Miraculously, the wall still standing was the one holding the shelves full of Abbey's books, scrolls, and ledgers. For the most part, they and the others scattered about behind them seemed unharmed. The wind began whistling coldly through the remains of the cottage, swirling the dust and debris into little maelstroms as it went.
Celeste had collapsed on the bed. Her eyes fluttered once, then twice, before finally staying open. Rising weakly up on her elbows, she looked aghast at the remains of the cottage. She looked down at her fingertips and began to cry.
Wigg instinctively knew that she was crying not because of her physical pain, but at the sudden, inescapable realization of what she had done. Abbey-walking stiffly, mechanically, through the rubble of what had once been her home-was also crying.
Standing shakily, Celeste embraced her father. He held her tightly, knowing how close he had come to losing her.
"I did this, didn't I?" she asked, looking around again in horror. "Somehow, I just know it. But the last thing I remember is having tasted some honey. Did that really happen?" She looked quizzically around the smashed cottage once more.
"Where are we, Father?" she asked softly. Then her eyes closed again, and she collapsed into his arms.
Laying her back down on the bed, Wigg placed a palm on her forehead. For a time he closed his eyes, then smiled. He and Abbey had done it. This time Celeste's sleep was genuine, natural. When she finally awakened, she would be herself again.
With the exception of her first activated Forestallment, he mused. He would have to train her in its proper use as soon as possible.
He went to Abbey. In her trembling hands she was clutching a dusty book she had retrieved from the floor. He put a hand on her shoulder.
"I don't know what to say," he said softly. "I'm so sorry."
Abbey turned to him, her eyes wet. Then she did something unexpected. Stepping nearer, she put her arms around him and lay her head upon his shoulder. His gray robe soon became soaked with tears.
They stood that way for some time as the wind rustled through the remains of the cottage and the sounds of the night creatures came softly to their ears. Finally she took her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes.
"It seems I will be coming with you after all," she said, her voice so small he could barely hear her. "I never expected to see you again."
Wigg pulled her closer.
"Nor I, you," he said softly. "Nor I, you."
PART II
Revelation
CHAPTER
Eleven
It is within one of the Scrolls of the Ancients that those of the Vagaries shall procure a great weapon. The reading and employment thereof shall bring a shift in all things, including the lives of the Chosen Ones. Just as those who find and control the Scroll of the Vigors come yet another step closer to combining the two sides of magic, those controlling the Scroll of the Vagaries shall also be nearer their goal of complete, never-ending rule over the craft.
– PAGE 774, VOLUME II, OF THE VIGORS OF THE TOME
W ulfgar turned over luxuriously in the great bed. Even though he remained a prisoner, he could escape into his dreams of better times.
"And how are you this evening, Traveler?" his dream-self asked. Pushing aside the stallion's forelock, the boy briskly rubbed the horse's white-starred forehead. The black stallion snorted softly, eagerly stretching his neck for yet more of his keeper's attention.
From behind his back, Wulfgar produced a bright red apple. Traveler snorted again, and his ears pricked up. Wulfgar was about to play a game with him, and the horse knew it.
Wulfgar backed away slightly and held the apple higher, just out of Traveler's reach. The stallion pushed forward against the unforgiving oak door to his stall and let go a loud, impatient whinny.
Wulfgar smiled. "Not so fast," he said gently. "You know what you have to do first."
The horse impatiently shook his head, forelock and mane flying haphazardly. Finally there came the sound of a single shod hoof banging loudly, one time only, on the floor of the stall.
Smiling, Wulfgar produced a folding knife and began slicing the apple into pieces. As he held the first of the apple slices out, Traveler took it between his long, uniform teeth and munched contentedly.
Turning away from the stall for a moment, Wulfgar took a piece of apple for himself and looked down the length of the barn. For as long as he could remember he had loved the sights, smells, and sounds of this place more than any other.
His father, Jason of the House of Merrick, owned these barns and presided over the combination of stables and blacksmith shop. Thanks to the Directorate of Wizards, peace and prosperity had reigned for more than three centuries, and Jason's business was good. Even so, the Merrick family was by no means wealthy. But father, mother, and son were happy in the ways that money could not buy.
The young man of thirteen looked down the length of the barn. It was full to capacity. Yellow straw lay everywhere, and the smell of green hay, amber grain, horses, and saddle soap combined with the sooty smoke and char of the blacksmith's hearth in the next room to create a familiar scent he breathed in gladly. A soft, low light came from the many lanterns lining the aisle between the rows of stalls. To his ears came the occasional snorts and whinnies of the horses and the comforting double clangs of his father's hammer on the anvil. These sounds and smells had become an integral part of his life.
Wulfgar gave Traveler another piece of apple. Then he noticed that the clanging of his father's hammer had ceased. Turning, Wulfgar saw his father approaching. Jason looked tired, but he grinned affectionately at Wulfgar as he approached. His weathered face and hands were covered with dark soot, as was the worn leather blacksmith's apron tied around his middle.
"Enough for one day," he said, his voice gravelly and strong. He smelled like hot charcoal. As usual, his massive strength was both comforting and familiar to Wulfgar, like standing next to a favorite old oak tree.
"Dinner must be ready by now," Jason added as he folded his apron and looked out from the barn. Warm, inviting lights came from the small house lying just beyond. "You know how your mother gets when we let her creations go cold." He winked.
"I'm not hungry," Wulfgar countered gamely. "Besides, I still have tack to polish. The customers will expect it done by morning, when they arrive for their mounts."
Jason smiled. "There's another reason why you don't want to leave the stables, isn't there?" he asked.
Wulfgar looked down at some straw near the toes of his boots and didn't answer.
"The tack can wait until morning," his father said. "You still have schoolwork to do, and that must come first. Given the fact that we're full up, if some of the tack doesn't get polished, I'm sure the customers will understand."
Wulfgar's face fell. He liked his lessons well enough-indeed, he was one of his school's best students-but he had always been something of a loner, with a fiercely held sense of independence that set him apart from the other boys. Having schoolmates was fine, but it was the horses that continually came and went from these barns that truly possessed his heart.
"Suppose I told you that dinner tonight is veal pie-your favorite," Jason said, as he draped a muscular arm over his son's shoulders and turned the boy toward the far doors of the barn. Sighing, Wulfgar nodded. With a final look back at Traveler, he tossed the remains of the apple into the stall. Then, side by side, father and son left the barn and headed for-
Wulfgar suddenly started awake, all of his senses coming alive at once. He shot upright. Sweaty and breathing heavily, he glanced wildly around the room, trying to remember where he was.
He had been dreaming again, he realized, rubbing the back of his neck. He wished he had not woken up. The dream was infinitely preferable to his current reality.