The people fell silent, amazed and astounded by what they had done—and heard, dim and distant, the giant cat’s yowling anger, then sudden howl of pain.
Allouette stared, realizing that the battle was done, fought and won, by the sheer strength of the emotion she had poured out into the people and felt crashing back upon her—and feeling the first tremors of exhaustion. She thrust it away, though, knowing the importance of appearances to the morale of those she commanded. She turned to them, declaring, “It has found its master again, and claims its reward.”
“But what if it comes back?” one woman wailed.
A stifled groan sounded behind her and Allouette whirled and ran to Cordelia.
The peasant followed, demanding, “Tell us, lady! What if it comes back?”
“Then you had best hope there are ladies like us here to defend you,” Allouette said between her teeth, “and there will not be, if you let her drown in her own pain! Six of you, come lift this poor dead horse off this woman who has held the monster at bay whilst we sent it packing!”
Half a dozen villagers came on the run and lifted the horse enough so that Allouette and Quicksilver could drag Cordelia free. She burst into tears.
“There now, sister, I know,” Quicksilver soothed. “It is agony, yes, but we shall soon have it mended.” She cast Allouette a wild, lost look.
Allouette nodded with all the assurance she could muster and tried to ignore the weariness creeping up on her.
“It is not the pain,” Cordelia said through her tears, “though that is horrendous.”
Allouette stared. “What, then?”
“Her horse,” Quicksilver said.
“Aye, my poor, sweet mare!” Cordelia gasped. “So loyal, so fierce to defend, so gentle—and she had not even borne a foal!”
“Aye, it is a great pity,” Allouette agreed, “but I have greater concern for you, who defended me. Hold your breath and set your teeth, for I must see if the bone is broken.”
“It is, I know,” Cordelia moaned.
“Hold her tightly,” Allouette directed Quicksilver, then began to probe Cordelia’s leg. Cordelia screamed once, then set her teeth. Quicksilver held her by the shoulders and squeezed her hand in reassurance.
“The knee is whole, thank Heaven,” Allouette said. “But here . . .”
Cordelia screamed again.
“Lady, do you know this much healing?” a peasant asked nervously.
“This much and more,” Allouette assured her, for part of her training as a field agent had been first aid and rough-and-ready surgery. She braced herself for one last trial, then had a happy thought and turned to stare into Cordelia’s eyes. The other woman stared back, startled, and Allouette used the moment to send a probe deep into her hindbrain and trigger the sleep reflex. Cordelia’s eyes rolled up; she went limp.
“What have you done?” Quicksilver demanded, aghast.
“Put her to sleep, nothing more,” Allouette assured her. “Call it nature’s anesthetic.” Then she turned to straighten the broken pieces of bone with her hands while, with telekinesis, she matched them up like a jigsaw puzzle. Then, satisfied that the break was restored to its proper position, she probed and encouraged, pouring her own waning energy into Cordelia’s fibula, making it grow, making calcium flow and harden. Finally she took her hands away and let out a shaky breath. “It is mended.”
“If so, it is the quickest healing I’ve ever seen,” Quicksilver said, staring.
“Ask her.” Allouette turned to gaze at Cordelia’s sleeping face. Eyelids fluttered and opened, and the woman looked back at her, bemused and amazed. “What . . . where . . .”
“You are in a valley where peasants performed the Taghairm,” Quicksilver reminded her.
Memory came flooding back. “Aye, and we banished the monster they had summoned!” Cordelia’s gaze snapped down to her leg. “But my poor mare . . . I was trapped . . .”
“How feels your leg now?” Allouette asked.
“As it always has.” Cordelia sat up and probed her own flesh in amazement. “Is it whole?”
“As far as I can tell,” Allouette said. “Test it.”
“Not so soon!” Quicksilver said angrily, but Allouette nodded inexorably and Cordelia gathered her feet under her, frowning. She leaned on the arm of a protesting Quicksilver and rose in spite of the protests. Allouette was quick to take her other arm and brace her as, very carefully, she put her weight on the healed leg, first a little, then more, then all, then began to walk, eyes wide in amazement. “It is a wonder, lady! My mother herself could not have done better.”
“I am pleased to see you walk,” Allouette said simply.
“As pleased as I am by my own steps,” Cordelia said fervently, and turned to embrace her.
Allouette went stiff with surprise, then relaxed in wonder and let her own arms come up to return the embrace. She drew back, blinking at Quicksilver, who was grinning from ear to ear and saying, “I thank you, lady.”
“Aye, we are glad indeed to see the lady healed!” cried a peasant. “But what of the monster, lady? How shall you protect us from it?”
But Allouette had reached the limit of her endurance. With a long shuddering sigh, she fell senseless to the ground.
“What has befallen her?” the peasant asked in alarm.
“Exhaustion, nothing more.” Cordelia knelt beside Allouette. “She expended a great deal of energy in fighting the monster you summoned, and more in healing me.”
The peasant’s face darkened at the reminder of their guilt, but Cordelia paid no attention, merely laid one hand on Allouette’s brow and the other on her breastbone. “A gift for a gift—energy to replace some of that which she lent me for her healing.”
Quicksilver nodded. “We shall all sleep early this night—or perhaps even this day.”
Cordelia frowned intently, her gaze on Allouette’s face. After a minute, her patient’s eyelids flickered, then opened. Allouette looked about her, frowning, letting memories surface, then turned to Cordelia with a radiant smile. “I thank you, lady. You have restored me.”
“Even as you did for me,” Cordelia answered with an affectionate smile of her own. “Rise, companion in arms. We have not yet laid this enemy to rest.”
“Have you not?” the peasant cried with alarm. “Lady, if you have not laid this fell spirit, what shall we do when it comes again?”
“Oh, they have laid Big Ears to rest,” Quicksilver told her, “but not its masters. Indeed, they may send it against you again—and a hundred more like it, if you dare seek to summon them.”
“We shall not! But what if Big Ears seeks to come back without our asking?”
“Do not let it,” Cordelia said simply.
“How can we keep it away?”
“Do not perform the Taghairm,” Quicksilver said with great practicality.
Cordelia nodded. “We think these creatures cannot enter without being asked to come; they can only send the puppets they make out of the witch-moss of our own world.”
A man stepped up beside the woman, frowning. “Then it is enough that we not perform this ritual again?”
“No, more is needed,” Cordelia answered. “The core of the Taghairm is cruelty, after all, and any viciousness you show to one another is invitation enough to an evil spirit.”
The woman pursed her lips. “So if we are cruel to no one, the monster cannot come among us?”
“Even so.” Cordelia nodded. “Indeed, if you truly wish to keep such monsters away, be friendly and helpful to one another; be merciful even to the animals you slay for food. Be kind and gentle to all and you shall close up even the smallest hole by which such a monster can come among you.”
The people stared at one another, amazed and thoughtful.