“Come back to Trinity with us,” Jack urged. “You said you liked it there.”
Ellen laughed. “I’m sixteen years old, Jack. I have no family and no way to make a living. I can’t exactly rent an apartment. And the thing I know best how to do is kill people. I think I’m sort of a high-risk individual, if you know what I mean.” She was matter-of-fact, not asking for sympathy.
Surprisingly, it was shy Will who came to her defense. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “You have friends. We’ll help you find a place to stay. I’ll bet you could even learn not to kill people.” He grinned. “And you’re a cinch to make the girls’ soccer team in the fall.”
“Maybe Trinity would be the safest place for you,” Linda said. “Now that it’s a sanctuary. Who knows how the Wizard Guild will react to what happened today? You might be a target. Besides, you have no money and no camping gear. And you can’t exactly hike through Britain carrying a sword.”
Ellen hesitated. “I don’t usually stay in any one place for very long.”
Hastings had been staring down the Ghyll, the expression on his face unreadable. Now he put his hand on Ellen’s shoulder, and she flinched under his touch. “Why don’t you finish the tour with the Chaucerian Society?” he suggested. “I can spend a little time debriefing you. We’ll determine just how high risk you are. Then we can make a plan.”
As always, there was no resisting Hastings. And so it was agreed.
Chapter Eighteen
Trinity
More and more, there were no revelations, but simply the uncovering of truths long known but dimly remembered. Everything had been written long ago. There was nothing truly new in the world, but only the slow, circular march of time that revealed the old things once again.
“Way to skunk Jen DeBrock. She didn’t even know you were there until you blew past her with the ball.” Will grinned happily and signaled for the waitress. “But if it’s anything like last season, you’ll be seeing Garfield again in the playoffs. You only get one free one.”
Jack counted some money out onto the table. “Too bad Slansky can’t clone you, Ellen,” he said. “That way he wouldn’t have to choose. You could play goalie and forward at the same time.”
Nothing got through Ellen when she was in front of the goal. Trinity girls’ fall soccer season had been a long series of shutouts for the opposing teams. It was the talk of the conference.
Soccer was a good outlet for Ellen’s natural aggression. Which was a good thing, since she had little use for the social intrigues of a small-town high school.
Ellen grinned savagely. “I’d rather play forward. You know I like the attack, Jack.” She held his eye for a long moment, then stood, slinging her team bag over her shoulder. “I’m heading back, Will. I told your mom I’d do the front yard. There’s already a ton of leaves out there again.”
“I said I’d do it!” he protested weakly. They both watched as she slammed through the front door of Corcoran’s. Will was finding there were definite advantages to having Ellen as a houseguest.
Linda Downey had set it up. During the last part of the tour with the Chaucerian Society, she had told Will’s parents some story that no one could remember about Ellen’s parents moving away and Ellen wanting to finish high school in Trinity. Since Will’s older sister had left for college they had an extra room, and they immediately offered it to Ellen. Maybe there was sorcery involved, but Will was happy with the arrangement and Hastings felt that Ellen posed little danger to anyone who didn’t draw a blade on her.
She seemed eager to earn her keep. She was constantly chopping firewood or raking leaves or shoveling compost. She explained to her hosts that she came from a military family and was used to a very disciplined lifestyle. Besides, she liked to stay in shape.
Ellen had also joined the drama club, since she said she was used to playing various roles, and she signed up for girls’ basketball. She had not yet made any close friends outside of their small group, but it was more for lack of common ground than anything else. She’d had a nontraditional childhood, to say the least—nightmarish, in fact. Jack worried about her, but she resolutely resisted any attempts to be drawn out.
The events of the spring and summer had left their mark. Jack’s dreams were filled with bloodthirsty wizards, spells, ambushes, and deception. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep, and when he did, he woke up screaming. He managed to persuade Becka that therapy wasn’t likely to help in his case.
By fall, Trinity had had an entire summer to forget about the events at the end of the school year, since most of the players had spent the summer abroad. Some speculation resurfaced upon their return, but the town gradually fell into its usual autumn cadence, with the startup of classes at both the university and the high school, and with the departure of the summer residents. Some people noticed that Jack and Ellen seemed different after their trip to England, but then travel abroad can change a person.
“You want to hit some balls before it gets dark?” Will seemed inclined to allow Ellen to handle the leaves after all.
Jack shook his head. “Mr. Hastings is back in town. Mom asked him to dinner.”
At first, they had seen a lot of Hastings. He spent long hours with Ellen, questioning her about her training and the tactics of the Red Rose. It could have been awkward, given the history between them, but Ellen seemed to find it therapeutic.
After about a month, his appearances became more sporadic, sometimes coinciding with Linda’s. She had been in and out of town more often than usual. To Becka’s surprise, she had stayed the last part of the summer in Oxford with them, and had visited several times since their return to Trinity. It was as if she were unusually hungry for their company.
Linda and Hastings seemed to have overcome their differences about Jack’s participation in the tournament, given the way things had turned out. Jack wasn’t sure where their relationship was, otherwise. They spent considerable time together, discussing politics. But his aunt seemed determined to keep their relationship on a professional plane, which couldn’t have been easy.
Trinity High School had a new assistant principal, though everyone agreed that Hastings would be missed. Discipline had never been a problem during his tenure, despite the fact that he’d rarely issued a detention. There was just something about him that made discipline unnecessary.
Becka often invited Hastings to dinner when she learned he was in town. She always said she wanted to thank him for what he had done that day at the high school, and for his hospitality while they were in England. But sometimes Jack caught her studying Hastings’s face, as if eager to remember something lost. The wizard was a charming guest, but Jack had the sense that he was always under tight control, keeping her at arm’s length.
Keeping a promise to Jack.
His feelings about the wizard were complex. Hastings had pledged his life to keep Jack out of Jessamine Longbranch’s hands. The possibility still sent shudders through him. Considering the likely outcome had he chosen not to fight, the decision to play seemed like a good one in retrospect. But he knew that matters could have turned out very differently. Under the wizard’s influence, he’d come close to doing murder.
On one of his visits, Hastings gave Jack three books on wizardry from his collection. Jack remembered them from the library in Cumbria. “If you keep up with your studies, you might find these useful.” Then Hastings handed Jack a tiny, leather-bound book of attack charms. Jack examined it, surprised. He’d never seen it before. “I don’t keep this one on the shelf,” Hastings added with a faint smile. Jack stared at him, wondering how much the wizard knew, and how long he’d known it.
The Wizard Council had not yet responded to the events of Midsummer’s Day. It was hard to imagine they would quietly accept the dismantling of the system they’d maintained for centuries. Perhaps even now they were plotting a countermove. Jack tried to put it out of his mind. There was nothing he could do about it, after all.
Nick Snowbeard slipped easily back i
nto his role as caretaker when he returned to Trinity. He finished wallpapering the second floor of the house, and completed the renovation of the bathroom. Jack suspected there was more than a little sorcery involved. He still devoted time each day to tutoring Jack. Sometimes they focused on wizardry, sometimes other topics. There was less intensity to these sessions now, more like the old days.
Jack had never thought of Nick as anything but relaxed, but now it seemed that some kind of burden had slipped from the old wizard’s shoulders. Perhaps it was the presence of the sanctuary. Nick often frequented the coffee houses and taverns down by the university, spending hours in philosophical dialogues with his friends. He also enjoyed walking along the lakeshore, often long after night had fallen, gazing out at the stars and the tumbling gray water. Sometimes Jack walked with him, old wizard and young warrior, as the cold northwest wind drove the scent of burning leaves inland.
“So I suppose you don’t have to keep an eye on me anymore,” Jack remarked. He hesitated to bring the subject up, but he wondered if the old man might have business elsewhere, and a sense of duty was keeping him in Trinity.
Snowbeard smiled at him, and put an arm about his shoulders. “Jack, this war has been going on for centuries. I’ve found it is wise to enjoy any time of truce, while recognizing it for what it is. A truce.”
That wasn’t exactly reassuring. Still, Jack couldn’t help but feel optimistic. Freed from the effects of the Weirsbane, he’d been reborn to the race of the Weirlind. Despite their fractious interactions, he saw promise in his relationship with Ellen. And he felt safer than he had at any time since the day he took his sword out of the ground in Coal Grove.
And sometimes Jack or Ellen developed a restlessness, a need that couldn’t be denied. Ellen might call Jack, or the other way around, and they would agree to meet at the meadow. Jack would throw up his wizard’s barrier, and they would have at each other with their foils; or call up Brooks or some other old friends from the warrior army for a bout. Brooks taught Ellen a few moves, as promised, and she taught him not to underestimate women warriors.
They fought because they loved the dance, and the weight of a sword in their hands. The clash and spark of metal and hiss of flame was like music written just for them. They fought for glory, but not for blood. They were Weirlind, heirs of the warrior’s stone. And they always slept better with blades beneath their beds.
Acknowledgments:
Heartfelt thanks to my agent, Michelle Wolfson, who made all the difference; to my editors, Arianne Lewin and Donna Bray, who believed; to Hudson Writers (Deb Abood, Pam Daum, Cathy Fahey-Hunt, Anne Gallagher, Ellen Matthews, Marsha McGregor, James Robinson and Jane Sahr) who gave the gift that every writer needs: thoughtful and loving critique;most of all, thanks to Rod, Eric, and Keith, who understood.
Cinda Williams Chima, The Warrior Heir
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