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Quinn was faintly aware that Arwen was in Kiril’s energetic body, monitoring her, and sent out a call for help as soon as the monster’s tentacles first tickled at her awareness. She emerged from the trance shaking and sweaty, clutching Arwen’s hand, and more scared than at any other time in years of exploring the Aura.
Dal was next to her in an instant, helping her with the mug of water she’d placed beside the stool. Arwen rested both hands firmly on her shoulders and spoke in a continuous low voice, bringing her back. When she was confident her mind had returned fully to ordinary reality, she started to speak, choked, and gulped at the water. Finally she said, “This is... I hardly know how to describe... It tried to grab me. Take me, too... as if it’s conscious.”
“Alive. Spawn of the beast that attacked Kiril,” Dal said.
“Not just a spell, then,” Arwen said.
“It is, but it isn’t.” Quinn swallowed more water, then held out the empty mug. Dal refilled it and handed it to her, wrapping his own strong hand around her shaking one.
“Kiril’s hosting this thing, as if the beast planted a demon inside him that wants to devour him. Or... no, that isn’t accurate. As if it will devour him if it can’t drag him back into the hills. And if he does go... as an educated guess, the hills themselves will destroy him. There’s too much I don’t understand.”
“You understand enough,” Arwen said. “We’ve only grasped the most basic aspects of the spells on the hills, benign actions like turning non-Weavers around and dumping them out where they started. It makes sense that there would be more.”
“But this?” Dal said. “I never dreamed the hills held this much menace. Or that the Aura itself could cause harm. It’s our lifeblood. Our sustainer.”
“My stomach’s roiling.” Quinn glanced at the still man on the cot, then looked more closely. A tension that hadn’t been there before marked his face, pulling his mouth into a taut line. She sensed panic in his eyes. “Something’s changed.”
“I see it, too,” Dal confirmed. “It’s time to take action, whatever we decide. Fast.”
Arwen had already gone to the door and rung the bell for a runner. When the child appeared, she barked out her orders. “Energy bars and caff, quick as you can. Have them delivered, then go fetch Beatris and Dorcas. Tell them it’s urgent.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The boy disappeared, and Arwen sagged against the doorframe. “That’s what I felt when I helped you get out? An attack on you?”
Quinn nodded, her mouth set in a line matching Kiril’s for grimness.
“Come with me.” Arwen strode from the room. Quinn and Dal exchanged glances as he assisted her to her feet.
In the Healers’ garden, out of Kiril’s hearing, Arwen said, “I’ve called the others for a confab. We need to decide how to handle this, and quickly. I assume it’s impossible for the demon spell to escape Kiril’s body, and I’m absolutely sure we don’t want it to. We can’t risk letting this thing go viral. We may have no option but to sacrifice him, and it with him.”
“Oh, Diou,” Dal muttered. He’d paled under his tan.
“No,” Quinn said. “There’s too much to learn—”
“And the need to question everything we believe in,” Arwen said. “But I felt it, Quinn, and I was only in for an instant. Nobody expected that. If it had been a Healer, or even a less experienced Scribe who ventured deep enough to touch the demon, the consequences could have been catastrophic.”
Dal shifted uneasily. “As Healers, we make a commitment. When we take a life, or allow that life to extinguish, it’s for the good of the patient, at his wish and to prevent intolerable suffering. Not because he presents a danger to society. But we’ve never dealt with a challenge like this. Morally, I wonder if Kiril’s demon could be considered an epidemic.” He frowned and turned from the two women to pace the courtyard. Dal had always been a thoughtful man, interested in the philosophy behind his Healing skills as much as actual Healing.
“If it gets loose, the risk compounds.” Quinn followed Arwen’s thought to its logical conclusion. “And remember, we have no way of knowing the effect on the demon, should Kiril die.”
Beatris hurried up. “They found me in the dining hall. The caff and food are on the way. What’s happened?”
Arwen filled her in. Quinn stood silently, still too appalled by what she’d experienced in Kiril to speak up.
“We just did the binding on the power cell,” Beatris said. “We have experience now. Can we go in there and find that thing and tie it up?”
That forced a hoarse snort from Quinn. “It’s hardly that simple.”
Beatris stood a fraction taller, offended. “I was called here. My solution may not be the best, but it is a starting point. You’ve no right to laugh, Quinn.”
The day had galloped out of control. Quinn still clenched the mug of water; she took another swallow. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Bea.”
“Quinn’s just had the stuffing scared out of her,” Arwen put in. “She’s off base.”
“You should have said.” Beatris reached into her pocket and extracted a small vial. “Here. Two drops.”
As she administered the remedy into Quinn’s compliant mouth, Dal rejoined them. “It’s a measure of how shaken we all are. I should have seen to that. Dose Arwen and me, too, please, Beatris. And then it might be wise to administer to Kiril. He’s frightened.”
A runner from the dining hall appeared with a tray. Arwen took it, managing a tight smile in thanks.
Dorcas arrived shortly after Beatris finished dispensing her remedy. She looked older than her years, her weather-beaten face etched with new lines. Quinn’s frayed nerves had begun to release; the shock had lessened, leaving her more grounded. Arwen led their small group to a circular seating area at the far side of the Healers’ garden, Dal filling Dorcas in as they walked. She placed the tray on the center table and poured caff for them all. Manna. Quinn eyed the energy-giving liquid, but she opted first for a seed and honey bar, to settle her stomach.
“Suggestions? A binding has been proposed, as has sacrificing Kiril to rid the community of the threat.” Arwen used the voice she adopted for fractious meetings and recalcitrant apprentices, brooking no nonsense.
Dorcas sat, pulling Quinn down beside her. “You okay?” she asked quietly. “You look pale.”
Quinn couldn’t resist a bark of laughter. Her, pale? There had been dark-skinned Weavers in the past, but at the moment her caff-colored skin was unique at the Motherhouse.
Her arm still around Quinn, Dorcas asked the group, “There’s no chance of Healing this?” As a senior Scribe and the person who had controlled the binding of the power cell, she was well positioned to grasp the implications of Arwen’s narrative.
“We believe not,” Dal said. Quinn heard defeat in his voice. “It’s not an illness or injury. It’s energetic.”
Dorcas nodded. “We can’t remove it?”
Quinn shuddered. “Uncertain, with dangers either way.”
“And is there a benefit to keeping Kiril alive?”
Beatris bristled. “He’s a human being. A man. Of course there is.”
“Perhaps,” Quinn said more slowly. “There’s always the possibility that if Kiril dies, the demon will leave his body and... be on the loose in the Motherhouse?”
Arwen muttered a curse under her breath.
“Anyway,” Quinn continued, “we have so much to learn from him, if he ever gives us the opening. If he ever trusts us enough.”
“Nothing stops us from talking to Joss instead,” Dorcas said.
But Joss was in Hallan Hot Springs with Willow now. Furthermore, the two men’s perspectives were radically different. “Kiril was the commander. Arguably, his knowledge differs from Joss’s, and may be more valuable.”
“But is this necessary information?”
“Yes,” Quinn said flatly. “Even apart from the beast in the hills. If what they told us is true, we’re soon to be invaded by thousands more from their planet, maybe millions.”
The group sat silently in the morning sun, absorbing this.
Dorcas broke the impasse. “How dangerous is it?”
Quinn took her time before answering. “If we get in and out quickly, there may be minimal risk. But I’m not sure I believe that. It’s as if it has feelers. If it gets a chance to grab one of us, it will. The initial attack was about six nine-days ago. Not even a season, but it’s had time to gain strength...”
“Beatris may well be right. Our only viable alternative is to bind this spell.” Arwen’s eyes reflected her discomfort as she surveyed them. “How long can you keep him alive, Dal?”
“Another day or two, perhaps.”
“The longer we wait, the more challenging it becomes,” Quinn mused. “But devising a binding takes time, even based on what little we know from Kiril and Bryar.”
“Bryar’s at Ezra’s,” Dorcas said. “We can reach him there.”
“At some energetic cost. Energy we can’t spare.” Arwen stood. “I will cajole an early lunch from the dining hall. Then we must set to work. Dal, please assign others to Kiril’s care. I want you involved. Dorcas, round up any available Scribes to handle the link to Bryar. Quinn, come with me.”
Crossing the green, out of earshot, Arwen said, “I assume that if we attempt this binding, you will lead it.”
Surprised, Quinn shook her head. “After what just happened? I’m still shaking.”
Arwen’s face set into the hard lines that told her they were both out of options. “Don’t think I’m extrapolating my own expectations on you. It’s imperative you be involved this time, despite the potential cost. When I was monitoring your progress, I touched his energy as well. I preferred not to discuss this in front of the others, but you need to know. Kiril resisted me. He didn’t resist you.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes every sense. Anyone with eyes could see he feels something for you, even if it expresses as antipathy. You and Dal are the two he’s likely to let in. If he fights us when we try to do the binding, the potential for disaster increases. You’ll go in first, not so deeply that you risk exposure to the demon, but enough to reassure Kiril. Make him accept what we’re doing.”
She couldn’t deny the attraction; the decades-long trust between Arwen and her was too strong for that. She just didn’t like it. The man was insufferable, arrogant, dismissive, and looked at her as if he wanted to throw her onto any available surface and...
She shut down that line of reflection quickly, but not quickly enough. Arwen smiled. “We’ll have your back. How many will we need for this template, do you think? And do we use only Scribes? I’m inclined to involve Healers as well. Dal, for sure. Is Beatris sufficiently recovered from the cell binding?”
Quinn shrugged. “You know she’ll insist, now that we’ve brought her in.”
“So she will.” Fatigue permeated Arwen’s words as she added, “It may be a season before the Motherhouse recovers from this.”
The two women discussed the logistics of the upcoming work, keeping it light, until they reached the dining hall, where the others caught up with them. Quinn recognized what Arwen had been doing: talking her down, bringing her focus back.
She was the tough one. But for the first time she questioned her stamina, given the magnitude of the challenge they now faced.
~~
ARWEN HAD GROWN MORE determined as time grew short. They needed to understand the spell – or spells, Quinn thought grimly – in the hills. They needed to know more about Terrans before boatloads of them turned up in the Midland. They had no idea what might happen if Kiril, as host to the demon in him, died.
All in all, Kiril was worth saving.
They had allowed themselves a window of two days, an absurdly short timeframe but still too long, to devise the binding and practice. Two days during which a team of Healers kept Kiril alive, barely, utilizing every energetic and physical tool in their extensive arsenal to prevent his further deterioration. It was a rearguard action, fought clumsily since it dealt only with symptoms, not the root cause.
In the end, space determined the participants in the binding. To work within the confines of Kiril’s personal aura, they decided on a maximum of three: Dorcas, Dal, and herself as lead explorer in the uncharted terrain that was Kiril. Hunting down his demon. Through linking, they relied on Dal to navigate his anatomy. She and Dorcas would deal with the weave, binding the demon inside him and hopefully saving his life in the process.
They worked with minimal information, scant idea of the boundaries of the thing inhabiting him, and no true concept of its powers.
Quinn’s lack of sleep manifested as total absence of peace of mind. She lived on a knife edge of caff, anticipation, and dread. Everything had to go perfectly, without room for error.
Oddly, this binding relied more on life force than had the one for the power cell. She and Dorcas had spent a worrying hour scanning Kiril’s inert body, looking for any clue to the best way to subdue and contain the beast inside him. Although they came away empty, they both sensed that life force was inimical to it, and so an effective method to weaken, possibly destroy it.
The afternoon of the second day, Arwen tracked Quinn and Dorcas down in a workroom on the ground floor of the Scribes’ lodge, an elaborately marked sheet of paper between them and ink stains on their fingers. The template they had diagrammed was functional, Quinn believed, but it lacked refinement. Both of them worried that it would leave gaps, places where the demon might loose its poison again.
“Time’s up,” Arwen said. She sank heavily onto a stool with no sign of her usual, erect posture.
“Can’t be,” Dorcas riposted. “We’re going to be working into the night to refine the template.”
“What’s happened?” Quinn felt a chill cross her skin.
Arwen heaved a heavy sigh. “Kiril’s sinking. They doubt he’ll last until tomorrow. His legs are spasming, and Beatris says his face is contorted, as if he’s in pain but catatonic, so he can’t explain.”
Dorcas swore. Quinn was silent.
“What I’m saying is...” Arwen spoke as if each word was an effort, each fact more difficult to express than the last. “The best we can hope for now is whatever we’ve got. If we partially contain the demon, we’ll go back in later and tie it off. But if we wait, we’ll lose Kiril. With no clue if the demon’s a parasite or a scavenger.”
At the image, Quinn grimaced, then looked to her fellow Scribe.
“Give us an hour,” Dorcas said.
Annoyance crossed Arwen’s face. “Why? I’ve just told you what—”
“Because in the state we’re in now, if we go in we’ll both mess up. Neither of us is alert enough. Find a runner and get a fast-acting sleep remedy, or whatever the Healers use for instant energy – except caff. We’re both high on the stuff.” She slapped her hand on their diagram and addressed Quinn. “An hour’s nap. Then we nab the beast.”
Dorcas hadn’t met the beast in person. Quinn wished never to meet it again. But as happened so often lately, there were no alternatives left. She nodded.
Unhappy but resigned, Arwen went off to find either a Healer or a messenger kid to obtain the remedy. Dorcas rolled up their diagram. “I assume you’ve memorized this? And remember where our energies join?”
“Yes.” Quinn’s shoulders slumped. “I’m heading for my quarters.” Because to be honest, nothing sounded better than to nap for an hour. Or a day, or a year.
~~
TIME UP AND PLANS LAID, Quinn eyed her team as they stood around the cot in the healing room, each of them preparing in their own way for what was to come. Shafts of pale, late afternoon light from clerestory windows penetrated the somber atmosphere, heightening the awareness of the contrast between life and the darkness inhabiting Kiril. Arwen, Beatris, two other Scribes, and a junior Healer sat along the far wall. Their emergency rescue crew.
The work, creating a template, delving into the Aura, was familiar. This application was not. As in the day in the field, their hands were bound together. Quinn stood next to Dorcas on one side, Dal on the other, their arms reaching across Kiril’s torso to form the circle.
Quinn took a breath, nodded to her partners, and closed her eyes. The others linked with her in the Aura, and the work began.
Because they had no idea of the demon’s dimensions, she and Dorcas encompassed Kiril with their weave, then gradually shrank it. They followed the anatomical trail forged by Dal, but Quinn had the feeling she was moving through something dark and unexplored, every movement, every tightening of the template presenting a new risk. Only desperation and years of training kept her going. Through the link she felt her comrades’ competence, and their fear.
Abruptly Kiril cried out. All three of them flinched but continued, until the template was as tight as they could make it. At her signal they tied off the binding and emerged into ordinary reality again.
Simple.
Except that she had no idea how much time had passed. Dal collapsed forward across Kiril’s chest. Dorcas fell to the ground, her hand still clutching Dal’s in a form of rigor. Quinn felt... she couldn’t even describe it. Helpless, perhaps. Unable to grasp the depth of what they had just accomplished. Arwen reached their side in an instant, releasing their hands, helping Dorcas to stretch out on the floor. Quinn stood staring at nothing, waiting for reality to return. Dal didn’t move.
His voice rusty from days of non-use, Kiril said, “What the hell?”
After that, the healing room devolved into chaos. Arwen thrust a pastry into Quinn’s hand, then went straight to Dal, helping him to the floor. Beatris distributed the magic drops Healers always kept stowed in their pockets. The other onlookers stepped over them to tend to Kiril, who had begun to shift about on the cot.
With Dal stretched out and under the care of the Healers, Arwen turned Quinn toward the door. “Outside,” she said.
An evening mist coated the world and pulled diffuse aromas from the healing plants in the garden. As soon as she’d managed to stumble into the garden, Quinn raised her arms to allow the soft caress of moisture on her skin.
“Success?” Arwen demanded.
“Think so,” she said, full sentences being too demanding. Quinn realized she held a pastry and nibbled it. Abricoe, sweet and tangy against her tongue.
“The three of you?”
As her legs stabilized underneath her, Quinn led the way to a bench under the eaves of the Healers’ lodge. “Okay, as far as I know.”
“And the binding?” Arwen asked.
“We’ll check once we’ve had time to recover. Kiril spoke, didn’t he? That’s a good sign.”
“Very good. I hope someone in there is keeping him under control.”
Quinn produced a smile. “Headstrong?”
“You two are a match.”
She shuddered. She and Kiril? Not a chance.
~~
DORCAS HAD MANAGED to walk back to the Scribes’ lodge; Dal had been helped to his quarters in the Healers’ lodge. Quinn didn’t feel that great herself, although she’d be hard pressed to explain exactly where the problem lay. It was more as if her entire body had been subjected to a nasty influenza. A Healer administered to her, support she accepted gratefully.
None of them had emerged with injuries, physical or energetic, beyond the shock of the working itself. Quinn hoped that meant they had escaped infection.
After allowing herself an hour to recuperate, interrupted by Arwen who attempted a debriefing until Quinn finally refused to say any more and walked out, she made her way back to the healing room. Kiril sprawled in a chair, idly watching as Noni, a junior Healer Quinn knew only slightly, remade the bed. She seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with her patient.
“Better?” Quinn asked the young woman, ignoring Kiril.
“I can’t find anything wrong, other than weakness. I’m waiting for Daren.” Although he no longer actively traveled, as the head of their guild Daren was the ranking Healer at the Motherhouse. She’d rather have Dal there, but knew it to be unlikely. He was at least ten years older than she, and those years made a difference, especially with two crucial bindings within a nine-day.
She turned her attention to Kiril. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Communicative as always. We just saved your life, you know.”
“Good for you. Another feather in your cap.” His face didn’t reflect quite the indifference his words conveyed, but his tone shut her out as if to make it clear that however deeply she’d penetrated his energy field, she hadn’t been welcome.
She stood over him, hands on hips. “For a reason, not because we particularly wanted to. The least you can do is cooperate.”
He met her eyes without shying away. “You perhaps have the mistaken belief that I care.”
“You’d rather be dead?”
He shrugged and looked away.
Frustrated, she ranted on, ignoring Noni’s gentle hand on her arm. “Did you ever consider how bad it could be? Given that thing that possessed you, you might have died in agony. You could have suffered for days, seasons even, before it let you die. While it consumed you. Ate you up from the inside. Is that what you wanted?” her voice climbed as she spoke, until she was virtually shouting in his face.
She got no reaction. He shrugged again, but said nothing.
“He’s all yours,” Quinn said to Noni. “Fool.”
She wheeled and stormed from the room. Conflicted, exhausted but also with energy she needed to burn, she headed for the little lookout over the turbulent river where she’d spent so many hours as a teenager.
She heard the unexpected flute before she saw him, a shadow against the darkening sky.
“Bryar!”
He was on his feet in an instant, arms wide. Quinn threw herself into them and let herself sink against his chest. Bryar. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, her voice muffled by his tunic.
“After the communication at Ezra’s? Did you think I’d stay away?”
Finally releasing each other, but still touching, they sat side by side watching the water. “I left as soon as I could. Got here an hour ago. I didn’t see any of you in the dining hall.”
“Arwen cornered me. All I wanted was sleep.”
“Kiril?”
“His usual obnoxious self, but shaken, I think. He won’t give. What’s he protecting, Bry? What’s he afraid of?”
“He never lets on. He saved me, though, when he didn’t have to. And he took the fall for Duncan’s death.”
“Hush.” Quinn turned to him and put fingers across his lips.
Bryar seized her fingers and kissed them. “No, you hush. If I can’t say this to you, who can I ever say it to? My knife sank into his body. Whether there was another, a final blow... I don’t know if I killed him, Quinn. But I can’t deny my intent.”
“To save your life.”
“Yes. By taking someone else’s. I live with that. And Kiril... he could have made a decent life for himself in Borgonne, if he’d stayed instead of sticking with me. It’s a better fit for him over there.”
“Will you go see him?”
“You don’t believe I came this far to see you, do you?”
She punched his shoulder, and he laughed. “Maybe I can help. But for as long as we were together, I can’t say he ever revealed a clue to his thoughts. He helped me, though. Unnecessary things that made my life more comfortable until we could escape from Borgonne. I’m glad you saved him, Quinn.”
“Temporarily. The weave wasn’t as tight as we’d wanted. Dorcas and I may need to repeat the whole thing. We rushed. We were out of time, and once we got in, we were afraid his demon, whatever it is, would get us, too.”
They sat in silence for a while, the sound of the river filling the spaces.
“We’ll be okay,” Bryar said. “We have to be.”
“Did Tai come?”
He shook his head. “She’ll enjoy being without me. Tai’s... untamed. She needs her space.”
“Not a domestic bone in her body?” Quinn nudged him with an elbow.
“Damn good cook, actually. You should visit.”
“I’d love to. I need to get out of here. The last year’s taken its toll.”
“On everyone.”
“And not over yet. The threat of more Terrans turning up – hopefully they’d be more like Joss than Kiril – and Arwen says she’s picking up something in Borgonne, so everyone’s on edge. I just want it finished, Bry.”
“It will be. Don’t worry. Relax. You’ve done the work of multitudes today.”
“And the only reward is Kiril. Persuade me that’s a good thing.”
He grinned. “Not yet. But I’ll go see him. Maybe I can convince him to be polite, at least.”