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Chapter 21
Rye glared into the crowd. These were his people. His friends, new and old. A few of them had known him all his life. Others were temporary residents of Cloughban, gifted independents looking for a place to rest for a year or two or ten. Tonight they were afraid of him. All of them were colored with fear. To the animal that rested inside him, they smelled of it.
They were right to be afraid.
But they were here, here at Echo’s invitation. She’d told him they would come, that they knew he was changed but they still cared about him.
Fools, all.
If the dark side was in complete control, he wouldn’t bother to warn the people of Cloughban about the planned Ansara attack. They were here, gathered as they had for so many town meetings, but that didn’t mean he had to participate. There were enough psychics in the group to make sense of what was to come.
He could leave. Now, tonight. He’d take Cassidy—and maybe Echo—and go, leaving the village to be taken by the Ansara. Even if they knew what was coming, they wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight. He looked around from his perch on the stage. These were gentle people, people hiding from a world that didn’t accept who and what they were. They were shopkeepers, farmers, wives and husbands and grandparents.
The pub was as full as it had ever been as night fell. The faces around him were solemn and afraid. The villagers were here, but no one came too near him. No one but Echo, who sat on the edge of the stage just a couple of feet away. She refused to acknowledge her fear, even though he felt it on and in her.
She wasn’t afraid of him, she was afraid for him.
He explained as best he could, in as few words as possible. Ansara. The stones. This place. “The invaders will arrive tomorrow afternoon, likely near nightfall,” he said in a calm voice. “I suspect they will bring weapons of magic as well as weapons of more ordinary destruction. We have to be prepared for anything.”
He was silent as they talked among themselves for a few minutes. All of them were glad to have the opportunity to turn away, to look elsewhere for a while. When they looked at his face they saw the dark. Some saw more deeply than others.
No. They see both, and they are afraid for you.
Of me.
For you.
He looked at Echo while around him the townspeople talked about where to put the children and the elders who were unable to fight. They discussed defenses, weaponry, and arranged for the drugstore to be prepared to house the injured, while the two healers in the area treated them.
His anger got the best of him and he pushed into her head with, Why are you still here?
She remained calm. You know why. I’d say it aloud but I don’t want you to break anything. Or anyone.
It was Maeve Quinlin who bravely approached Rye and asked, in a tremulous voice, “I must tell you, I’m worried about Maisy. I haven’t seen her since yesterday afternoon. Do you think one of these Ansara persons abducted her?”
Rye felt no guilt when he answered, “Maisy is dead.”
Maeve’s shock was clear on her face. “Are you sure? What happened?”
The truth, always. He hadn’t wanted to tell all, but it had been foolish of him to think this part of the truth could wait. “I killed her myself.”
Many in the crowd gasped. A few edged toward the door.
He didn’t owe anyone an explanation, but he needed these people to fight with him. For him. No, for themselves. “She was one of them,” he said. “I caught her attempting to sacrifice my daughter.”
“No!” Maeve said. “I don’t believe that. Maisy was a good girl.”
No one had any reason to believe him, not today, but they did believe Echo when she said, “I’m afraid it’s true. I saw Maisy raise a knife to Cassidy. I’m sorry, Maeve, but she was not the woman you all believed her to be.”
“Cassidy? Is she all right?” someone from the back of the room asked.
“She’s fine,” Echo said with a tempered smile. “Scared, but unharmed.”
“What about McManus?” Nevan asked nervously. “He should be here.”
It was Rye who answered before Echo could. “He’s unharmed.” Trapped in the cottage with Bryna and Cassidy, invisible to any eye but his own, but alive and kicking.
The question Rye had been waiting for came, again from a coward who was hidden by other bodies. “What happened to you?” It would not be difficult to reveal the person who asked that question, but Rye didn’t bother. One brave soul had merely asked what everyone else was thinking.
