The Facility, Eganene
She waited until the boy slept to begin her preparations, having given him a strong tea to make sure slept deeply and well. There were a thousand things she might be able to do during the battle, but she only had energy for a few of them. Jamie had to be the priority. She owed him that. He needed to survive this fight. He needed to find Bekka and his sister, and he needed to go home.
Some of the Yillel still moved about the carriage, but she didn’t have to worry about them seeing what she was about. “Come here,” she gestured to Kretsca. The child had been watching her for the past hour as if she knew what she intended.
The girl crept closer, exaggerating her stealthy movement. With all the noise, she needn’t have worried. Jamie would sleep because he needed it. “What are you going to do?” Kretsca asked in a little voice.
“Help him. As much as I can.”
“How?”
Agatha smiled, “Fetch me a lantern, a low burning one, and set it beside the bed. You may watch me if you wish, but you may not see anything.”
The child frowned, but did as she was bid, returning quickly with a clouded lamp. When she set it down, it bathed Jamie’s face in a yellow light. It wasn’t a healthy look. Agatha brushed away her fears. Now was not the time to get all superstitious.
The Yillel were highly religious people, and she had seen Jamie praying beside Artemus. She didn’t know if the Eganese gods would answer his prayers, but saying the words with the Yillel had always been rumored to be good fortune. Agatha smiled at the child and pulled her pendant from beneath her shirt.
Kretsca’s eyes widened, “That is beautiful. May I touch it?”
Agatha slipped it from her neck and placed it in the girl’s palm. Her daughter Caroline had been young and curious once, as had Bekka. It made her heart feel heavy and full at the same time. “It is a majic amulet,” she explained. “It helps me focus my Power, lets me draw in more than I could without it.”
“My grandfather thinks you are a very powerful witch. I heard him telling my mother.”
“Perhaps once, but today I am an old woman. My Power is much less than I remember and I have not used it in many years.”
“Because of the Family? Because they would hunt you?”
Agatha nodded, “Yes. I also lived far from here. It was a place without majic.”
“I wouldn’t want to live in a place like that,” the girl whispered. “Is that where he is from?”
Agatha looked up in surprise, “You know he is not from Eganene?”
“Of course, although that seems wrong. He talks strangely, but he has a feel about him.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, apprehension making her voice hoarse. When she first met Jamie there had been something about him, something she couldn’t place. She remembered thinking that he moved too quickly, that he was too sure of himself to be from Earth. The only people she knew of who could heal themselves were from Reynald’s line, from the northern reaches of Eganene. But that wasn’t possible.
Kretsca blushed and looked down, “I shouldn’t say. My mother would be angry with me for even mentioning it.”
“Humor me, child. What do you feel?”
The girl frowned, but took Jamie’s hand in her own. She didn’t say anything at first but used her thumb to trace the blue scar that started at his pinky and traveled up his arm.
“He won’t wake,” she murmured, and Agatha realized that her eyes were closed tight. “His body knows he must sleep now. That tomorrow he will fight for his life.”
“Majic?” Agatha asked.
Kretsca shook her head, “Not like yours. Not like mine. I don’t know.” Her shoulders slumped a little, “Maybe if I was older, if I had seen more of the world, I could place it. But…I tell you this…he belongs here, just as you do.”
“How can that be?”
The child giggled, “I don’t have the answers. I’m only little.”
Agatha sighed. Of course she shouldn’t be searching for answers from a child. “Come on, girl. I mean to start. You’ll have to give me back my necklace.”
Kretsca smiled, pulling the amulet from her pocket, “I was hoping you would forget about it.”
“Not a chance. Watch if you will, but I need to do this. I want to rest before the battle begins.”
The child didn’t answer, but put Jamie’s hand back on his chest. Then, she knelt beside Agatha’s feet, “I’m ready.”
Agatha slipped the necklace back over her head, fixed her hair and took a deep breath. Scottie was behind her on the bunk, his warm body against her back. He was purring like a little motor, and the sound helped soothe her. It was time. Waiting wouldn’t make the job any easier.
Deliberately, Agatha put her hands over Jamie’s head, her fingers dangling inches above his eyelids. What she was about to attempt was similar to the healing spell, but instead of using the boy to guide her work, instead of using his energy, she would be providing the fuel and the direction.
She breathed deeply feeding her spell Power from the air. It was easier than she thought it would be. Perhaps what Jamie had said was true. It is possible that the very boards of the carriage were imbued with majic.
“Pretty,” the child said. “It looks like sunlight in the lake.”
Agatha started, but did not stop her spell. She hadn’t expected the child to be able to see. In front of her was a maze of light. Some she had taken from the carriage’s walls, some from the lantern, some from the air. Her fingers danced above the boy’s face, knitting the strings of light into the pattern she wished.
“Are you doing something with the light?” Kretsca asked.
Agatha ignored her. Now wasn’t the time to talk. She was too old to multitask.
Slowly, the design emerged. She had taken license from the chain mail the Yillel had gifted him. Knowing them, the armor was probably already spelled in some way, the gods imbuing it with more strength because it was crafted by the devout.
But the links she wove had no gaps. She could see it at the finest level, the threads, each of them weak and flickering. Together, though, they were something else entirely. Woven like a net, they formed a glittering, golden web that hovered over Jamie like a heavenly shroud. Agatha blinked away the thought.
The cloak was not a shroud. It was a layer of strength that would settle into Jamie’s body when she released it, dissolving into his skin so that every motion he made would be strong and faster, more agile than he expected. She wanted him to feel strong, to own his ability with the sword without fear of tiring, without the chain mail dragging him down or his muscles failing.
If she had her way, tomorrow Jamie would be all that youth was famed to be, relentless, untiring, stout, and ready. She glanced to the side, seeing Kretsca glaring at the area above Jamie’s chest. The girl could see something, but she couldn’t help. Not in this.
Instead, Agatha called on her pendant, releasing the energy that had been saved inside it. It was different than her Power. Heady and strong, she could almost smell it, the scent of youth and fire, of the Umbilicus calling her, beckoning her on. It was only remembered emotion, a ghost limb flexing its muscles.
The Power rushed out to her fingers. She didn’t have to call, it came for her, hastening as though returning home. Agatha drew it in, the same way a swimmer took their last breath before the plunge. It felt good, the energy coursing through her body, tingling on her fingertips, asking to be used. It also felt dangerous. She felt like she was sizzling from the inside, like she was glowing with Power.
“I think I see it,” the girl murmured at her feet.
Agatha bit the inside of her mouth. The pain was helpful; it reminded her of what she was about. Carefully, she let the well of Power drip onto the web above Jamie. The soft, flickering lights changed at the touch, tripling in brightness, every strand doubling in size. There would be no gap in his armor, no place for the tip of a sword. As long as Jamie protected his head, he would leave tomorrow’s battle unscathed.
She worked for a long time, and the child was still beside her in the morning. Agatha rolled over on her side, searching the cabin. There wasn’t much to see; it was still dark outside. But there was sound and movement. She checked Jamie’s bunk and found him already gone.
“He went to practice,” Kretsca supplied when she asked. “I think he likes his new armor. He looks good today. Healthy.”
Agatha nodded, retying her hair into a bun. It surprised her that she was still so vain, but she didn’t want anyone to see her out of sorts. Last night had been just the beginning. She still had a role to play, and she intended to look composed when she did it.
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Outside, dawn had almost crested the mountain. The air was warm, horizontal slashes of color filling the sky with orange, yellow and pink. She found Jamie almost immediately. He was off to the side of the clearing practicing his forms. She was surprised he hadn’t removed his chain mail, although her spell should have made his load easier to bear.
At closer inspection, it was obvious he had been practicing for some time. His blond hair was matted to his head, and small group of younger men and children surrounded him. A young boy approached Agatha, a question in his eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
The child cleared his throat and stood up straighter, “The Hunter is from your wagon?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he would teach me? I mean…when the battle is done?”
Agatha stifled her laugh. Apparently, Jamie had impressed the lot of them. “Is he so very good?”
“Better than my brother,” another of the children replied. “I’ve seen the forms he is doing, but not the way he does them. It’s like he is water.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t think about what he is doing,” the child continued. “It’s beautiful.”
Agatha harrumphed, “Battle isn’t beautiful. It is ugly and terrible.”
The children scattered. She didn’t mind that she frightened them. As soon as Jamie stopped, she needed to talk to him.
Artemus beat her to it, hailing Jamie from the side of the wagon. “You want Bain with you, today?” The troupe leader looked handsome this morning. His hair was back in a bun, reminding Agatha of a samurai knot. The mail he wore covered his chest and legs, and his sword was strapped against his back.
Jamie faltered, his eyes focusing, “I…”
“It’s a simple question, boy. Do you want to ride Bain into battle or not? I don’t know your horse, but he seems like a brave soul to me. I think he would carry you to Tod himself.”
Jamie looked to Agatha, but she didn’t have any words for him. How he wanted to meet this day was his decision alone.
“You have armor for the horses?” the boy asked, wiping his hair back.
Artemus nodded, “A chest plate, guards for his legs and mail for his neck.”
Jamie approached his horse, putting his cheek against the animal’s face. He didn’t wait long to respond, “All right. I think he can do it.”
Bain pawed the ground in agreement.
“It won’t take me long,” Artemus said as the first rays of sunlight brightened the sky. “Should be a few dozen of us on horseback, all said. We will walk them through the forest, form up on the eastern side of the clearing.”
Jamie touched the beard that covered the lower half of his face, “The villagers are in place? Everything is ready?”
“As ready as we’re going to get,” Artemus answered. “Eat something if you want, we won’t have another chance until nightfall.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“No, me neither. Come help me get Bain’s armor then.”
Agatha watched them leave. They were close to the same height, Jamie thinner and his steps lighter. For a moment they almost looked like father and son. She shook her head. It was time to make her way to the valley, to get into position. Choosing the right spot was important. She needed to be far enough away from the battle to be physically safe, while close enough to see individuals and focus her help.
It took her a long time to reach the Facility. The fighters moved through the woods with purpose, their strides long and eager. Many times they passed her, sometimes with a nod of greeting and sometimes without. Agatha did not fault them their lack of civility. Instead, she gave each one something, a tiny thread of Power, a light blessing. She couldn’t do for them what she had done for Jamie, but perhaps the charm she laid on them would be the change in luck they needed.
Many of the women and children walked beside her. They did not speak, not even the children. Each of them had roles to play, jobs to do to help care for the wounded. They would run messages from one part of the field to the other and replace broken weapons or armor. Some had more dangerous jobs. For the most part, this would be the role of the older children, the ones close to adulthood. Agatha had heard their plans and approved. Distracting their opponents would give their older siblings, their fathers and mothers, precious seconds of stolen time.
She crested the last mountain, feeling the ache in her legs, the tiredness of her old bones. Below her the snow had melted away and the field was brown to the Facility’s walls. She hoped it wasn’t soft. If the ground was muddy, the warriors’ feet would sink deep, making it harder for them to move quickly.
The Facility itself was as big and daunting as David and Noah had said. The walls were high and stone, and the gates manned by two towers. Before she had a chance to settle herself, it began. From all around her, from the surrounding hills, a song emerged. It started with just one voice, the sound throbbing into the open air.
Within seconds, more voices joined, the tune swelling. It was sad and gentle, the melody wavering sweetly. Agatha fought the urge to close her eyes, to let the music soothe her. The clouds above her head seemed to darken, as though it were night again and her bed was calling her to sleep.
She pressed her fingernails into her hand and glared into the open field. There was a man not far beneath her, a Family man, a guard who was protecting a drain of some sort. She watched him sit down, saw his sword drop to the grass.
Several men ran from the forest beside him, opening his throat as they loped passed. Another forty followed, the metal of their chainmail gleaming in the sunlight. Agatha recognized them as Yillel, but could not tell one from another.
Before she had a chance to try, the horses emerged from the forest. There were only a dozen. Agatha was able to pick out Jamie and Artemus. They rode at the front of the party, holding the reins tightly in their hands, restraining their mounts from moving faster.
Behind them came a hundred men. Not all were Yillel. She could tell by their dress, but they each wore a small section of chain mail. These were the Hunters, the men from Faenella and Carth and Summerville.
Agatha swallowed her surprise. From what she had heard, the Eganese hadn’t had a major rebellion in ten years. The fact that all these people had gathered and were willing to fight, that they would risk retribution on their wives and children, spoke volumes.
Each man carried something in their arms, their weapons, swords and bows still strapped to their backs. Agatha couldn’t see what it was exactly, but she knew what it was for. She saw the men elbowing each other. They were fighting the effects of the Yillel song, keeping their friends and neighbors upright and moving. She wondered what had become of the Family’s force. Hopefully, they were all asleep.
Jamie’s contingent made it to the wall before the Family responded. As soon as they were beneath the stone, the men dumped their packs, unraveling their ropes and grappling hooks. Quickly, they tossed the the equipment into the air, trying for purchase.
Two things happened simultaneously. The gate opened and the men on the wall woke. They didn’t wait, but started firing on Jamie’s troops.
Gun shots ripped into the air, and Agatha flinched. Most of the men at the top of the wall had bows and arrows, but those with guns and bullets would destroy the advantage Jamie had earned by getting close. Agatha glared into the morning light, waiting to see a smaller glint of metal, something that couldn’t be a sword.
There!
She took a breath and focused on the man, watching as he bent over the railing to choose his target. Gathering her strength, she extended her hands and hardened her will. At her neck, the amulet flashed once, emitting the Power she needed.
The man toppled from the wall. Agatha didn’t see him hit, she was looking for another gun. Luckily, the next man she found was as foolish as his partner. Again, she sent a pulse, a rush of death out in a wave of energy.
This time, when she pushed him over the edge, she watched him fall. The drop might have been enough to kill him, but the men waiting on the ground made sure of her work.
It was then she remembered the open gate. She turned towards it, fearing what she was going to see. There was no way to know how many troops the Family had inside their fortress, but there were several dozen men making their way out of the opening. Agatha had hoped for less. These men were trained professionals, men who had made their living by killing others. The Yillel and the townsmen were at a significant disadvantage.
She tried to see what was in their hands, but they moved too fast, turning towards Jamie’s group so that she could not see. Carefully, she started down the mountainside, trying to get closer, to find a better position. Some of the women followed her, the sound of their song changing.
The music no longer sounded like a lullaby. It had turned darker, the chorus an echo of fear and distress. Agatha tried not to listen. It filled her with dread, made her feel like she was going to fall and snap her neck, that her old bones were brittle and dry. And the longer she thought about it, the more she felt. Even the colors of the forest began to change. The blue sky and shoots of young grass disappeared from view. She was left with the brown of decay, her boots sinking into the corruption of the forest, her body vanishing in the thick shadows.
Agatha felt a hand in her hand and looked down. It was Kretsca, the child’s face painted in brown and black. “You stopped,” the girl whispered. “You were listening to the song.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you going out there?” she asked, pointing towards where the two groups were about to clash.
Agatha coughed, “Where are the rest of the Yillel?”
Kretsca looked up at her wide eyes, “I don’t know. I can’t see anything from down here.” She pulled on Agatha’s hand, “You need to do something about those men. There are too many. The villagers are trying to get up the wall.”
The child was right. Only the men on horses were facing the group from the gate. Suddenly, the Yillel music was shattered, gunshots exploding into the morning air.
“Do you see them?” Agatha asked the girl. “Can you tell which men have guns?”
“Not from here. We have to get closer.” Kretsca pulled at her hand, “Let’s go!”
Agatha stumbled after her, trying to keep up. Screams and cries resounded from the battlefield, the clash of weapons and the detonations reminding her of the day her daughter died. The ground was wet and her cane sunk deep into the muck when she leaned her weight against it. Kretsca was young and impatient, leading her on.
A few dozen women and children were following her. Soon, they were ahead of her. “Wait,” Agatha tried. “You’re moving so fast. I can’t keep up.”
The child smiled back at her. “See what is in their hands. They will get you close, hide you in plain sight.”
Agatha stumbled, “What do you mean?”
“A trick! Come on!”
It took them too long, but eventually they were close enough. The women chose when to stop and set the pots they carried in a long line. Agatha was bent over, fighting to catch her breath. She was too old for this! She didn’t want these people risking their lives for her.
“Can you set the pots on fire?” the girl asked.
Agatha nodded, still unable to speak.
“Good. We will go back, get more fuel. Light the pots.” And then the child was running away, back to the woods. She still had streamers in her hair, brown and black ones that matched her make-up. In no time, Agatha was alone.
That wasn’t true. A few hundred feet in front of her, a battle raged. She could see Artemus and Jamie, still on top of their horses, hacking at the men surrounding them. Already the ground was littered with bodies. Some wore black, some Hunter’s garb, and others the drab browns of common farmers.
Agatha grabbed her amulet with one hand and extended the other to the row of pots. She screamed into the din. No one heard her, but they saw the flash and the brilliant, white light. The pots were broken, the liquid inside of them spilled upon the ground. Purple smoke steamed where it hit. It didn’t dissipate into the air. Instead, its thickness rolled on the wind, waves of the stuff moving towards the embattled men.
It was no ordinary smoke. The compounds and ingredients that suffused from it were drawn towards the Yillel chainmail. She recognized the smell from one of the dinners Artemus’ daughter had prepared on their trip.
Soon, Jamie and the rest of the mounted men were cloaked in billowing clouds of smoke. Agatha hoped they could see to fight. She looked down, realizing that the same substance covered her and that she could see just fine.
The Family men were given no such cover. The smoke appeared to bend away from them whenever they moved through it. It left them exposed in large swaths of open space. Agatha tried to count her opponents, to determine how many men still threatened Jamie’s life, but her view was constantly changing.
Men lunged in and out of the smoke like daylight wraiths, the purple trailing behind them, swirling in place as it was disturbed. They were moving toward her position, the whole battle shifting away from the wall towards the gate.
She watched them come, feeling her heart race, the smell of blood mixing with the smoke in a way made her throat constrict. No one had spotted her, so she stood her ground, her body hidden within the wall of purple smoke. Raising her hands, she readied herself, preparing to unleash the remainder of her Power.