The Gate of Bones (17 page)

“Mom!” He hugged her back.

“I wish I'd known! I'd have baked cookies.”

He rocked in her arms and his toddler sister, sandwiched between them, let out a coo of squished happiness. “I'll be here a while, so you've got time.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Probably four or five days, from the looks of it. We've shopping to do, and I've got to look some stuff up.”

His mother loosed him, and sat down. She'd highlighted her hair with tints of ginger blonde since he was last home, and she looked good, if tired. Laura Squibb was what everyone else would probably call a beautiful woman, although Joanna McIntire was, without a doubt, the prettiest of all the moms, as slender as a feather, with short fluffy blonde hair that was never out of place. Joanna didn't look a bit like Jason and that was because she was Jason's stepmom, and of course Jason didn't look like the big bulldozer of a man, McIntire himself, because that was his stepfather and Jason was basically an orphan being raised by two strangers. But at least they were two nice strangers.

Now, Henry didn't look like his mom but when you saw Robert Squibb, you'd know right away whose son Henry was. They both had the same thick, wavy brown hair and round face, and need for glasses, and a slightly bemused look on their faces as they contemplated the many things going on around them. His dad could wear contacts but didn't, and Henry couldn't, so the glasses stayed perched on his nose. No, sir, there was no doubt Henry was Robert Squibb's son. Although, last time he looked, there were two or three graying hairs in the sideburns on either side of Robert's oval face.

Laura took her daughter from Henry's lap. “What kind of shopping?”

“Food and seeds and . . . sewing needles.” Henry shook his head as if baffled at the last.

“Oh, good!” Her face brightened. “I thought those would go over well.”

“You did?” He blinked at her and adjusted his glasses.

“Oh, yes. Good needles would be worth a great deal in preindustrial times. Why, a set used to be a valuable part of a dowry centuries ago.” She winked at him. “Women know these things.”

“Who'da figured,” Henry muttered, as she got up and briskly began to set a lunch, leftovers from dinner, which looked to be plump, juicy pot roast sandwiches, chilled applesauce, and a few other good things. He brightened. He wondered if needles went over well, how good would some decent pots and pans go? Of course, they'd be a lot heavier and bigger to drag around. Maybe he'd best leave things alone, till he was asked for them.

Instead, he wrapped his hands around a sandwich full of steaming beef and managed a smile at his mom before chowing down.

 

Jason reeled back, his limbs gone weak and his mind buzzing as he released the energy and firmly shut the Dragon Gate after Tomaz. The scenery spun around him and he had a wild thought that he was going to pass out; then the moment slithered past him, and the ground felt firmer under his feet. What the heck? All he'd done was open and shut the Gate. Twice in one week, true, but Henry had been a lot earlier. He had used far more energy than needed this time, and he clenched one hand because of it, knowing he'd wanted to shove the fact down Jon's throat that he'd opened the Gate and the Dark Hand could do nothing about it. The backwash of weakness was just revenge for that, he thought, and he put a hand out to steady himself.

A sharp splinter sank into his palm, and he yelped. The pain brought him back instantly, as he hopped on one foot, holding his hand, and trying gingerly to pinch the long sharp offender out. The thing was nearly two inches long and half of it was buried in the meat of his hand. Jason pulled it out as Gavan eyed him.

“Academy bit you?”

“Feels like it!” Jason shook the splinter and dropped it, then stomped on it. The other laughed softly. Jason sucked at the fiery wound, feeling the sting subside. “Man,” he muttered, as the pain ebbed slowly, and the tiredness hit him again.

“Tired?”

He nodded.

“Off to bed with you, then. You've done a full day's work and then some.” Gavan paused. “You let a lot of energy wash out with that last Gate.”

Jason felt his defiance spring up again, and he ducked his head, wondering if it could be seen in his eyes. “Still a little hard to know exactly how much push it's going to take to open the Gates and close them, you know?”

“And sometimes, it's fun to kick a little dirt at the bad guys.”

Jason's gaze shot up. Gavan was watching him with a kind of curious, deliberate nonexpression on his face. “I don't want him messing with Bailey.”

“Of course not. None of us do.” Gavan looked away then, out into the night, and the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes pinched slightly, as if in pain, and Jason wondered if he thought of Eleanora. Of course, he was thinking of her. They all did, and would, till they got her safely back!

Gavan shifted his weight. “All the same, Jason. We cannot give them more power over us than they already have, do you understand?”

“He won't touch her!”

“Let's make sure he doesn't. But you can't do it by expending your power just when you might need it most.” Gavan dropped his hand on Jason's shoulder. “Don't forget, lad, I've seen you play soccer. I know what a competitive spirit you have. I know it hurts to hang back, to deliberately let the enemy underestimate you all the time, but in this case—we've no choice. It has to be that way. They already have a good inkling of your abilities, I don't want them to know any more about you. Understand?”

Jason met those hard blue eyes unflinchingly. “I'll do what I have to.”

“As you always have.” Gavan smiled quickly. “I couldn't ask for more from you, but this time I am. Lay low, Jason. Learn about yourself each day, and do it quietly, because right now we can't afford to attract more attention from the Dark Hand than we already have.”

“Why don't you go after Eleanora?”

“Oh, I will. First, I need to see what they can be up to. There are wheels within wheels, I think. If I go charging in, and get taken myself, what happens to the academy? To all of you? I'm not the only one who can take care of you, but each loss weakens our chance of succeeding, of having what we want and need for Magickers yet to be found and trained. So, I wait. But don't think it doesn't stab at me, like a mortal wound.” Gavan took a deep breath. “When I left her with Fire Ann, I thought there wasn't anyone better I could leave her with, unless it was Tomaz. FireAnn, you see, has a prodigious Talent few are aware of, and it's not for cooking and herbs. Her Talent is Fire.”

Jason let his breath out slowly. “Wow.”

“Yes. And she's a bit afraid of it, and very, very careful. Too careful, it seems, or they would never have been captured, but Fire is a very dangerous element to go throwing about, eh? I think she hesitated and in that weak moment, they got her. Otherwise . . .” Gavan's voice trailed off. “Otherwise it could have been a totally different outcome.”

“So why are you hesitating now?”

“Because I must. Because we need a plan to get in
and
a plan to get out. If we cannot get out, then there is no sense in going at all. It will take all of our strengths, and weaknesses, before this is over.” Gavan squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Now go and get some sleep. I need you and Trent up early in the morning. I want Trent to review the wardings we've set into the frame. We need a roof, and soon, and it looks like the wanderers will be ready to start on it in about two days.”

Jason nodded. Walking away, it took all of his strength to keep his legs straight and moving; they felt as if they had turned into wet noodles. Sleep sounded wonderful. More wonderful even than chocolate, although he didn't have the craving for it that Bailey did.

His hand still hurt a bit, but as he climbed the stairs to his open air bed, he realized that nothing must hurt as deeply as Gavan knowing he had failed to protect Eleanora.

Nothing could hurt that badly.

Nothing.

S
TEF WOKE SORE, BRUISED, and happy. His stomach rumbled the moment he rolled over on the floor, blankets shifting and knotting around him. His stomach had probably been rumbling before he really woke, he thought, as he kneaded his belly. He ate a lot, and sometimes it embarrassed him. He wasn't a fat guy, but he knew he was no slim jim like Rich either. Trouble was, his body seemed to have to feed both him and the bear which was no longer a cub but nearly full grown, as he was himself. If he'd stayed in football—oh, man. Stef's face cracked a grin at that thought. He'd have other players peeing in their pants at the thought of going up against him!

He got up, trailing rumpled blankets like a second skin. Rich was still asleep, curled peacefully on one of the small, rush mats the healer Kektl had left down for them. During the night, Stef could see he'd managed to toss and turn halfway across the floor of the small drying shed the healer of Naria used for a guest room. He didn't mind. Kektl was good to them, always happy to see Stef, and had the use of a bathing area off the hot mineral waters for which the great trading city of Naria was famous. All Stef knew was that a good, hot soak after the sword work was very, very welcome. Beryl, the swordsmith's daughter, fought hard and taught hard, and he had great purple welts where her wooden sword had struck him through his defenses. But he didn't mind.

He also had a spot, right below his right cheekbone, where she'd given him a kiss for doing well and out of happiness he'd come to visit her. That hadn't left a bruise, but he could feel it burning his skin all the same.

Stef pulled his blankets off, folded them neatly, and cleaned up his part of the shed. Then he set off to the bathing pool to clean up again for breaking fast with Kektl who seemed to be already up and cooking, a variety of tempting odors drifting through the air. No wonder his stomach growled! He scrubbed himself again, and pulled a shirt on, then his vest, for this was a city town and his going bare-skinned under his vest wasn't proper. It also hid the purple welts. Stef grinned as he pawed at his hair and headed toward the healer's croft.

Rich, to his surprise, already sat cross-legged at the healer's table, ladling out hot tea into wooden cups. The two broke off their conversation about the merits of steam-infused herb therapy and bad coughs as Stef sat down. There was something Japanese about the way Kektl ate and lived, he realized. Low tables, sitting on the floor, sleeping on mats. He wondered about the things Trent was always talking about—who the Havenites were and how they got there. Stef wasn't normally philosophical and as his stomach growled again, he gave up the idea for a big trencher of eggs and shredded meat, and dove in.

Kektl grinned, then turned back to Rich. “As I was saying, that is part of the legend of our hot pools, I think. The steam naturally loosens many ills of the lungs.”

Rich nodded. He shoved a wooden cup of tea over to Stef as he picked up his own, to sip at the rich, flavorful drink. Not quite like home, but close enough to make him happy. After a long, wonderfully warming swallow, he opened his mouth to add to the discussion again, when he felt a tingling along his skin. With a frown, Rich set his cup down. He stood and bowed to Kektl. “I thank you for having us, but I think we're being called back.”

“Oh?” Kektl was a tall, sticklike man, with a spiky brush of gray-brown hair that stuck out in every direction despite his frequent efforts to comb it down. His eyebrows were an echo of the hair and now wiggled in puzzlement.

Rich tugged at Stefan's arm. “Come on, I think Gavan is coming after us.”

“Mmmpf?” Stef swallowed a mouthful hastily, shoveled another one in, and got to his feet reluctantly. He bowed to Kektl even as Rich pulled him out the croft doorway.

Gavan appeared in a shimmering aura of color, his cape swirling about him, then settling about his ankles. Bruise marks under his eyes showed that he had not had much sleep. “Time to go,” he said, holding out his free hand.

“But . . .”

“No time to argue. Rich, make your Talker crystal a present to your host, and we must be off.”

Rich pulled the crystal from his belt loop and hurried back to where Kektl stood at the doorway. He rubbed the tiny crystal, set in a nice metal cage of Ting's making, and pressed it into Kektl's hands. “A good luck stone,” he said. “It will help with the dialects of all your visitors.”

The healer smiled broadly. “Rich! Many, many thanks. Sometimes it is all I can do to figure out what hurts them!”

“I know.” Rich folded the man's long-fingered hands about the jewelry. “It won't last forever, but I should be back with a new one before it wears out. Thank you for having us.”

The man bent stiffly at the waist. “Any time, young healer. Return soon with your ideas. I enjoy talking with you.”

Pleasure at the compliment flooded Rich's face with warmth. A master healer finding value in his training? Wow! He broke away as Gavan cleared his throat impatiently. They linked arms and left in a whoosh and a stomach-unsettling haste and landed to a growl of Stefan's unhappiness.

“Whaddaya mean I can't go back?”

“Not for a while, Stef, I am sorry. The training is good for you, I won't argue that—”

“Then I'm goin'! And you can't stop me.”

“I can if I must, but I don't want to have to use force. Trust me on this, Stefan. This goes beyond you all the way to the Dark Hand. I can't leave you and the others out there, where they can get to you.”

Stef's face had gone dark red, and he clenched both hands into white-knuckled fists. “I'd like to see them try!”