She gripped his arms tightly. "No, it is not just magic that earns them death. It is evil magic. In all the years I have been with you, I have never seen you persecute someone that had not committed some terrible evil."
"I wish I could be certain of that."
"In Cortton, someone has conjured up a plague that has killed half the village. The dead walk the street, preying on the living. That is evil, Jonathan, and only one man can stop it. The mage-finder. You will hunt down this rogue magic-user and see that he is stopped." She stood just an inch or two taller than he, her face earnest, eyes searching his.
"Will Gersalius come with us to persecute one of his own?"
"If Gersalius will not aid us against a necromancer, he is the wrong wizard to be tutoring Elaine." She seemed to think of something that made her smile. "If the wizard agrees to come, surely that is proof that even a mage does not approve of murder and raising the dead."
He knew she meant it to be comforting. If Gersalius agreed that it was evil, he was probably not evil, and if a mage approved of the mage-finder, Jonathan was not wrong to hunt them. But what if Gersalius only went along to spy for the other wizard? What if he used his power over Elaine to corrupt them all? And what was he, Jonathan, thinking to give the mage power over Blaine, too? But if Blaine had magic, wasn't he in danger of its emerging at odd moments? Wasn't Blaine in as much danger as Elaine?
Jonathan shook his head. Tereza hugged him, pressing her strong arms tightly across his back, trying to comfort. He clung to her, taking the warmth offered, but he was not comforted. Too many doubts had been raised. Too many things he had been certain of were now as fragile as thin ice.
He was the mage-finder, but now, for the first time, he wondered if he was also a murderer. Tonight, and for many nights to come, he would be reliving past events. He would be searching for evil in the people he had helped destroy. He would go over every job, to see if the magician had been truly evil, or just misguided, to see if there had been a way short of killing them, or causing others to slay them.
Just a few short weeks ago, if Tereza had told him of someone else doing what Elaine had done in the shed, someone showing that much uncontrollable magic, he would have had her imprisoned, tried to see if she were a danger to others. And he would never have allowed another mage near her, to aid her, to teach her.
Jonathan clung to his wife, breathing in the scent of her skin, the warmth of her body. He clung to her like a drowning man. Quilt began to eat at his mind, feeding the doubts. Guilt and doubt; they were two things the mage-finder had never dreamt of, until now.
EIGHT
The snow grew deeper the closer to Cortton they rode. The horses slogged through drifts that dragged against their bellies. The gentle mare Elaine usually rode was safe at home in its stall, too old, too fat, too slow. In its place, a slender brown horse capered through the deep snow, or as close to capered as it could. Elaine was glad of the snow. It would make a fall a little softer.
She hadn't fallen yet, but she clung to the saddle horn with both hands, reins laced through her gloved hands. There was a look in the young horse's eye that was almost laughter, and Elaine was sure she was the butt of the equine joke.
Blaine drew up beside her, one hand on his reins, the other free to gesture. "Isn't it beautiful?"
His gesture pointed at everything. Ice clung to every tree limb. Every bush was an ice sculpture with bones of black wood. Bright sunlight dazzled the eye, sparkling and dancing from every twig. Elaine squinted against the brightness. There was nothing but light and brightness and a harsh beauty as far as she could see.
She stared into her brother's smiling face. "It is pretty."
The smile faded. "What's wrong?"
Her horse nipped at Elaine's knee. He avoided the snapping teeth without seeming to think about it. She sighed, breath fogging, joining the ice crystals already clinging to the fur of her hood. "Nothing."
He cocked his head to one side, hood sliding backward. His yellow hair was almost as bright as the sun-kissed ice. "Elaine, something's wrong. What is it?"
"This horse."
He prodded its hip with his foot. The horse gave a little jump. Elaine made a very unladylike squeak. "Blaine Claim! What the blazes do you think you're doing?"
He looked instantly contrite, worried, sorry. "You're really afraid of the horse, aren't you?"
"Yes."
Blaine, who had never been afraid of an animal in his entire life, touched her shoulder with his mittened hand. "The horse doesn't mean any harm. It's just young and full of vinegar."
"If it were full of vinegar, it'd be a pickle," she snapped.
He let his hand drop back under his cloak. "I'm sorry I scared your horse, Elaine. I wouldn't have done it if I'd known it'd bother you like this."
She shook her head, the fur of her hood sliding against her face. An ice crystal scratched her cheek, a sharp bite. She touched the spot with her fingertips. A spot of blood showed on her gloves. She was suddenly unaccountably angry, as if it were Elaine's fault, though she knew it wasn't. It was a small cut, so why was she furious? Something was wrong.
"Get Gersalius."
"Why?"
"Just do it!" She turned away from the hurt in his eyes. His every emotion was always there in his eyes. She had no time for it.
Blaine rode forward in a cloud of snow. His cantering horse sent ice crystals sparkling in the air. The sunlight lit the gushing snow like diamond dust. A dim rainbow danced in the spilling snow. The sparkling light hurt her eyes.
She turned away from it, to find a small bush that glowed with silver fire. The light ate into her head. All she could see was silver light. It burrowed into her brain like a stabbing sword. She wanted to turn away, to close her eyes, but couldn't seem to do it.
"Elaine, can you hear me?" It was Gersalius's voice, warm and pleasant, the voice from the kitchen. "Yes."
"What are you seeing?" "Light."
"Describe the light to me." "Silver, white."
"Is it just reflected light from the ice?" "I don't know."
"Can you see anything else besides the light?" She shook her head, and the light swung and trembled like a metal mirror that been struck. Nausea burned at the back of her throat. She took deep breaths of the cold air, swallowing convulsively. "Could this be one of your visions trying to come through?"
"It doesn't feel the same," she said. "You are beginning to control your magic, Elaine. Where before visions came of their own accord, without your control, perhaps now they will only come if you ask them to."
"How do I do that?" Visions had always been easy in a way, effortless. It was like falling once she'd decided to jump. Once she let herself go, she couldn't do anything but experience it. She certainly couldn't stop it or change her mind. Pressure wasbuilding behind her eyes. The light was expanding to fill the inside of her skull with cold, hot, white light.
"The magic is asking permission, Elaine. Let it come."
"I don't know how."
"Concentrate on the light. Feed the light to your magic; let them intermingle. It is what you have always been doing, but now you are doing it on purpose. You are simply aware of the process. Nothing else has changed."
She knew he was lying, but couldn't think how. She concentrated on the light, the brightness. As soon as she did, she could see again. She was still looking at the ice-covered bush. Sunlight beat sparks from it until it ran with silver flame. Elaine concentrated on one twig. She memorized the way the ice molded to the dark wood, the faint blue highlights that chased the white light. She could almost feel it against her fingers, slick, cold, smooth. Mo, there was a little bump in the ice where a twig stuck out, a tiny imperfection. Elaine could not possibly have known that. She could not see it, and she was still sitting on her horse, not touching the twig.