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He had yet to draw the square, representing the boundary between worlds. He was the First Wizard, so Abby guessed that it wasn’t improper to do it in a different order than a sorceress in a little place like Coney Crossing. But several of the men Abby took as wizards, and the two sorceresses behind him, were turning grave glances to one another.
Wizard Zorander laid down the lines of sand for two sides of the square. He scooped up more sand from the sack and began the last two sides.
Instead of a straight line, he drew an arc that dipped well into the edge of the inner circle – the one representing the world of life. The arc, instead of ending at the outer circle, crossed it. He drew the last side, likewise arced, so that it too crossed into the inner circle. He brought the line to meet the other where the ray from the Light was missing. Unlike the other three points of the square, this last point ended outside the larger circle – in the world of the dead.
People gasped. A hush fell over the room for a moment before worried whispers spread among those gifted.
Wizard Zorander rose. ‘Satisfied, Thomas?’
Thomas’s face had gone as white as his beard. ‘The Creator preserve us.’ His eyes turned to Wizard Zorander. ‘The council doesn’t truly understand this. It would be madness to unleash it.’
Wizard Zorander ignored him and turned towards Abby. ‘How many D’Harans did you see?’
Three years past, the locust swarms came. The hills of the Crossing were brown with them. I think I saw more D’Harans than I saw locusts.’
Wizard Zorander grunted his discontent. He looked down at the Grace he had drawn. ‘Panis Rahl won’t give up. How long, Thomas? How long until he finds something new to conjure and sends Anargo back on us?’ His gaze swept among the people around him. ‘How many years have we thought we would be annihilated by the invading horde from D’Hara? How many of our people have been killed by Rahl’s magic? How many thousands have died of the fevers he sent? How many thousands have blistered and bled to death from the touch of the shadow people he conjured? How many villages, towns, and cities has he wiped from existence?’
When no one spoke, Wizard Zorander went on.
‘It has taken us years to come back from the brink. The war has finally turned; the enemy is running. We now have three choices. The first choice is to let him run for home and hope he never comes back to again visit us with his brutality. I think it would only be a matter of time until he tried again. That leaves two realistic options. We can either pursue him into his lair and kill him for good at the cost of tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of our men – or I can end it.’
Those gifted among the crowd cast uneasy glances to the Grace drawn on the floor.
‘We still have other magic,’ another wizard said. ‘We can use it to the same effect without unleashing such a cataclysm.’
‘Wizard Zorander is right,’ another said, ‘and so is the council. The enemy has earned this fate. We must set it upon them.’
The room fell again to arguing. As it did, Wizard Zorander looked into Abby’s eyes. It was a clear instruction to finish her supplication.
‘My people – the people in Coney Crossing – have been taken by the D’Harans. They have others, too, who they’ve captured. They have a sorceress holding the captives with a spell. Please, Wizard Zorander, you must help me.
‘When I was hiding, I heard the sorceress talking to their officers. The D’Harans plan to use the captives as shields. They will use the captives to blunt the deadly magic you send against them, or to blunt the spears and arrows the Midlands army sends against them. If they decide to turn and attack, they plan to drive the captives ahead. They called it “dulling the enemies’ weapons on their own women and children”.’
No one looked at her. They were all once again engaged in their mass talking and arguing. It was as if the lives of all those people were beneath their consideration.
Tears stung at Abby’s eyes. ‘Either way all those innocent people will die. Please, Wizard Zorander, we must have your help, otherwise they’ll all die.’
He looked her way briefly. ‘There is nothing we can do for them.’
Abby panted, trying to hold back the tears. ‘My father was captured, along with others of my kin. My husband is among the captives. My daughter is among them. She is not yet five. If you send magic, they will be killed. If you attack, they will be killed. You must rescue them, or hold the attack.’
He looked genuinely saddened. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help them. May the good spirits watch over them and take their souls to the Light.’ He began turning away.
‘No!’ Abby screamed. Some of the people fell silent. Others only glanced her way as they went on. ‘My child! You can’t!’ She thrust a hand into the sack. ‘I have a bone—’
‘Doesn’t everyone,’ he grumbled, cutting her off. ‘I can’t help you.’
‘But you must!’
‘We would have to abandon our cause. We must take the D’Haran force down – one way or another. Innocent though those people are, they are in the way. I can’t allow the D’Harans to succeed in such a scheme or it would encourage its widespread use, and then even more innocents would die. The enemy must be shown that it will not deter us from our course.’
‘NO!’ Abby wailed. ‘She’s only a child! You’re condemning my baby to death! There are other children! What kind of monster are you?’
No one but the wizard was even listening to her any more as they all went on with their talking.
The First Wizard’s voice cut through the din and fell on her ears as clearly as the knell of death. ‘I am a man who must make choices such as this one. I must deny your petition.’
Abby screamed with the agony of failure. She wasn’t even to be allowed to show him.
‘But it’s a debt!’ she cried. ‘A solemn debt!’
‘And it cannot be paid now.’
Abby screamed hysterically. The sorceress began pulling her away. Abby broke from the woman and ran out of the room. She staggered down the stone steps, u
nable to see through the tears.
At the bottom of the steps she buckled to the floor in helpless sobbing. He wouldn’t help her. He wouldn’t help a helpless child. Her daughter was going to die.
*
Abby, convulsing in sobs, felt a hand on her shoulder. Gentle arms pulled her closer. Tender ringers brushed back her hair as she wept into a woman’s lap. Another person’s hand touched her back and she felt the warm comfort of magic seeping into her.
‘He’s killing my daughter,’ she cried. ‘I hate him.’
‘It’s all right, Abigail,’ the voice above said. ‘It’s all right to weep for such a pain as this.’
Abby wiped at her eyes, but couldn’t stop the tears. The sorceress was there, beside her, at the bottom of the steps.
Abby looked up at the woman in whose consoling arms she lay. It was the Mother Confessor herself. But any sense of wonderment was swamped in a sea of despair, and any sense of caution was suddenly pointless. The woman could do her worst, for all Abby cared. What did it matter, what did any of it matter, now?
‘He’s a monster,’ she sobbed. ‘He is truly named. He is the ill wind of death. This time it’s my baby he’s killing, not the enemy.’
‘I understand why you feel that way, Abigail,’ the Mother Confessor said, ‘but it is not true.’
‘How can you say that! My daughter has not yet had a chance to live, and he will kill her! My husband will die. My father, too, but he has had a chance to live a life. My baby hasn’t!’
She fell to hysterical wailing again, and the Mother Confessor once again drew her into comforting arms. Comfort was not what Abby wanted.
‘You have just the one child?’ the sorceress asked.
Abby nodded as she sucked a breath. ‘I had another, a boy, but he died at birth. The midwife said I will have no more. My little Jana is all I will ever have.’ The wild agony of it ripped through her. ‘And he will kill her. Just as he killed that man before me. Wizard Zorander is a monster. May the good spirits strike him dead!’
With a poignant expression, the sorceress smoothed Abby’s hair back from her forehead ‘You don’t understand. You see only a part of it. You don’t mean what you say.’
