Small Magics (25 page)

Thomas pulled apart the fabric of her shirt and shift, baring her flesh and the wound. “She’s been cut, not stabbed. The dagger didn’t go in deep.” He looked at his big friend, seeing the naked fear in his face. “She’ll live, George. She’ll be fine.” He took Eileen’s hand again. “You’ll be fine.”

Eileen, eyes closed and teeth gritted together, said nothing.

“She needs stitches,” Ailbe said. “Put a blanket under her and get her inside.” She looked at the other, prostrate forms. “What about them?”

Thomas went to look. The man he had stabbed was lying still in the grass, a pool of blood spreading beneath him, his eyes empty and staring at nothing. Thomas rocked back on his heels, stunned.

“Thomas!” George called. He and Shamus had either end of the blanket. “We’re ready,” George said. “Watch them.”

Thomas nodded, saying nothing. The men lifted Eileen without effort, and followed Ailbe inside. Thomas watched them go, the horror of what he had done momentarily overriding his concern for Eileen. He stood, lost, looking for something to do but unable to think what.

He saw his weapons on the ground and picked them up. The sword blade was soaked with blood. Thomas looked for something to clean it with, but the only spare cloth was lying on the body of the man he’d killed. Feeling nearly ill, Thomas wiped his sword on the dead man’s jacket, then sheathed both weapons and put on the belt.

He went over to the man George had punched. There was a large puddle of blood underneath the man’s head, and more from his nose, mouth, and ears. The man’s face looked pushed in, and beneath his head the boards of the porch were cracked. Thomas shuddered, thinking of the amount of force it took to generate such a blow, then stumbled back and nearly ran inside.

Eileen was on the kitchen table, Ailbe standing over her. Shamus had her legs and George her arms, holding them still as Ailbe held the bunched up cloth over the wound. Thomas stepped up beside Shamus. Eileen’s shirt was gone and her shift ripped open, exposing her from just below her breasts to her hips. Her eyes were tight shut, her teeth locked around a small length of leather. The occasional moaning noise let him know that she was still conscious.

“You,” Ailbe ordered. “Hold this cloth over the wound until I tell you. I need to thread the needle.”

Thomas took the cloth and did what he was told. Blood was already soaking through the material. He gritted his teeth and told himself he’d seen worse, though he really hadn’t. He wanted to turn his eyes away from her body, but did what he was told, instead, catching as much of the blood as possible.

“What about those two outside?” asked George. “They’ll get away.”

“They aren’t going anywhere,” said Thomas. He took his eyes off Eileen’s stomach a moment and looked to her face. Her eyes were open, and she was looking directly at him. He swallowed. “They’re dead.”

What was left of the colour drained from Eileen’s face.

“Dead?” George repeated. “How can he be dead? I only hit him.”

“You collapsed his face,” Thomas said, meeting his friend’s eyes. “I think you broke his skull.”

“By the Four.” The big man looked unsteady on his feet. The blood was still coming from his ear, and Thomas realized that the lobe had been cut nearly in two. George didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he said, “What about yours?”

“I probably stabbed his heart,” said Thomas, remembering the feeling of the blade in his hand as it sunk into the other man’s flesh. “The angle was right.”

George was shaking. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough talk,” Ailbe said. She stepped up beside Thomas. “I’m going to wash the cut, then stitch it. You wipe the blood away. You two hold her still, understand?” Both men nodded their answer. Ailbe took Eileen’s face in her hands. “Now, this is going to hurt, lass, but it’ll make the wound heal faster, so I need you to hold absolutely still, understand?”

Eileen nodded, then closed her eyes and clenched her teeth on the leather in her mouth. Ailbe let her go. “All right,” she said, signalling to Thomas to remove the cloth. “Scream if you like, lass. It makes the pain seem less.”

Eileen didn’t scream; not when Ailbe washed the wound with an herbal rinse, nor when she started sewing. George kept his eyes firmly on the ground, though his grip was steady as a rock. Shamus looked unperturbed, like one who had seen such things many times before and no longer felt anything at the sight. Thomas, watching the needle going in and out of Eileen’s flesh, felt distinctly queasy. Being a surgeon, he decided, was not in his future. Still, he cleaned the blood away when told.

Half-way through the operation a pale, white glow surrounded Ailbe’s hands. Thomas nearly fell over. A quick look at George told him the big man hadn’t seen anything. Thomas watched the glow spreading slowly down Ailbe’s hands like pale, liquid light and flowing into Eileen’s wound.

Thomas was no longer frightened for Eileen.

Ailbe finished her work quickly and neatly, tying off the last knot and breaking the thread, then having the men sit Eileen up so she could wrap a long length of cloth around her stomach. At last, the wound was covered. “All right, let her go.”

George and Shamus lay Eileen gently back and released their hold on her. Eileen pulled her arms to her chest, hugging them close. “Keep an eye on her,” said Ailbe to Thomas. “Don’t let her move too much.”

Thomas stepped back, feeling sick with horror and relief. George ran a hand over his sister’s head, then took the strip of leather from her mouth. Tears glimmered in his eyes. He muttered about getting his spare shirt and stepped away to the porch. Shamus and Ailbe stepped over to the hearth, speaking words too quiet for Thomas to hear. Thomas wanted something to do or to say, but there was nothing. He stayed where he was until Ailbe came back, wrapped Eileen in a blanket, and had Shamus carry her over to the fire.

George came in with his and Eileen’s bags in his hand and a haunted look on his face. Ailbe poured a cup of liquid, made Eileen drain it, then took George’s shirt from him. She started to strip away Eileen’s shift and Thomas turned away, waiting until he heard Ailbe rise before looking back. Eileen was lying on the blanket beside the fireplace, George kneeling beside her, his hand engulfing one of hers.

“She’ll be asleep, soon,” said Ailbe. “The drink will keep her out until morning.” She cocked her head at Thomas. “How’s your face?”

“My face?”

“Aye, or did you not know your cheek’s cut open?”

Thomas raised a hand to the side of his head, felt the blood and the pain. “I stopped feeling it when the fight started. I forgot about it.”

“I bet. Come closer.” Ailbe ran professional fingers over his face. “I don’t think it needs stitching. Just a poultice and some time. It’ll leave a lovely scar, though.” She turned to George. “And your ear is about in two, as well. I’ll fix that next.”

“What about the bodies?” asked Shamus. “We’ll be wanting them off the porch.”

“We’ll do it,” said George. His face was pale, and he had a sick look in his eyes, which stared at nothing in particular. Still, he repeated, “We’ll do it. We killed them.” His hand was still in Eileen’s. “As soon as she’s asleep.”

“Right, then,” Ailbe said, pulling Thomas back to the kitchen. “Let’s get you two put back together.”

Thomas went without protest, and managed not to cry out when she washed the blood from his face and pushed the stinging poultice against his cheek, holding it tight. Thomas once more saw the pale white glow of her magic, surrounding her hands. He could
feel
it, warm and comforting, sliding into his face, soothing the hurt there and the aches in the rest of his body. He let himself relax into her hand, let the warmth spread through him.

“She’s asleep,” said Shamus, from his spot by George and Eileen. “Go get your ear fixed, lad, then we’ll take care of the ones on the porch.”

George did as he was told, though he kept his eyes on his sister the entire time. Ailbe put a pair of stitches into George’s ear and wrapped his head with cloth. George didn’t make a sound through the entire thing. When Ailbe pronounced him finished, George stood and looked to Shamus. “Right, let’s get this over with.”

Thomas and George went out to the porch. Shamus followed them, lighting their way with his torch. The yellow light cast deep shadows all around them and made the puddled blood on the porch black. George went to the body of the man he’d killed and knelt beside him. His eyes locked on the man’s caved-in face, and a shudder went through his large frame, turning into continuous shakes that nearly made the big man’s teeth rattle. George stood up and walked into the dark woods. A moment later the sound of his retching reached the cabin.

Thomas looked down at the man he had killed. He lay on the grass, hands still clutching at the wound that had ended his life. Thomas stared at the body, but felt nothing. Given what was happening to George, he decided that he should count his blessings. “What should we do with them?”

“You can put them with the firewood out back,” Ailbe said from the doorway. “In the morning we’ll send for the sheriff.”

George emerged from the woods, looking pale and haggard. He stepped over to Thomas. “I heard,” he said. “Let’s get this done.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” asked Shamus.

“Aye.”

His voice was flat, and left no room for questions. He reached down, grabbed the man Thomas had killed under the arms and hauled him away. Thomas watched then went over to the other man. He was too heavy for Thomas to lift alone. Shamus stuck the end of his torch in the ground, grabbed the man’s feet, and together the two carried him around to the back of the house.

***

It was nearly dawn when Thomas and Ailbe spoke again.

George was inside, asleep at last on the floor beside his sister. Shamus had retired to the bedroom. Ailbe had spent the night moving back and forth from the small kitchen where she brewed medicines for Eileen to the rug where the girl was lying.

Thomas watched her go back and forth, watched George and Eileen sleeping on the floor in front of the fireplace. He felt useless. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do anything else. At last, he excused himself and went out to the porch. He sat on the step, staring into the darkness and trying not to look at the bloodstains. He felt empty inside.

The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten when Ailbe stepped onto the porch.

“I did say we’d talk in the morning,” she said, setting herself down beside him.

“Aye, you did,” Thomas agreed. “Though I doubt you meant this early.”

“I wasn’t sleeping, anyway.”

He turned away from the woods to look at her. “I’m sorry we brought all this on you. If I’d known—”

“Just be thankful the girl’s alive,” said Ailbe, waving away his words. “If that knife had gone deeper…”

“Aye.” The thought made Thomas shudder. He changed the subject. “Ailbe, how old were you when…”

“How old was I when what?”

“When you first found out about the magic,” said Thomas. “About the healing.”

Ailbe went quiet. Thomas waited. At last she said, “Did Timothy tell you about that?”

Thomas shook his head. “I saw it.”

“Saw it?” Ailbe’s eyes went wide. “What did you see?”

“White light. Going from your hands into the cut.”

Ailbe’s mouth fell open and she looked at her hands. “I’ve never seen it,” she said. “I can feel it, but I can’t see it.”

“Timothy said people had gifts. Small magics. I guess this is mine.” He sighed. “Or I’m insane.”

“That’s how I felt,” said Ailbe. “I’d just become a woman. I was walking in the forest and I found a bird.” Her gaze went far away. “A fox had been at it. I picked it up, wished it was better, and felt… I felt myself making it better.” A smile ran over her face, erasing some of the weariness there. “I healed it but its wing was too twisted to fly. I kept it as a pet for years.” Her eyes came back into focus. “What about Timothy? What did you see with him?”

“A ball of light,” said Thomas. “That trick he does. I saw it was a ball of light, not wood.”

“He still does that?” Ailbe shook her head. “I warned him about that trick.”

“Everyone in the crowd saw it,” said Thomas, “but he showed them his wooden ball and they all believed him. But it wasn’t a wooden ball. It was light.” Thomas could see Timothy in his mind, laughing at the crowd. “I saw him bring the wooden ball out of his pocket after he’d put his shirt back on,” said Thomas.

“You saw that?” Ailbe’s eyebrows went up.

“Aye,” said Thomas. “He didn’t try to hide it that well. I’m surprised no one saw it before.”

“They couldn’t,” said Ailbe. “His gift was making things invisible.”

That caught Thomas off-guard. “What?”

“He could make small things invisible. Like a piece of bread or one of my dolls,” she snorted at the memory. “I used to go mad looking for my doll and he’d be sitting there, hands in his lap.”

“But, I thought the ball of light…”

“No. He learned that.”

“
Learned
it?” The idea rocked Thomas. “Where?”

“No idea,” said Ailbe. “He just showed up one day with a big grin on his face and a ball of light in his hand. Sent me for a loop, I can tell you.”

Thomas leaned back on his arms, thinking. “If he could learn a trick like that…”
Maybe I can learn how to help my father.

Ailbe wrapped her arms around herself, stared out into the sunrise. “It seems a stupid thing to kill him for.”

Thomas couldn’t think of any reply to that. He sat still beside Ailbe, watched the sky grow lighter with the coming dawn.

“Why would the bishop kill Timothy?” she asked at last. “Why would he take his magic?”

“He called it a corruption,” Thomas said. “When he was trying to take mine, he said something about the Rebel Son and the Blessed Daughter, and that he would turn it to the High Father’s work.”

Tears were coming down Ailbe’s face again. Her whole body shook with them. Grief filled her voice. “How is killing my brother the High Father’s work?”

“I don’t know.” Thomas reached a hand out, wanting to offer comfort but unsure how. He let the hand fall.