Stone of Tears

Wide-eyed, Margaret rose slowly to her feet. Across the circle, the Sister who had held the cloth also rose, and pulled off her hood. “Margaret dear, how nice of you to show such interest in our little group. I didn’t know you were that stupid. Did you think I let you see the quillion in my office by accident? That I wasn’t aware someone was interested? I had to know who was skulking about, looking into things that were none of their concern. I let you see it. I wasn’t sure though, until you followed us.” Her smile froze Margaret’s breathing. “Think we are fools? I saw the pool of Han you cast for us to step in. I obliged you. Such a shame. For you.”

Margaret’s hand was clutched tightly around the gold flower at her neck, her fingernails digging into her palm. How could they have seen the pool of her Han? The answer was tragically simple: she had underestimated them. Underestimated what they could do with the gift. Her mistake was going to cost her her life.

But only her. Only her. Please, dear Creator, only her. She could sense Jedidiah close at her side.

“Jedidiah,” she whispered, “run. I’ll try to hold them off while you escape. Run, my love. Run for your life.”

His powerful hand came up and gripped her upper arm. “I don’t think so, “my love.’” Her eyes were captured by his cruelly empty expression. “I tried to save you, Margaret. I tried to get you to turn back. But you wouldn’t listen.” He glanced to the Sister across the clearing. “If I got her oath, couldn’t we just…” The Sister glared back. He sighed. “No, I suppose we couldn’t.”

He gave her a strong shove into the clearing. She came to a stumbling stop at the edge of the candles. She had gone numb. Her mind refused to work. Her voice refused to work.

The Sister across the circle clasped her hands together, looking to Jedidiah. “Has she told anyone else?”

“No. Just me. She was looking for proof before she went to anyone else for help.” His eyes returned to her. “Isn’t that right, my love?” He shook his head again, the smirk of a smile touching his lips. Lips she had kissed. She felt sick. She felt like the biggest fool the Creator had ever seen. “such a shame.”

“You have done well, Jedidiah. You will be rewarded. And as for you, Margaret… well, tomorrow Jedidiah will report that after trying to avoid the insistent affections of an older woman, he finally and firmly rejected you for good, and you ran away in shame and humiliation. If they come here and find your bones, it will confirm their fears that you chose to end your life because you felt unworthy to live any longer as a Sister of the Light.”

The dark-flecked eyes glided back to Margaret. “Let me have her. Let me test my new gift. Let me taste it.”

Those eyes kept Margaret frozen, her hand still clutching the gold flower at her neck. She could hardly breathe through the numbing agony of knowing Jedidiah had betrayed her.

She had prayed to the Creator to give Jedidiah strength, strength to help others. She had had no idea who those others would be. The Creator had answered her prayers, foolish as they had been.

When the Sister consented, the thin lips widened in a greedy grin. Margaret felt naked, helpless, in the penetrating gaze of those flecked eyes.

At last, Margaret made her mind work. Her thoughts sprang to a terrified groping for a way of escape. She could only think of one thing to do, before it was too late. With panicked abandon, she let her Han explode through every fiber of herself, and brought forth a shield; the most powerful shield she knew—a shield of air. She made it hard as steel. Impenetrable. She poured her hurt and hate into it.

The thin smile never left. The flecked eyes didn’t move. “Air, is it then? With the gift, I can see it now. Shall I show you what I can do with air? What the gift can do with it?”

“The Creator’s power will protect me,” Margaret managed.

The thin smile turned to a sneer. “You think so? Let me show you the Creator’s impotence.”

Her hand came up. Margaret expected a ball of Wizard’s Fire. It wasn’t; it was a ball of air so dense she could see it, see it coming. It was so dense it distorted what was seen through it. Margaret could hear the whoosh of its approach, the wail of its power. It went through her shield like flaming pitch through paper.

It shouldn’t have been able to do that; her shield was air. Air should not have been able to break a shield of air, not a shield as strong as she had made. But this was air made not by a mere Sister, but one with the gift. A wizard’s gift.

Confused, Margaret realized she was lying on the ground, looking up at the stars, pretty stars: the Creator’s stars. She couldn’t draw a breath. Simply couldn’t.

She thought it odd; she didn’t remember the air hitting her. Only her breath being ripped violently from her lungs. She felt cold, but there was something warm against her face. Warm and wet. It was a comfort.