The Sorcerer's Plague

Chapter 8

Not far from the lake, along one of the many streams that meandered through the pale, golden fields surrounding their village, stood a tight cluster of low, gnarled trees. It was in a shallow dale, a place sheltered from the cold winds that swept across the highlands during the snowy turns. Yet, during the Growing season, when the sun's heat grew unbearable in the fields, the shade and the cool dampness of the stream and grasses kept it cool. And at this time of year, as the first hint of the Harvest breezes began to touch the crops, whispering softly that their time had almost come, the skies above the dale turned deepest blue, and the leaves of those misshapen old trees shaded to gold and rust.

Jynna couldn't remember when she had discovered this place. She was old enough to understand that she hadn't done so on her own, that perhaps Mama or Papa had brought her here the first time, or maybe one of her older brothers. But it often seemed to her that the others had forgotten about it, that no one else from the village knew it existed. So thoroughly was it hers that she never feared being found there. She went there to cry, to scream her rage at some injustice done her by her parents or brothers or teachers, or just to sit and watch the day float by, like the feathery clouds that drifted above the highlands on these cool Harvest mornings. Often while she was there she saw eagles soaring overhead. Once she saw a mountain lion skulking in the shadows by the trees, and she ran back home, vowing never to go there again. But the lure of the place was too strong. Eventually she returned, bearing an old broken ax handle to use as a club if she needed. She hadn't seen the lion again, but still she kept the ax handle by the trees, just in case she ever needed it.

On this morning, she had risen early with her father and followed him into the fields to check the grain and feed crops. In another half a turn, when both moons were full again, they would begin the harvest.

Her lessons at the small sanctuary were to begin at midday-their teacher was to be married this morning-and so after she had fed the cows and Papa's plow horses, she had nothing more to do. Of course she went to the dale.

She looked for the lion as she followed the stream toward the trees, but she saw nothing save a plump, brown grouse that watched her approach and flew away on whistling wings as she drew near.

Sometimes she stayed by the stream, just beyond the trees, but the sun was warm today and she made her way toward the shade. As she drew closer to the wood, though, she saw something that made her falter. There was someone hunched over within the copse.

Jynna didn't know what to do. For so long the place had been her secret, her sanctuary. It never even occurred to her that she might find someone else there lurking among the trees. Her first impulse was to run home and tell her father. But she was also tempted to march right into the copse and demand to know what this person was doing in her dale. In the end, she did neither. She did walk to the small wood, but she approached it slowly, peering into the shadows, trying to see if she knew the person who was in her secret place. She moved silently, as she had practiced in this very spot, trying to see how close she could come to the deer that often grazed here late in the day, and so the person hiding there took no notice of her approach.

When at last Jynna had a clear view into the shadows, she saw that it was an old woman, an Eandi by the look of her. The stranger knelt on the ground in a small open area. And arrayed around her in several curving rows, like a rainbow, were woven baskets of all shapes and sizes. The woman was whispering something to herself, but Jynna couldn't make out what it was. Moving a bit closer, she saw that the woman bled from a wound on the back of one hand, and that she held what looked to be dark mud in the palm of the other. Jynna still couldn't hear, so she took another step into the shadows, and doing so, she stepped on a dry twig, which snapped under her weight.

The woman looked up sharply, her dark eyes finding Jynna immediately.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Jynna took a step back and started to run away.

"Wait!" the woman called. "I'm sorry! You startled me!"

Still the girl ran.

"My name is Licaldi!"

She nearly stumbled on a tussock of grass, but she righted herself, and kept running.

"I can show you magic! That's what I was doing!"

Jynna slowed, then stopped. Magic. She was Y'Qatt. So was everyone in Tivston. But that didn't mean that she didn't know about magic. But she'd been so sure that the woman was Eandi.

She turned and took a tentative step back toward the trees. As she did, the old woman emerged from the shadows. Jynna knew right away that she had been right: The woman was Eandi. So how could she do magic?

She carried a small basket in one hand-the hand that bled. The other hand hung at her side, but when she stepped into the sunlight something glinted there. A knife. Again Jynna backed away.

"It's all right," the woman said. She halted and held up the blade, a smile on her wizened face. "This is for me, not for you."

There was still a good distance between them, and Jynna felt reasonably certain that she could run faster than the old woman if she needed to. "You're Eandi," she said, watching the stranger closely.

"I'm Mettai," the woman told her. "Do you know what that means?" Of course. She'd heard her father and mother speak of the Mettai. They were Eandi sorcerers who used their blood to do magic. But her parents spoke of them the way they did of the horsemen of Naqbae or the warriors of the T'Saan clan, as if they lived leagues and leagues from Tivston. What was this woman doing here?

"Yes," Jynna answered. "I've heard of the Mettai. Is that why you're bleeding?"

The woman glanced at her hand and after a moment licked away a streak of blood. "Yes, it is. Blood magic." She held up the knife again.

"That's why I need this. A Mettai can't conjure without her blade." "What kind of magic are you doing?"

The woman beckoned to her. "Come here and I'll show you." She smiled again. "I won't hurt you."

Jynna walked back toward where the stranger was waiting for her, but she stopped several paces away, well out of reach of the old woman's blade.

"Good girl," the woman said. "Now watch this."

She dropped to her knees with an ease that seemed to belie her aged appearance and carefully placed the basket on the grass just in front of her. Then she laid the blade on the cut she'd already made on the back of her hand and pulled it slowly across the wound, wincing slightly as she did. Blood began to flow from the cut again, but before it could run away over her skin, the woman caught it on the flat edge of her knife. She carefully switched the blade to her wounded hand, then stooped, ripped away a clod of grass, and pulled out a handful of earth from the hole it left. Mixing the blood from her knife with the earth in her hand, she said, "Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, flowers to basket."

After a moment, the bloody mixture in her hand began to swirl, as if stirred by some invisible hand. Once, twice, three times it turned in her hand. As it began to go around a fourth time, the old woman, with a light flick of her wrist, cast the mixture at the basket. But rather than merely splattering the lovely weaving, the dark mud appeared to turn to tiny flower petals, or shards of colored glass, or droplets of water shining with the colors of the rainbow.

And suddenly the basket, which had been empty an instant before, was overflowing with blooms. Aster and columbine, larkspur and lupine, snapdragon and pennyroyal, and others Jynna didn't know. Her fear of the woman forgotten, the girl ran forward and knelt opposite her. She started to reach out to touch the petals, but stopped herself.

"Can I touch them?" she asked.

"Of course, my dear. They're quite harmless."

She touched the lupine and the snapdragon. They felt real. Leaning forward, she inhaled, the scents of the blooms filling her lungs. She gently rubbed the leaves of the pennyroyal and then sniffed her fingers. They smelled cool and fresh, like the mint she often found growing beside the stream in her village.

"They're beautiful," she whispered.

"They're yours, if you'd like them," the woman said. "The basket, too."

"Did you make the basket?"

"Yes, I did."

"With magic?"

The woman smiled and shook her head. "No, I wove all my baskets by hand."

"But you were doing magic on them before."

The woman's smile changed, the way adults' smiles did when they were annoyed but didn't want to show it. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Before, in the trees, before you saw me. You had your baskets out and your hand was bleeding, and you were speaking to yourself, like you did just now when you made the flowers."

"You saw that, did you?"

Jynna nodded. She wanted to get to her feet again and put some distance between herself and the stranger, but she didn't know how to do it without seeming rude.

The woman looked at her bleeding hand and took a breath. After a moment she licked the blood away again, as she had in among the trees. She lifted her gaze, her eyes meeting Jynna's.

"The truth is," she said, "I weave my baskets entirely by hand, and usually I dye them by hand as well. But I've been wandering a long time, making new baskets as I go, and I don't have all my dyes with me. So occasionally, I have to color my baskets using magic. That way I can get gold enough to continue my travels. Do you understand?"

Jynna nodded.

"I usually like to keep this a secret," the woman went on. "We Met- tai aren't well liked by the other Eandi. They don't like our magic. But you being Qirsi and all, I didn't think you'd mind too much."

"Actually, we're Y'Qatt."

"Y'Qatt! Really!" the woman said, as if she'd never met one of Jynna's people before. "So then you don't use magic."

"Not at all."

The woman frowned. "Oh, my," she said, looking back toward the trees. "Do you think that means that no one in your village-what village is this, my dear?"

"Tivston."

"Tivston," she repeated. "Do you think this means that no one in Tivston will want to buy my baskets?"

Jynna shrugged. "I don't know. People buy things from Qirsi peddlers when they come through. Not that they come through that often, but when they do."

The woman turned slightly toward the trees and smiled, as if they were sharing a secret. "Would you like to see my baskets?"

"All right," Jynna said, shrugging again.

She followed the stranger back into the shade. The air felt cooler here, and damp.

"What's your name?" the woman asked.

"Jynna."

"That's very pretty. I'm Licaldi."

"I know. You said that before."

"Did I? Oh, yes, I suppose I did."

"Licaldi is a pretty name, too," Jynna said, and not only because she thought it polite to do so.

"Thank you, my dear."

They pushed through the low branches of the trees until they reached the small open area where her baskets were still spread in a small arc.

Jynna had never thought much about baskets. They were what she used to carry dirty clothes to the stream, or where her mother placed a loaf of bread when others joined their family for the evening meal. So she really didn't know much about baskets or weaving. But as far as she could tell, these were the most beautiful baskets she'd ever seen. They had been woven perfectly, and even in the shade of the trees, their colors seemed to glow, as if lit by the sun. Was that the magic Licaldi had mentioned?

"People will buy these," Jynna said.

"You think so?"

She turned to the woman and nodded.

"And you won't tell them that some are colored with magic?"

Jynna looked at the baskets again. She couldn't tell which had been hand-dyed and which hadn't. They all were so lovely.

"No," she said. "I won't tell."

"You're a sweet girl. Just for that, you can choose another one, to take home to your mother."

"Really?"

Licaldi nodded.

Jynna considered them for several moments, chewing her lip. Finally, she chose one that was golden brown and pale blue, like the grain fields that grew beneath the highlands sky. It seemed the perfect choice for this day, and it looked to he just the right size for the loaves her mother usually baked. It was oval in shape and it had a braided handle that twisted in the middle.

"You have a good eye," Licaldi told her. "I think that's one of my best." The girl smiled.

"It was nice meeting you, Jynna," Licaldi said. "But I have to get to work now. I need to put these back in those big baskets over there." She pointed at a pair of large baskets that were lined with old blankets. "And then I need to carry them to your village so that I can sell them in the marketplace."

"I can help you," Jynna offered. "I can help you put them in the baskets, and I can carry one. They shouldn't be too heavy."

"You'd be surprised. But you're right: You can help me. We'll fill the baskets and then if you'll carry my travel sack, I'll carry the baskets. How does that sound?"

"All right," Jynna said. It wasn't the morning she had in mind-a few quiet hours in her secret place-but she thought it would be fun just the same.

They worked wordlessly for some time, carefully returning the small baskets to the larger ones. By the time they were finished, the baskets were quite heavy, just as Licaldi had said they would be. Jynna was just as happy to be carrying the carry sack, which was pretty light, and the two baskets the woman had given her. As they walked toward the village, Jynna admired the flowers that Licaldi had conjured.

"How old are you, Jynna?" Licaldi asked as they walked. "I'm eight."

"Only eight? I thought you were at least ten. You seem very mature for eight."

"Thank you," Jynna said, unable to keep from smiling. "Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"Two brothers, but they're much older than I am. They're practically men. I had a third, but he died a few years ago."

"I'm sorry, my dear. What happened?"

"He got sick-a fever. And the healer couldn't save him. I don't remember it very well. I remember Mama and Papa crying, and lots of people being in our house. But that's all, really."

"I wonder if magic would have saved him."

Jynna looked up at the woman. She was eyeing Jynna closely, as if to see how she reacted to what she had said.

"We're not allowed," Jynna said.

"Not allowed?"

"The god doesn't want us to do magic. Qirsar, that is," she added, realizing that the Mettai probably prayed to a different god.

"But other Qirsi do."

Jynna shrugged. She didn't quite understand it either, but Mama and Papa seemed certain that they were doing the right thing. They had told her about the V'Tol, and she had done her best to listen, both to them and to the prioress. But always in her mind she heard the same words Licaldi had just said. Other Qirsi do.

"Well, we don't," she finally said, her voice low. She didn't want to talk about this. It made her feel strange, like there was something wrong with her and with her family, with everybody in Tivston. And the way Licaldi sounded made Jynna afraid that she found the ways of the Y'Qatt odd-so odd, in fact, that she might leave without going to the marketplace.

"I'm sorry, Jynna," the woman said after a long silence. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"It's all right." They were nearing the village now. Already they could see the peddlers' stalls in the marketplace, where the narrow lane they were on ended. "That's the market," Jynna said, pointing. "And that's our house." She pointed eastward, toward the low roof of her home, just visible past Old Menac's farm.

"It looks very nice."

"It is. I have my own room now. I didn't used to. I had to share with my brothers for a long time. But Papa says that I'm becoming a young lady, and that young ladies need to have their own rooms."

"How very nice for you," Licaldi said. But she sounded distracted, the way adults did when they weren't really listening anymore.

Jynna watched the old woman as they drew near to the marketplace. Her dark eyes wandered over the various peddlers' carts and stalls, no doubt seeking out the best place to sell her baskets. That was fine. She'd been nice to Jynna, mostly. But now she had things to do.

As if reading her thoughts, the old woman suddenly halted, and when Jynna did the same, she placed a hand lightly on the girl's shoulder.

"You've been very helpful, Jynna," she said. "But I think I'll be just fine now."

Jynna nodded, feeling a bit disappointed. She loved the marketplace and looked for any excuse to go there. But she also understood that the old woman didn't need a child with her while she tried to sell her wares. Besides, she knew that it would soon be time for her lessons. She pulled off Licaldi's carry sack and handed it to the woman.

"Thank you, my dear. You have your baskets?"

"Yes," Jynna said, holding them up. "Thank you again."

"My pleasure," Licaldi said, shouldering her sack and picking up her baskets again. "I hope you and your family enjoy them."

She was already walking away as she said this last, leaving Jynna to wonder if she had done something to offend the woman. She thought about going after her to ask, but at that moment the sanctuary's bell began to toll, its pealing rolling lazily over the village, beckoning to her and the other children. Reluctantly, Jynna turned her back on Licaldi and the marketplace, and hurried to the sanctuary.

The day's lessons were boring, as they always were for her. She knew her numbers and letters better than did most of the other children, and so Teacher had her help the little ones while he worked with the others. But they didn't learn anything new; they never did. Jynna liked lessons best when Teacher told them stories about the old clans or about the Blood Wars-not the most recent ones, but the ancient wars, fought hundreds of years ago. She often asked for them-she had today-and always the other children echoed her requests. But today Teacher had told her that their lessons were more important than old tales.

Bored as she was, Jynna left the sanctuary without her baskets and was nearly all the way home before she remembered them. She ran back and found both baskets resting on her chair. Teacher was still there at his table, writing out lessons for tomorrow.

"I thought you'd he back," he said, when she ran into the small room they used, panting, sweat running down her temples.

He was about the same age as Delon, her oldest brother, although he seemed much older to her. He wore his white hair long and tied back, and his eyes were an even brighter shade of yellow than her own. The older girls always talked about how handsome he was; many of them had been sad to hear that he was to marry. Once, when Jynna heard them speaking of him, she agreed and they laughed at her, asking what she knew about men and their looks. But even Jynna could tell that Teacher was good-looking. She wasn't stupid.

"I was almost to my house when I remembered them," she said, crossing to her chair and picking up the two baskets. The flowers Licaldi had conjured were already beginning to wilt. She'd need to give them water once she reached home.

"They're lovely," Teacher said. "Where did you get them?"

"A peddler gave them to me, an old woman who was in my-" She stopped, feeling her face redden. Teacher was watching her closely, an odd smile on his lean face. "I met her as she was making her way into the village. I helped her carry her things, and she gave them to me."

"That was nice of her." He paused. Then, "Where did you find those flowers? It's a bit late for columbine and lupine to be blooming."

"I… I didn't find the flowers," she said.

"Oh? They were in the basket when she gave it to you?"

She wasn't certain why she didn't want to tell Teacher that the woman was Mettai. Perhaps she feared that she'd get in trouble for merely witnessing magic, even if that magic wasn't done by an Y'Qatt, or even by a Qirsi. And as it happened, the way he asked his question, she could answer honestly and still reveal nothing. "Yes, they were."

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at the blooms. "I wonder where she found them. They look like they opened this morning for the first time."

"Would you like them?" Jynna asked, before she'd even thought about what she was saying.

"What?"

"For you and your new wife." She stepped forward and put the basket on his table. "A wedding gift."

"Thank you, Jynna," he said, smiling broadly. "How kind of you." She felt herself blushing again. "I should be getting home."

"Yes, of course. I'll see you in the morning, Jynna."

Jynna turned and ran from the room, her cheeks burning. She'd thought the other girls foolish for being sad at the thought of Teacher's wedding, but perhaps she wasn't any less a fool herself.

She didn't stop running until she had passed Menac's farm and could see her house bathed in the late-day sun and casting its long shadow across the grainfield.

Her brothers were outside the barn, putting out hay for the plow horse. Seeing her approach, Delon took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Where have you been?" he called. "Lessons."

"This late? Mama's been lookin' for you for an hour at least. She's pretty mad, too."

She had slowed as they talked, but now she started running toward the house again. "I forgot my basket," she shouted over her shoulder. "I had to go back for it."

"I don't care," he shouted back. "Tell Mama."

Jynna could still hear the two of them laughing when she reached the stairs and ran into the house.

Her mother was at the hearth, her hair pulled back from her face in a loose braid. She looked up as Jynna entered and frowned at the girl.

"I expected you long ago." Her eyes fell to the basket in Jynna's hand. "Where did you get that?"

"I got it for you," Jynna said, knowing that she wasn't quite answering the question.

A smile crept slowly across her mother's face. After a moment she pointed toward the table where they ate their meals. Turning to look that way, Jynna saw one of Licaldi's baskets. The colors were different, but it was shaped just the way Jynna's was.

"You bought one," she said, crestfallen.

"Well, of course, silly girl." But then the frown returned. "How did you get that one?"

"I met the old woman who was selling them. She had two big baskets and a carry sack, and I carried the sack for her, and she gave me a basket."

It wasn't quite what had happened, but it was close enough, and it allowed her to skip the whole magic part.

"Is that why you're so late?"

"Sort of," Jynna said. "I left this at the sanctuary and had to go back for it. I'm sorry, Mama."

Her mother smiled. "You see that we picked out the same one?" Jynna nodded. "I knew you'd like this one."

"Clever girl." Still smiling, she picked up the water bucket and handed it to Jynna. "Now, get to your chores. It's late, and your father and the boys are going to be hungry."

It was nearly dark when her father returned from the fields. Jynna and her mother had just enough time to finish preparing the roast meat, stewed greens, and bread. At first, as they cooked, her mother had asked her questions about her lessons, and also about Licaldi. But as the daylight dimmed, her mother grew quieter and quieter, so that the only sounds in the house were the crackling of the fire and the sizzling of the meat. Jynna heard her father and the boys coming in from the barn long before they reached the door.

They entered the house and Jynna's father gathered her in his arms, lifting her off the ground and kissing her cheek.

"How are you, missy?" he asked.

She giggled. "I'm fine, Papa."

He set her down and leaned toward Jynna's mother to kiss her cheek. But then he stopped, his brow creasing.

"You look flushed," he said. "Are you feeling all right?"

The boys had been laughing about something, but they stopped now and stared at their mother, as did Jynna. She was never sick. And now that Papa mentioned it, she did look flushed, even more than she usually did after working in the kitchen. Her cheeks were bright pink, and a wisp of hair clung to her forehead, which looked damp in the light of the oil lamp.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. But even her voice sounded weak.

Papa laid the back of his hand against her forehead, then quickly pulled it back. "You've got a fever," he said.

The word "fever" seemed to break her, so suddenly did she double over, clutching her stomach. She stumbled to the doorway and out onto the porch. A moment later they could hear her retching.

"Is it the pestilence, Papa?" asked Blayne, the younger of her two brothers.

"I don't know!" Papa snapped. He shook his head. "Maybe. Qirsar save us all if it is."

Mama staggered back to the doorway, stood there briefly, then whirled away and was sick again.

Papa looked at Delon. "Go get the healer."

Delon nodded once and ran out the door.

For some time Jynna, Blayne, and their father just stood there, the only sound in the house coming from Jynna's mother and the fire.

"You two should eat," Papa said at last.

Jynna and her brother exchanged a look. She was too scared to take even a bite, and judging from the expression on Blayne's face, she guessed that he felt the same way.

"Well?" Papa said, his voice rising again.

"I'm not hungry, Papa."

Blayne shook his head. "Neither am I."

Jynna thought Papa would make them eat anyway, but in the end he just shook his head, and muttered, "I don't blame you. I don't much feel like eating either."

As he said it, Jynna realized that he appeared flushed as well, though she couldn't tell if he was just worried about Mama or if he was starting to get sick also.

Mama appeared in the doorway again. She didn't look flushed anymore. Instead she was deathly pale, her face nearly as white as her hair, and her bright golden eyes sunken and dull. Only the dark purple lines under her eyes gave her face any color at all. She looked like a wraith.

"I need to lie down," she said, the words coming out as a whisper.

Papa hurried to her side, lifted her as if she were a child, and carried her to their bedroom.

He came out again a few moments later, his expression grim, his cheeks nearly as red as Mama's had been a short time before.

"She's already asleep," he said. "And to be honest, I'm starting to feel it, too."

"So it is the pestilence," Blayne said.

At that moment Delon returned.

"The healer says she'll be along when she can," he told them all, looking scared. "But there's lots of people sick."

"Damn," Papa said, sighing the word. He glanced at Blayne. "Well, there's your answer. It's probably too late, but I want the three of you outside. You're not sick yet. Maybe you'll make it through."

"But Papa-"

"I know what you're going to say, Delon. But there's nothing to be done now. Either your mother and I will live or we won't. But you haven't any way to save us, so it's best you save yourselves."

"I have healing magic," her brother said. "Blayne's come into his power, and he has it, too. We can save you, if you'll just let us."

Papa glared at him, the muscles in his jaw bunching. For just an instant, Jynna thought he might strike Delon for what he had said. "Never utter such words in this house again. Do you hear me?"

Delon lowered his gaze. "Yes, Papa."

"You're past your fourth four. You're a man now. If your mother and I… If the healer can't help us, then it'll fall to you to take care of your brother and sister. You're old enough that you should know better than to speak against the god like that." He started to say more, but then stopped and ran out the door, grabbing at his gut just as Mama had done.

None of them said anything, but Jynna found herself wishing that her brothers would use their magic, just as Delon had suggested. Surely the god would understand this one time.

"So what do we do?" Blayne asked, looking at Delon. Jynna couldn't be sure, but she thought he was probably thinking the same thing.

"We go outside," Delon said. "And we wait for the healer, just as

Papa told us to."

The boys held each other's gazes for several moments, but they said nothing, and at last they ushered Jynna out into the darkness. Papa was still on the porch, leaning heavily on the railing. They didn't speak, though all three of them stared back at him as they descended the stairs. Eventually he went back into the house, leaving them alone in the cool night air. The sky was clear and the moons shone overhead, both of them still well short of full.

"What if they die?" Jynna asked, starting to cry.

Blayne shook his head. "They're not going to die." But he wouldn't look at her as he said it, and she knew he was lying.

"They might," Delon said. "Don't lie to her. Not about this." He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. She couldn't remember him ever doing such a thing before. His shirt smelled faintly of hay and sweat, as Papa's often did, and she pressed her cheek against it. "The healer's going to come, and maybe he can save them. But if he can't, we'll take care of you. We'll all take care of each other, all right?"

Jynna nodded, but she couldn't stop crying.

They sat down on the grass to wait, and after some time Jynna lay down, her tears still flowing, her stomach hurting, though because she was hungry or sick, she couldn't say. Eventually she woke up again. The boys were standing a short distance away, both of them doubled over. "Hasn't the healer come yet?" she called to them.

She saw Delon shake his head. "Not yet," he answered, his voice hoarse.

"And now you're both sick." She flung it at them, an accusation. Who's going to take care of me if you die too? she wanted to ask, but she couldn't even choke out the words. I'll be all alone! Better she should die than face the world without her parents and brothers.

Neither of them said anything, and in the next moment, matters grew far worse. The sky over the village suddenly flared bright yellow, and an arc of fire streaked across the night, as if Eilidh herself had declared war on the people of Tivston. Again the fire flew and a third time.

"What's happening?" Jynna cried. Somehow she was on her feet. She started toward her brothers, but stopped herself after only a step. Who would protect her? "Is it a war?" she asked. She knew how foolish the question sounded, but she couldn't help herself.

She heard a long moan from within the house-the sound she imagined a ghost might make-and an instant later a bolt of flame crashed through the roof of the house. Burning slats of wood spun into the air and fell to earth, smoking, charred at the edges. Again the moan. It was her mother's voice. She had fire magic, Jynna knew, though of course she never used it. Until tonight. Flame burst through the roof again and Jynna heard a scream. Only when the scream kept going, long after this second flame had died away, did she realize that she was the one screaming.

She forced herself to stop, and doing so she realized that others were screaming as well, in the village, in the houses around them. The sky was aglow, orange like a smith's forge. She could hear the rending of wood and the panicked howling of dogs, the neighing of horses and strange, otherworldly cries coming from the cattle and sheep. Flames and smoke began to rise from her house. The boys hurried toward the door, but both of them seemed unsteady on their feet. Before they could reach the top of the stairs, though, the front wall of the house exploded outward, throwing the boys onto their backs, knocking Jynna to the ground, and showering them all with embers and smoking scraps of wood.

When Jynna looked up again, there were her mother and father, leaning on each other, struggling to get free of the wreckage that had once been their home. They managed to descend the stairs to the ground; then both of them collapsed, their chests heaving with every breath. Mama lay on her back, and abruptly she thrust both hands skyward. Flame shot from her palms as if she were a goddess, or a demon from Bian's realm.

Delon gaped at her. "What's happening to you?"

"I can't control it!" Mama said. "I'm trying, but I can't stop!"

Papa rolled himself onto his knees and let out a piercing cry. And then the skin on both his forearms peeled open, like the rind of some pale, evil fruit, and blood began to run over his hands and soak into his clothes.

It took her a moment to understand what was happening to him. Healing magic. Papa had it, too. Except that he could no longer control it, just like Mama couldn't stop using her fire magic. Was this what would happen to Delon and Blayne? Would it happen to her as well?

She crawled backward, away from them all, tears coursing down her face. "No!" she cried. "No. No. No."

"Jynna!" her father gasped, staring at her, the blood on his arms gleaming in the moonlight. "Go! Get away from here! Get help!"

She shook her head so hard that the tears flew from her face. "Where? Where can I go?"

"Anywhere! Away from here!" He stared at the ground for a moment before meeting her gaze again.

Another pulse of fire flew from her mother's hands, but it seemed dimmer this time, weaker.

"Go north!" her father said. "You know which way is north?" She nodded.

"Go to the lake. Then follow the shore to Lowna. They're Fal'Borna there, not Y'Qatt. They can help you. They can help us."

"You mean with magic?" she asked, her eyes wide.

He hesitated, nodded once. "With magic. Now go! Quickly!"

She stared at him a moment longer. More screams rose from the village. More streaks of flame lit the sky. Not a war, she knew now. A pestilence. A plague. An Y'Qatt plague.

"Go, Jynna!" her father whispered, collapsing onto his side, his blood staining the grass.

She stood and ran.