Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) (54 page)

“She wouldn’t—” Josiah grimaced. “I guess she might. So what am I supposed to do if she’s there?”

“Let her go,” Vigorre urged. “I won’t tell Elkan. We can warn her, tell her to run. She’ll be a fugitive, exiled from both Ramunna and Tevenar. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

Josiah exchanged glances with Sar. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Vigorre figured that was good enough for the moment, since Nirel wouldn’t actually be there. He pointed out Kabos’s cottage. Josiah knocked on the door, then pushed it open at a muffled call.

A woman came to meet them. Vigorre recognized her as one of the members of Ozor’s company he’d seen around the village. She turned and covered her mouth to sneeze before smiling wanly at them. “Thank the Mother you’ve come. He’s far gone, but I hope you can save him.” She extended her hand. “I’m Eifel Brewerkin Brewer.”

Josiah clasped her hand in the Tevenaran manner. “We’ll do what we can, Master Eifel.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Just Eifel, lad. I never made master. But that’s a long tale and long past. Come in and see if there’s anything to be done for poor Kabos.”

Josiah followed her into the bedroom, Sar at his heels. Vigorre trailed behind, reluctant to face Nirel’s father again.

He needn’t have worried. Kabos lay still on the bed, only harsh breathing and an occasional racking cough giving evidence he still lived. Josiah moved to his side, but didn’t reach for Sar. “Did he start to show symptoms during the voyage? How long has he been back?”

Eifel looked at him blankly. “Voyage?”

Vigorre cursed silently and tried to think. Josiah frowned at Eifel. “Didn’t he go on a trading voyage with Ozor? Vigorre said they left at the beginning of the week.”

Eifel spread her hands. “Ozor’s been in port for months now, ever since he returned from Giroda with the healers. He wouldn’t leave just when that venture’s going so well.”

Josiah swung to face Vigorre, bafflement and dawning suspicion in his eyes. “I thought you said—”

“I passed on what Nirel told me,” Vigorre said, trying to put shock and hurt anger in his voice. “After we finished in the field, I said I’d be back the next morning to pick her up, and she said that Kabos was insisting she come with him, that Ozor would be sailing before dawn.” He clenched his fists and scowled. “More lies. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Eifel looked back and forth between them. “I wondered where Nirel went. She’s not staying with her friend in the city?”

“No,” Josiah said shortly. “She’s probably miles away by now. It doesn’t matter.” He turned his attention back to Kabos. “So when did he start having symptoms?”

“About three days ago? Yes, I think that’s right. He keeps to himself, you know, but I heard him coughing Fourthday evening at the well. I didn’t think anything of it until he collapsed this morning, right outside his door. The women have been taking turns sitting with him, but there’s not much we can do.”

“I don’t think there’s much we can do, either.” Josiah felt Kabos’s forehead, pulled back an eyelid to reveal angry red where there should have been white, and grimaced. “I’m sure it must be measles, but without checking I can’t be completely certain.” He turned to Eifel. “We have reason to believe Kabos is one of the Faithful. Or Dualists, as the Ramunnans call them. They refuse to be healed with the Mother’s power. Do you know anything that would suggest we’re wrong?”

Eifel’s eyes were wide. “A Dualist? What gives you that idea? I never saw any sign he had dealings with those Mother-haters.”

“Nirel told me,” Vigorre said. “She said he was one of the last in Tevenar, and that both of them learned more and fully embraced their beliefs after they came to Ramunna.”

“Well I never!” Eifel glanced fearfully down at the bed and backed away. “That’s been the worst of living here. This village the Matriarch gave us is lovely, but it’s too near those cursed folk. I always feared their influence might corrupt us.”

“Did you ever hear him pray to the Mother? Did he go to Restday services, or observe privately?”

Eifel shrugged. “No, but then none of us are very devout. Restday’s just a welcome break from work.”

Josiah bit his lip, stared down at Kabos, then turned to commune urgently with Sar for a few minutes. Finally he blew out his breath and rolled his eyes. “It’s no use. The Law says any adult can refuse healing if they want, and we’re not allowed to force it on them. Since the best information we have is that Kabos would refuse, we can’t heal him unless he wakes up enough to give his consent.”

Eifel’s brow furrowed. “But surely he’ll die without a wizard’s healing.”

“Probably.” Josiah shrugged helplessly.

Good riddance, Vigorre thought, but resisted saying it aloud. Nirel would be far better off free of Kabos’s abuse.

Josiah rubbed his face, then turned with forced cheerfulness back to Eifel. “You have no objection to the Mother’s power, do you?”

“Certainly not, but this cold is nothing that needs a wizard’s help.” Eifel waved her hand dismissively.

“Actually, it’s probably the beginning of measles as well.” Josiah motioned to the chair beside the bed. “I expect all the Tevenarans in the village have it. Sit down and we’ll clear yours up, then we’ll take care of the rest.”

With a few more half-hearted protests Eifel complied. Sar and Josiah sent a gold wave of the Mother’s power around her. The redness in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks abated.

When they were finished she rose, refreshed strength in her movements. “Come along, then. There’s many others who’ll appreciate your attention.”

Vigorre and Josiah followed Eifel from house to house. None of the Tevenarans besides Kabos were severely affected yet. But most of them welcomed the offer of healing and were dealt with swiftly.

A man named Tereid scowled fiercely at Josiah and braced his arms across his doorway, barring their entrance. “I don’t want your so-called help,” he growled. “Do you think I’ve forgotten how you and your master knocked me out and tied me up? Or how your friends snuck up on us in the middle of the night and captured us only a few miles from freedom? How you locked us up so we nearly got swept away by the flood?”

“Do you remember how we diverted the water to save you from drowning?” Josiah retorted.

Tereid glowered but didn’t deny it. “Go away.”

Josiah made an annoyed face and was about to comply when Ozor strode up behind them. “What’s all the fuss, Tereid?”

Tereid turned his shoulder to Josiah. “The wizard brat and his nag were just leaving.”

Ozor raked Josiah, Sar, Vigorre, and Eifel with sharp eyes. “What’s going on, Eifel?”

She poured out an explanation. By the time she finished, Ozor was nodding, a calculating look in his eyes. “I thought I felt worse than an ordinary cold would account for. Tereid, stop your foolishness and let the boy heal you.”

Tereid opened his mouth to protest, but broke off at Ozor’s cold look. “Oh, very well.” He sneered at Josiah. “Do it, boy.”

Vigorre was impressed that Josiah managed to keep his temper. He slapped his hand on Sar’s back and shot a blast of power over Tereid. His healing progressed as fast as the other villagers’ had, but Vigorre saw the same red rash that Nirel had suffered spread over his face and arms for a moment before turning brown and vanishing. That hadn’t happened with any of the others.

Tereid endured until the light winked out, then slammed his door without another word. Josiah wrinkled his nose at the blank wood. He turned to Ozor, polite but wary. “Would you like us to treat you here, or would you rather we come to your house?”

“Here’s fine,” Ozor answered. He stood patiently while Josiah and Sar healed him. Again Vigorre noticed the rash appear and disappear.

He waited until they were finished with all the Tevenarans and had bid farewell to Eifel to ask. “What did you do differently with Tereid and Ozor?”

Josiah shrugged, looking vaguely guilty but pleased. “With most of them we slowed the disease at the same time we sped up their body’s defenses. So it never had a chance to fully develop before it got wiped out. With them we sped up everything. The disease progressed the way it would have without the Mother’s power, but a lot faster. So for a minute or two they got to feel the itching and fever and all the rest.” He shrugged again. “Either works. Sar had no problem doing it the simpler way.”

“Hmm. So they’ll be immune to it from now on like I am. I wonder if the others will?”

Josiah’s eyes got wide, and he looked at Sar for a moment. “I don’t know. Elkan didn’t say. Maybe he never thought about it. We’ll have to watch and see if any of them come down with it again. The women will be tending Kabos…” His eyes got the distant expression that meant he was dreaming up clever ways to test his ideas.

Vigorre listened as Josiah rambled on about that subject and others, occasionally making interested noises or asking questions, all the way back to the city. It was easy to keep him distracted from the question of where Nirel had gone. A few times Josiah started to question Vigorre about the day’s revelations, mostly incredulous queries into how he could have been fooled into thinking the familiars were demons, or at least how he could have kept on thinking it after he saw them at work. Each time Vigorre answered as briefly as he could get away with and changed the subject.

They reached the far side of the Dualist Quarter and passed through the gate into the market. Vigorre waved vaguely. “Father expects me home soon. Will you be all right going back to the palace by yourself?”

Josiah wound his fingers in Sar’s mane and nodded. “We’ll be careful.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Vigorre raised his hand in farewell and turned onto the street that led most directly to his home. He forced himself to maintain a measured pace while Josiah and Sar were still in sight. But as soon as the road bent, he ran, ducking through the light Restday crowds with breathless apologies to those he pushed out of his way.

He barked orders at a footman, blurted an explanation to his father and Nathenarre, then took the stairs two at a time, not waiting to see if they understood or approved. He burst into Nirel’s room, glad to find her fully dressed and sitting in a chair.

She looked up from the book she was reading, her face going still as she saw his expression. “What’s wrong?”

There wasn’t time to be anything but blunt. “You’ve got to come. It’s your father. He caught measles after all. I was just there; he’s not doing well.”

She turned pale and the book slid from her hands. “What?” She jumped to her feet. “How—?”

He caught her arm as she tried to shove past him. “I’ll take you in the carriage; it will be faster. I’ve already ordered it brought around.”

“Yes. Good.” She swallowed, shook her head, and grasped his hand. Hers was cold and damp. “Let’s go.”

The few minutes they waited on the porch before a servant drove up with the two-seater felt like hours. He helped Nirel to her seat, then jumped up and took the reins. As soon as he maneuvered them out of the narrow confines of the drive into the open street, he urged the horses to a fast trot.

He endured Nirel’s silence as long as he could, focusing on steering efficiently around the sparse traffic. Finally he blurted, “It’s not your fault.”

“Of course it is.” She stared straight ahead. “He hasn’t left the village since we moved in. Where else did he pick it up, if not from me?”

“Didn’t children with measles come to the tent shows?”

Her eyes narrowed as she considered for a moment, but then slumped and shook her head. “I don’t remember any.”

“There probably were, though.” He wished he didn’t have to hold the reins so he could put an arm around her shoulders. “But even if he did catch it from you, it’s still not your fault. You didn’t know you could be carrying it. If anything, it was Elkan’s fault for not warning you.”

She wrapped her arms around her body. “I guess.” She was silent for a long time. Just as Vigorre was about to say something else well-meaning but probably useless, she shivered. “How bad is he?”

Vigorre wished he could soften the news, but she’d see for herself very soon. “Bad. Eifel said he’s been unconscious since this morning. Josiah kept hoping he’d get a chance to talk him into accepting healing, but he didn’t wake up the whole time we were there.”

She huffed with something between a laugh and a sob. “He’d just have cursed at him if he had. He hates Josiah even more than the other wizards. Even if the Lord of Justice didn’t forbid it, he wouldn’t let Josiah touch him. Not even if—”

Vigorre’s heart clenched at her stricken expression. She turned desperate, pleading eyes to him. “He’s not, is he? Surely if I take good care of him, feed him broth and keep him clean and wipe him with cool cloths to bring the fever down, like Nathenarre did for me, he’ll be fine. It will be harder for him, Elkan said it was worse for adults, but that just means it will take him longer to recover. Right?”

He couldn’t bear to crush her hopes. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll pray to the Lord of Justice every minute. This is a test of our faith. He’ll see that we stay true and grant us his blessing.” She twisted her hands together.

“Nirel.” Vigorre searched for the right words. “Your father’s very sick. You have to prepare yourself for the possibility—”

“No!” She whirled on him, eyes blazing. “He’s going to live. Whatever it takes. I’ll do anything.”

“Why?” Vigorre glared at her. “Why do you care? I’ve seen how he treats you. Like a servant. No, worse than that, like a dog. As if you were his possession, his to command.”

“He does not! Father loves me. He follows every Ordinance about how a father should treat a daughter. If he’s harsh sometimes, it’s only because he has to be. I haven’t always obeyed him like I ought to. Of course he had to punish me. How else would I learn?”

“You mean he beat you into submission. I know how cruel those Ordinances are. Father’s petitioned the Matriarch for years to forbid the abuse Dualists commit in the name of their faith.”

She hunched her shoulders in a way that told Vigorre he was right. “He had to,” she repeated. “I deserved it.”

The thought of Kabos’s hand raised in violence against the daughter he should have protected filled Vigorre with rage. “And he deserves for you to spit in his face and leave him to die in his own filth.”