Strangely, however, death didn't come. He awoke in a house somewhere in London he assumed; judging by the crowded, dirty city damp with rain outside the window.
He sat up on the bed and looked around. Every bone in his body ached, but he bore down on the pain. The bedroom was simple and white with just a single bed and wooden table next to it. He was unbound, which he thought odd given that surely he was in Ministry custody.
Alarick tried to remember what happened after Marius took off with Elissa, but he couldn't clear the fog from his brain. All he remembered was waiting to die in the mud. He didn't know whether the memory loss was due to injury-related trauma and shock, or if someone had intentionally manipulated his mind.
He quickly inventoried his injuries. There were plenty of aches and pains, but the bullet wounds were no longer bleeding. They still hurt like a bitch, but clearly someone with expert healing powers had helped him.
His wand rested on the end table. When he reached for it, no enchantment prevented him from picking it up. To his surprise, it was undamaged. Wherever he was, his captors were either incredibly stupid or they didn't mind him having access to a weapon.
Rising slowly and steadying himself against some residual dizziness, he made his way to the door, tiptoeing silently across the wood floor. His cloak hung on a peg by the door and he draped it over his shoulders. He paused to listen at the door. Footsteps shuffled on the wood floors somewhere else in the house. It sounded like one person, not an entire army.
Encouraged, he readied his wand and eased the door open. As soon as he stepped into the hallway, a woman's gravelly voice called to him from somewhere deep within the house.
"Come no closer."
Alarick stopped. He was certain she was speaking to him, although how she'd heard him was a mystery. He hadn't made a sound and, even if he had, it sounded like she was too far away to have heard.
"All right," he called. "Where am I?"
"My home. And you're safe here, but you need to go. I've done all for you that I can."
"May I ask how long I've been here?" he asked, inching along the corridor, trying to get closer to the voice, to see who it was.
"Stop," she commanded. Alarick stopped. How did she know he was moving?
"Two days," continued the woman's voice, answering his prior question. "And that is why you must go. It will not be much longer before the Ministry comes here, looking for you."
"Thank you," Alarick said. "But may I not see the person who saved me and thank her properly?"
"No need, sir. Just consider me a mysterious benefactor. I'm someone who has no love for the Ministry and saw you in trouble. That's all you need to know."
"But you must be very powerful to have defeated those who attacked me."
"Oh, no sir. I didn't defeat them. Not at all. True, I rescued you from them, but I didn't defeat them."
This made no sense to Alarick. How could she have gotten him away if she hadn't fought and defeated the guards?
"Are you a witch?" he asked.
"Yes," came her answer. "And a healer, lucky for you. But that is all you can know, so ask no more. It's better for both of us if you do not guess who and what I am. To do so would put both of us in grave danger."
Alarick remained silent, debating whether he should try harder to find out who she was. He could press her, he knew. If he could get close enough, he could use a truth-telling spell to force her to reveal her secrets.
"Use the back door. There's plenty of space back there for you to change and take off. And whatever you do, never return," she said, as though reading his thoughts.
The back door was at the end of the hallway in which he stood, but he wasn't ready to go just yet.
"How did you know I can change?" he asked. "Please. I need to know at least that much."
She huffed impatiently and said, "You were nearly dead when I found you. You had attempted to change and only made it partway through the process. You were a right mess with a wing sticking out of your back. Fortunately, as you healed, you reverted to human form. Now, go. Do not make me ask you again."
"I thank you, madam, whoever you are. If I can ever repay your kindness, do not hesitate to ask it of me," he said.
When she didn't respond, he went out the back door into a high-walled garden. As promised, there was plenty of room for him to change. Given his injuries, the process was painful, but he succeeded and took off, quickly leaving London far beneath him. The house, he noted, was not far from the Law Courts.
He was unable to complete the journey back to the Keep in one day. Exhausted, weak, and still hurting, he had to stop midway to rest for the night. He hunkered down in the woods near a stream and found some nuts and berries to eat nearby. Hardly a filling meal, but even if he could catch a fish or rabbit, he couldn't risk a fire to cook it.
Before the sunlight faded, he removed his clothes and inspected his wounds. His savior had indeed done a fantastic job. Given the extent of the damage, it was a wonder he'd lived long enough for her to get him to safety. All the bullet holes had closed, although the ones near his shoulders had reopened a bit with the effort of flying. He cleaned them as best he could in the stream and pressed his cloak over them to stop the seeping blood.
Alarick wondered who the woman really was. The only logical explanation he'd been able to think of as he flew toward home was that she was employed with the Ministry and had plucked him out from under their noses.
Perhaps she was a witch who'd managed to infiltrate their ranks. If that were the case, she must be incredibly powerful and disciplined to have avoided tipping them off to her true nature. Perhaps Marius would know more. Maybe he'd heard of such things in his travels.
All of that was secondary to his greater concern, however. Was Elissa still alive? Had she and Marius escaped and reached the Keep, or were they waylaid somewhere? Her injuries must have been severe, given her cries of pain that still echoed in his brain, but were they fatal?
He also didn't know how hurt Marius might have been. Alarick had done his best to defend him, but was it enough? Was he well enough to make the journey back to the Keep, or had he faltered along the way as Alarick had? The lack of knowledge tore at him.
Desperate to resume his journey, he attempted to change but was too tired and hurt to manage more than a partial change. Rest was necessary and pushing things would only delay him further. A fallen log provided a decent backrest and the mossy ground was soft. He covered himself with his cloak and, if he didn't sleep, at least he rested.
The sky was barely gray with the coming dawn when he changed successfully and flew toward home. He arrived at the Keep in the early afternoon. In his haste, he blasted the castle's heavy oak doors open with his wand. If there was a slight limp to his gait and his breathing was labored, it didn't slow his progress up the stairs.
The racket brought John out of his office.
"Master Brandon! Thank goodness. Master Baines told us what happened. We weren't certain you'd survived," John said.
"Where are they?" was all Alarick said.
"Miss Stone is in the infirmary, sir. Master Baines is fine. I believe he is in the library."
Torn between which way to go first, Alarick decided to find Marius. If Elissa's condition was grave, Marius could act as a bulwark between himself and the terrible news.
Marius was, indeed, in the library and he was very happy to see Alarick alive.
"I thought you were done for," he said, jumping up from the sofa and clasping his friend in a hug. "You were taking bullets at a rate no one should be able to survive. But you're too stubborn to die. I should have remembered that."
Alarick told him what little he knew about his salvation and his theory that his savior was a Ministry employee.
"It's not out of the realm of possibility," Marius allowed. "I've heard of it happening from time to time. The infiltrators usually don't last long, though, before something gives them away and the Ministry kills them. If that's what she is, she is correct that you must never go back, no matter how much you may wish to learn about her.
"To do so would not only endanger her life and yours, but it would endanger her ability to render aid to other magicals, or share her knowledge of the Ministry with others. In the cases I've heard about, the infiltrator is usually connected to a larger network and is passing vital information along. You don't want to foul that up."
Alarick made no promises, but let the subject drop. He had more important things to learn.
"Miss Stone?" he asked, horrified that his voice quavered a bit.
"She's in the infirmary and the healers have been with her night and day. Her injuries are severe and gruesome. I don't think the Ministry was interested in keeping her alive long enough to behead her. She must have really angered someone."
"She didn't look so bad when we found her," Alarick said.
"You should know as well anyone that wounds don't have to look horrible to be horrible. They broke most of her ribs and punctured a lung. Her spine is cracked in two places and it will be a miracle if she walks again. She also has a broken arm and assorted contusions. Oh, and she was branded on her back and belly. I don't know what the brands were. The healers wouldn't tell me. The worst, though, is that she's blind. The healers say she was hit on the back of her head hard enough to blind her."
"Is it permanent?" Alarick asked.
Marius shrugged. "No one knows. One of the healers says he's seen such things resolve with time. The others seem to think it is permanent."
"But… her reading. Her drawing," Alarick stuttered, horrified at what the loss of her sight would mean to Elissa.
"I know," Marius said. "Without her sight, she would no longer be a true Book Mesmer. She could still cast protective charms, with help, but the illumination of manuscripts would be beyond her. It's a tragedy all the way around."
Alarick looked around the library that had become her home. If she felt safe anywhere, it was here. And now even this was taken from her? It wasn't fair.
"Can I see her?" Alarick asked.
"The healers will let you in, although you should be prepared. She might not want to see you. She feels horrible about what happened."
"I'll take the risk. Oh, did she have Phaedo on her when you brought her here? I assume the Ministry took it from her."
"They did. And that has her more upset than almost anything else. They took her wand, too," Marius said.
Alarick seized on these two things in the midst of chaos. These were fixable; these were things he could give back to her. They gave him something to do instead of simply surrendering to fate.
"Okay. Here's the plan. I'm going to see her. You go see Master Lucas and ask him to have the wand maker make a new wand for her."
"Why?" Marius asked. "She won't be able to perform magic for a while, if ever."
Alarick turned on him. "Because she will be able to do whatever she wants to do. I'll see to it."
"You can't fix this, Alarick," Marius warned, placing a restraining hand on his arm. "Some things are beyond even your stubbornness."
"Watch me," Alarick whispered.
"All right," Marius said, lifting his hands in surrender and backing out of the room. "But please don't be a jackass and go up there and yell at her for leaving. She knows her actions were foolish and dangerous, and she's paid the price. Leave it at that."
"I am not a complete monster," Alarick said, hoping it was true.
Once Marius was gone, Alarick studied the library shelves. Master Hale had adored the Greeks. Surely, he would have a significant work like Phaedo. Finding it among the bookish lawlessness would be the challenge.
He went from shelf to shelf, trying to decipher how things were organized. He finally figured out that the oldest works were on the highest shelves up on the third level. The Greeks were there, shelved before some smoky smelling works Master Hale had appropriated from the ruins of the library at Alexandria.
Alarick combed through them all, seeking the small volume. He was beginning to despair of finding a copy when he finally located it, stuffed between two much larger volumes and almost invisible. He pulled it out and ruffled the pages. It was old, but it was a good copy. It would never be the copy her father had given her, but at least Elissa could hear the words again.
Alarick tucked the book into the pocket of his coat and hastened to the infirmary. Before opening the door to the sick ward, he paused to smooth his hair, tug down his coat, and adjust his cravat. It wouldn't do to look disheveled. And then the shock tore through him: It didn't matter what he looked like. Elissa couldn't see him.
He pushed the door open and was quickly met by Candace who was carrying a batch of clean linens. Alarick couldn't recall her being a healer, but she evidently was. She looked him up and down.
"I'll tend to your injuries in a moment," she said.
"I'm fine."
Candace arched an eyebrow at that. "You don't look fine. You're bruised and bleeding." She pointed to blood seeping through his coat where his shoulder wounds had opened again.
"It's fine. May I see her?" Candace followed his gaze to where Elissa rested in bed.
"After I've dealt with your injuries, sir. She's been through enough without you bleeding on her. Come this way."
She led him to a bed behind a screen and stripped him down so she could address his wounds. It didn't take her but a few moments to patch him up. A quick cleaning, a couple of healing spells, and a few bandages was all it took to have him feeling much better. It might have taken less time had he not kept fidgeting in his desire to see Elissa.
When she finished, and he was dressed again, Candace said, "Wait here."
He sat on the bed, fighting his urge to run to Elissa's side.
Candace returned in a moment.
"Elissa's awake, so you may see her," Candace said. "But please, do not upset her."
"I promise," Alarick said.
Candace didn't look convinced, but let him pass. He'd never considered himself to be a terrible person. Distant? Yes. Curt? Certainly. He didn't have time to suffer fools or deal with petty nonsense. But surely, he was not the horrible person everyone seemed to think would come in here and scream at an innocent, injured woman. He was too busy being grateful to whatever deities ruled the universe that she wasn't dead.
Alarick sat down on the stool next to Elissa's bed. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. At the sound of him sitting down, she turned her head in his direction.
"Candace?" she asked in a voice hoarse with pain and fatigue.
"No," he said. "It's Alarick."
"Master Brandon," she began. "I'm so glad you made it back. Master Baines didn't know what happened to you, but he did tell me how you sacrificed yourself for us. Thank you, sir."
The simplicity and sincerity of her gratitude floored him.
"I'm hard to kill. Master Baines says I'm too stubborn to die. I think there's some truth in that. For you, as well," he added softly.
She began to cry, silent tears tracking down her cheeks and spilling onto her pillow.
"Hey, hey," Alarick whispered. "None of that. I promised Candace and Marius I wouldn't upset you."
"I'm not upset at you," she said. "But at myself. You told me not to leave and I did. You were only concerned for my safety, but I was angry with you for not helping me. I wanted to prove that I could salvage books on my own; that I could do something useful. And it cost me everything."
"We don't know that, yet," he said, ignoring her self-recriminations. "I understand that one of the healers has seen blindness like yours resolve in time. And the other injuries will heal, as well. I believe that because I trust the healers here. They've patched me up enough times for me to know how skilled they are."
"And if the injuries are permanent?" she asked. "What if I can't walk? What if I'm blind forever?"
"Then there are other ways of navigating the world. With help, you might still be able to be a Book Mesmer. The magic comes from inside you. I don't believe it's dependent on your being able to see, as long as others can help you with the mechanical tasks. I'm not ready to dismiss you so quickly."
She groped blindly along the edge of the bed with her good hand until her hand bumped his thigh, then found his elbow where his arms rested on his thighs. She continued reaching until she found his hand. At first, he resisted her gentle tug, but then Alarick let her take his hand and place their joined hands on the blanket next to her.
She didn't say anything more and Alarick grew comfortable in the silence. He wanted to ask her what the Ministry had done to her. Had they forced her to reveal the Keep's location, or had she accidentally let it slip? Were they even now bearing down upon them? Had they done worse to her than the injuries Marius had recounted?
The thought of the Ministry sexually assaulting her was almost too much for him to bear. He hoped their religious dogma kept them from that last indignity, but he knew that zealots in the throes of religious fervor would justify anything. Even the unjustifiable.
He asked none of these questions, however. It was up to her to tell him in her own time.
Alarick simply enjoyed the warmth of her hand and the reassurance that she was alive. He stopped himself, though, when he found himself idly rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. She didn't complain, but the gesture was too intimate, too foreign to him.
"Would you like me to read to you?" he asked, hoping to give himself another path down which to direct his thoughts.
"Yes, please," she said. "It's too quiet here. Give me something to focus on besides my own thoughts."
Alarick knew the feeling well. He pulled Phaedo from his pocket and began to read. At the first sentence her eyes began to water again.
"Shh," he cautioned. "They'll throw me out if they think I'm upsetting you."
"It's just… I know the Ministry took my copy. It's why they beat me so badly. Being a witch was bad enough. But when they found the book…" she shuddered and said no more.
Alarick tried hard to express no emotion. She needed him to be strong and impartial, not the furious, raging beast he longed to be.
"A literate woman is their greatest fear, Miss Stone," he said. "You had to be punished for your education and set as an example to any other woman who would pursue letters."
She nodded. "Is that—" she began to ask, feebly gesturing for the book. He handed it to her, letting her feel its weight and soft leather cover. To take it, she had to let go of his hand, and the sudden coolness on his skin startled Alarick.
"It is not your father's copy," he said in answer to her unfinished question. "I'm sorry. I do not know what became of your copy. This one came from Master Hale's collection. He loved the Greeks."
"Don't be sorry," she said, caressing the book with her good hand. "I never thought to hear the words again."
"You may have this copy, if you want it," Alarick said.
"As long as you'll read it to me," she said, "A book does me no good any longer without a reader."
"As long as you desire for me to read to you, I will," Alarick said.
She handed the book back to him, and he resumed reading. She took his hand back in hers and listened intently to his words. Gradually, however, her hand slackened in his. He glanced at her and realized she'd drifted off.
Just as well, he thought. He couldn't imagine the hell that being awake must be for her right now. Perhaps she could find some peace in dreams. He knew he would not.
Gently, he removed his hand from hers. He placed Phaedo on the blanket next to her and laid her hand on top of it. Maybe it would give her some comfort when she woke.
With no Book Mesmer to keep him entertained, Marius left a couple of days later. He needed to get back to Spain, he said, and resume his attacks on the Ministry. Before he left, he stopped to visit Elissa with Alarick.
"You're leaving?" she asked at his news. "I'd hoped you would stay."
"No, I've got Ministry to antagonize. But I'll be certain to kill a few for you," he told her.
"I'm sorry you never got to watch me work," she said. "You came all this way for nothing."
"Don't be sorry. You gave me quite the thrill, nonetheless," he chuckled.
She smiled, but it was cold and bitter. "Still, I do hope you'll come back if I regain my sight. I'd very much like your thoughts on my ability, assuming I still have any power left after this."
"You can count on that," he said. "Alarick knows where to find me when you're ready."
Outside in the hallway, Marius turned to Alarick and whispered, "I hope you haven't been filling her head with nonsense about a full recovery and regaining her abilities even if she can't see. The logistics are simply too improbable."
"I haven't been filling her head with nonsense. But neither am I going to discourage her from salvaging whatever she can from the wreckage of her life. If she wants to try to use her powers in a different way, then I will support her."
They walked down the steps to the main hall in silence.
"Just don't get her hopes up," Marius said, embracing his friend at the castle's main door before going outside and changing into his eagle form.
As he watched his friend fly away, Alarick felt unbearably old. He'd never shied away from responsibility, even when it was thrust upon him without his assent. But this was something else entirely. A young woman who should have had her whole life ahead of her was lying in his infirmary, facing the loss of the very thing that made her who she was. And this was on top of the great losses she'd already suffered. He had no frame of reference for how to help such a person, yet he knew it was his responsibility to give her back whatever self-sufficiency and mastery he could.
The healers could only take her so far. Elissa would need the help of a stronger wizard if she wanted to learn to use her powers in new ways. And he fervently hoped she did. The alternative, giving up and waiting for the Ministry to find and kill them, was too depressing for him to think about. She was too full of life for that. He might be old enough to see the futility of life, but she wasn't. At least she hadn't been. He didn't know if this injury had or would render her as bitter and heartless as he had become. He hoped not, for the thought of her light being extinguished forever was too painful for him to bear.
After Marius' departure, Alarick settled into a routine. Mornings were for work around the Keep and seeking survivors of village sackings. Afternoons and evenings were for Elissa.
Every afternoon he shut himself in the library and combed through any volume that seemed likely to contain even the tiniest scrap of information about Book Mesmers. If he was going to help her, he needed more information about her power than he had. As injured as she was, he wasn't about to press her for the information so he delved into books.
Unfortunately, there wasn't much information to find. Her ability was so unique that Book Mesmers were mere footnotes in magical history. He wrote to several of his wizard friends around the world, but they knew even less than he. Most were surprised, as he had been, to learn that such a person existed. Undeterred, Alarick ventured further afield in his research.
He read art books and discovered the works of blind artists. They weren't Book Mesmers, but the principles were much the same. He learned how they drew and painted, despite having limited or no vision. Some used grids made from wood or wire overlaid on the canvas. Others used paints in different thicknesses and textures so they could feel the difference by touch when it was on the palette or applied to the canvas. Some received assistance from others who told them when it was time to change colors or move to different sections of canvas. Alarick believed all of these were possible for Elissa.
For the drawings to come to life, she had to be the one to do the painting. But nothing he could find in the literature said that she couldn't receive assistance or use aids to help her with the work.
As far as he could discern from his reading, it was her intent that imbued a drawing with its properties. If he understood correctly, she could draw a frog for entertainment, as she'd shown him, or she could draw it to be poisonous if she wanted it to hurt someone. Same frog, two different intents. That had nothing to do with whether she was blind or not. Her ability came from inside. The painting was merely a means of expressing her intent.
As for the protection spells, she already knew those, and he was certain she could learn how to apply the ground hair and any other needed materials with time and practice. A brand new wand waited for her, resting in the center of her desk. The wand maker had outdone himself with a lovely wand made from ash. It was light in color and gleamed with polish. She'd make it her own over time, he thought, coloring it with her fingerprints as she had her old one.
What he couldn't readily help her with was the acquisition of more books. The time he spent in the library revealed the extent of the work she'd already done. Nearly every book was protected. No wonder she wanted to go out and find more. For her to have work to do, she needed books. Unfortunately, there was little more he could give her here. And he feared that without work, the loss of her vision would lead to anger and depression. He couldn't let that happen. Alarick would not let her life be wasted, as he had wasted his, in bitterness and regret.
The problem was, it wasn't safe for them to go out even if Elissa could see. Two people were much easier to spot than one. Two people doubled the chance of a silly mistake leading to their capture.
With her blind and unable to protect herself or run in the event of danger, the risk doubled. To hunt for books, he would have to go alone or send someone else into danger. And that he was unwilling to do. Alarick might be able to find a few more books in the ruins of various villages, but it wouldn't be enough to keep Elissa busy for long. She needed libraries. And he had none to offer her.
While research occupied his afternoons, he went to the infirmary every evening to read to Elissa and receive the daily update from the healers. The healers were pleased with her progress overall. The cracked ribs were healing nicely, the brands had been erased with spells, leaving only the faintest traces, and the broken arm was fully healed. The fractures in her back had been more challenging, but they believed she would walk again. Soon it would be time to get her on her feet and see how she fared.
The blindness, however, continued to be troubling. The healers had tried spells to reduce potential swelling in Elissa's brain in the hopes that this would, in turn, reduce the pressure on her optic nerves, but no real gains had been made. The one healer still advocated for time, but the others had clearly given up. Alarick sided with the one who still believed.
When his visits first began, he only read to her. They shared nothing but the most casual of pleasantries. Gradually, however, she opened up to him about what the Ministry had done to her. It was shocking to Alarick the brutality they inflicted in such a short period of time.
"I believe if you and Marius hadn't arrived when you did, I would not have survived until morning," she said. "They kept saying they wanted to place me in the square the next morning as an example, but I believe they meant to put me there as a corpse."
Alarick said very little as she recounted the abuse. There was nothing he could say that would make it better for her, or himself. Any sentiment he could express led to a fruitless desire to return to London and torture as many Ministry personnel as he could.
He was proud of her, though, when she told him about their attempts to coerce her point of origin from her.
"They kept asking me where I'd come from," she said. "They kept saying that they'd heard rumors for years about a hidden magical village. If I would tell them where it was located, they would stop torturing me."
"Do you think they would have let you go?" Alarick asked.
Elissa laughed, but there was no humor in it. "No. I think they meant they would have killed me quickly. My reward would have been a quicker death, not freedom. Although at that point, a quick death seemed awfully appealing."
"What did you tell them?" Alarick asked, fearing that she'd given in to their demands. If she had he would deal with it, but he resolved not to unleash his fury on her. Weaker men had caved under relentless torture.
"Only that I came from Keldon, which is true. I told them I was the only survivor from that village and commented how proud they must be to have finally polished us all off. Especially since a literate witch and her books had eluded them the first time."
Alarick choked on his laughter. "I'm sure they didn't take that remark kindly."
"Oh, no. That's when the inquisitor stopped hitting me with his fists and instead bashed me in the head with a mallet and the world went dark. After I regained consciousness, the branding started. They made certain I was awake for that," she whispered, turning her head away and closing the conversation.
Marius had been correct. She really had angered someone and that led to worse torture than she might otherwise have experienced. Still, she'd stood her ground. She was stronger than he'd believed.
"I'm proud of you," Alarick said as he stood to leave. "It probably wasn't the best thing to say, but you let them know they wouldn't break you."
She said nothing and Alarick left her to her thoughts.
If he went outside and screamed his rage and frustration into the waterfall, well, that was no one's business but his own.