’s
expression lightened. “All of the artisans of Castleton worked to provide the
best for you.”

Uh-oh.
Major expectations. She wet her lips. “Great.”

“I’ll
show you the inside in a moment. Now, Mud…” Speaking slowly, with gestures and
clear mind images, Sevair told Mud she could return to the Castle, or be
stabled with other volarans in a different part of town.

Bri
stroked Mud. “Thank you. I’m honored you’ll stay in town.” As soon as she
patted the flying horse’s neck and stepped away, Mud took off. Bri watched the
volaran, heart squeezing. Not a sight that she’d ever see on Earth.

Sevair
cleared his throat. When she turned to him, he offered his arm. Bri hesitated,
but curled her hand in the crook of his elbow. His muscle was like the stone he
worked. He led her along meandering stepping stones to a back door that was
fancy enough to be on the front of any house. Placing his hand on the knob, he
hummed a few chords, and made Bri repeat them to unlock and lock the door.

They
stepped into an impressive kitchen of pristine white tile, but he moved her
through it quickly, hardly giving her time to look around. “We’ve arranged for
all your meals to be delivered. You need only list what you want daily.”

“Um,
merci.” Guess she wasn’t expected to learn magical cooking.

“We
wish you to concentrate on your medica gifts.”

She’d
always done that, but to hear it as a duty was a little off-putting.

The
hallway was papered in pale lavender, with a faint pattern of darker-colored
leaves and flower sprigs. His gaze lingered on the purple streaks in her hair
that she’d begun to regret. “Purple is the traditional color for Exotiques.”

“Oh.”

“But
Alyeka and Marian and Calli have not used the color much in their furnishings.
So we, too, limited the use.” A small cough. “Except for one bedroom.” Again he
glanced at her hair, “should you prefer it.”