For the Wildings (Daughter of the Wildings #6) Read online

  What was done was done, she thought as she dressed. All her wishing and anger couldn’t make it not happen. All she could do was do her best to fix the damage and make sure Elspetya Lorentius and her gang faced justice for all the harm they had caused and never hurt anyone else ever again.

  She dabbed on a little of the scented oil to make up for how bad she had smelled before, then drained and rinsed out the tub and carried in water and wood for the boiler, readying it for the next person who wanted to take a bath. Then she returned to Silas’s room, ready to do what had to be done.

  She settled herself cross-legged on the bed next to Silas and rested her hands on his chest. Physical contact seemed to make it easier to reach inside another person with her mage senses. This was something she had figured out how to do for herself; it wasn’t widely taught in Granadaia, being illegal except for certain things only the Mage Council was allowed to do. By now, she had done it often enough that she was starting to feel like she knew tolerably well what she was doing.

  She centered her awareness on the rose-colored glow of her power inside her, stronger and brighter than it had been in a long time, and directed it to flow through her mage ring. With her mage senses focused and her ring aiding her control of her magic, she reached into Silas, past the emptiness where normally his power would have shown itself, into the freezing pain and the furious, agonized voices of the Sh’kimech. Carefully, she probed deeper into his mind and spirit.

  The only other times she had gone this deep into someone, it had been to suppress another mage’s power and life force out of existence. Now, she used a more delicate touch, picking a path through the wordless fear and confusion she found in Silas’s mind. She saw no sign that he remembered who she was, yet he clung to thoughts of her face and voice, thoughts that provided a rare refuge of peace and comfort amidst the turmoil that filled him.

  There was nothing there of the Silas she knew and loved. Lainie ventured deeper still, through confused memories of strange faces and angry voices, hunger and cold and beatings and pain. She had known that he had been cruelly mistreated, but seeing his own memories of what he had suffered made her own anger and sorrow grow even sharper. She withdrew a bit and tamped down her feelings; she had to stay in control of herself during this difficult task, so she wouldn’t upset him or do even more damage to his fragile mind.

  She extended her mage senses again, easing even further into his mind until she found her way blocked by a shield of dark power. Not black like Sh’kimech power, but deep, dark purple – the color of the gem in her grandmother’s ring. The shield was a fragment of Elspetya Lorentius’s power, embedded in Silas’s mind and spirit.

  Suppressing a twist of horror and revulsion, Lainie probed at the shield. Behind it, she sensed a vast amount of familiar power; Silas’s power. And more – his personality, his conscious mind, his will and desires, everything that was him, trapped behind the block, screaming and fighting to get free. For a brief moment, the shield seemed to stretch and thin beneath his assault on it. That must be what had happened those times when she had caught glimpses of the real him in his eyes. But the block was too strong, and he couldn’t break through.

  She examined the shield, looking for weak spots and studying the edges where it was attached to him. Trying to liken the insubstantial, non-physical things she was sensing to something physical that she could understand, Lainie thought of the stray dog she had once found, that had a leather collar bound so tight around his neck that his flesh had grown around it. Like the collar, the edges of Madam Lorentius’s shield were firmly embedded into Silas. Lainie had successfully cut and pried the ingrown collar free from the dog’s neck, and Old Cooter had lived out the rest of his days like a prince at the Banfrey ranch, though removing the collar had left a terrible scar.

  Similarly, she was going to have to do some magical digging and cutting into Silas’s inner, non-physical being to remove the shield, and it was inevitable that she would do some damage in the process. How this would affect him, she couldn’t begin to guess. But, as with the bullets, leaving the shield in place was out of the question. She would just have to try to do as little damage as possible.

  One thing puzzled Lainie. The block was made of someone else’s power; cut off from its source, it should have faded away some time ago. Even the strongest shield needed to be fed new power regularly or it would dissipate after a few days. She studied the block again, trying to discover what was maintaining its existence. Not Silas’s power; that was firmly shut away behind the shield. But there was something else, she saw, binding the block to Silas… She traced the binding and found it connected to his life force. Silas’s own life force was being used to feed the block Elspetya Lorentius had placed on his mind and power.

  Lainie pulled her awareness back to her physical body. She sat, deeply shaken, even more horrified, unable to believe what she had found. No wonder Silas was so weak, with Elspetya’s shield consuming his life. If the block remained in place, it would eventually drain all of his life force and he would die. From the looks of him, it wouldn’t take much longer. A nineday? she guessed. Maybe less? No question, the block had to come out as soon as possible.

  So, what to remove first, the bullets or the magical block?

  The longer the block was in place, the more of his life force it would consume. And it would be cruel to have the doctor cut into him to take out the bullets when he was like this, already scared and confused and incapable of understanding why he was being put through so much pain. The kindest thing to do would be to remove the shield first.

  But as long as the Sh’kimech were inside Silas, screaming in pain and fury and demanding vengeance for what had been done to them, Lainie couldn’t risk freeing his power and letting them have access to it.

  Did Elspetya have any idea how dangerous using those Sh’kimech bullets could have been? Probably not. Doubtless, she had only been thinking that the ore’s freezing, paralyzing effects would render Silas unable to fight back. But even though the dark beings were imprisoned in the bullets, even the smallest chance that the Sh’kimech could take possession of Silas and his power and turn him into their weapon was too great.

  The bullets had to come out first, no matter how cruel it seemed or how much of Silas’s life force the shield was draining away.

  Chapter 4

  DR. FILBURN, THE physician who had treated Silas after he was shot by Oferdon last winter, came out to the BC Crown the next morning in answer to Mr. Coltor’s summons. Lainie and Mr. Coltor showed the doctor into Silas’s room, then Mr. Coltor left them alone. The doctor stood by the bedside, looking down at Silas and shaking his head. “Does he go looking for trouble? Or do these things just happen?”

  “Trouble has a way of finding him,” Lainie answered.

  “So I hear. Never been big on wizards myself, but I heard what you two did on the drive. You saved this town, not just the herd. So I’ll do what I can for him, but maybe after this it’s time he retired from… whatever it is he does.”

  “I’m thinking the same thing,” Lainie said. “Soon as we finish up one last piece of business.”

  She sat down on the bed next to Silas. He lay tightly curled up, as though to hide from the stranger in the room, making that scared animal sound in his throat. “It’s okay, honey,” she said, rubbing his shoulder gently. “We’re going to try to make it stop hurting.”

  Under her voice and touch, he relaxed a bit, though he kept his eyes averted from the doctor and his body remained tense as a rope with a balky steer on the other end.

  Trying to ignore the gnawing guilt at what she was about to put him through, Lainie eased Silas’s shirt off and showed the doctor the scars. “I think this one went right through him.” She pointed to the scar on the front of Silas’s chest, just below his collarbone, and a corresponding scar on his back. The doctor peered closely at the two scars and agreed with her assessment. “These others,” she said, “there’s no exit wound, so the bullets must still be
inside. They’re hurting him pretty bad, so they have to come out.”

  As the doctor prodded at the scarred-over bullet wounds, Silas curled up even tighter and the noise he was making got louder. Blinking back tears at the sight, Lainie went on rubbing his shoulder and speaking softly to him.

  Finally, the doctor finished his examination, took off his spectacles, and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t feel the bullets. They must be pretty deep. I’m surprised he’s still alive, frankly. It would be a difficult operation to remove them, and painful for him, and then there’s the risk of bleeding and infection. I say it’s best to leave well enough alone and not take them out.”

  “They have to come out,” Lainie said. “They aren’t just ordinary bullets, they’re magic.”

  “Magical bullets? I didn’t think wizards used guns. Except for him.” Curiosity showed on the doctor’s lean face. Though his hair was mostly gray, he didn’t look much older than Silas. “What’s the story on that?”

  “He’s a bounty hunter that hunts for renegade wizards. The men who shot him are renegades. They captured him for their boss, using those special bullets to get him under control and keep him from fighting back. The bullets have dark magic in them. They aren’t just hurting him, they’re poisoning him and driving him mad. That’s why he isn’t in his right mind. And that’s why they have to come out.”

  Dr. Filburn prodded at the wounds some more. “Easy, fella,” he said as Silas gasped and jerked away from him. “I suppose I can give it a try. As long as you understand the difficulties.”

  “I understand,” Lainie said. “I wouldn’t do this to him if there was any other choice.”

  “All right.” Rolling up his shirtsleeves, the doctor went to the washbasin, then began scrubbing his hands and forearms. “If we can get some whiskey down him, that will help blunt the pain. And I’m going to need an able-bodied ranch hand or two to hold him down.”

  “I’ll hold him,” Lainie said.

  The doctor glanced over his shoulder at her. “Are you sure? He’s a strapping fellow, and you’re just a little thing. He’s going to be bucking around like a stallion with burrs under his saddle and a good whiff of mare in his nose. Can you handle seeing him like that? And hold on no matter what?”

  “I’ll hold him,” Lainie repeated. She was the one who had made this decision on Silas’s behalf; the least she could do was go through it with him. And maybe her presence would offer him some comfort. If she didn’t destroy his trust in her by letting this happen.

  “Get him some whiskey, then, and we’ll get started.” The doctor took his surgery kit from his black bag and started unpacking it.

  Lainie opened the door to find Mr. Coltor standing there almost as if he had been eavesdropping, holding a stack of folded-up bedsheets and a tray with some small glasses and a bottle of what Lainie recognized as very expensive whiskey. She had seen a bottle of it for sale at the Bayview Hotel in Sandostra, and her mind had boggled at the price. You could buy a house in the Wildings for what that whiskey cost. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Coltor,” she said, nodding towards the bottle, “but I’m sure something less costly will do.”

  “I figure a man who’s about to go through what he’s about to go through deserves the best,” Mr. Coltor replied.

  Lainie couldn’t argue with that. She stood aside to let Mr. Coltor into the room, then sat on the edge of the bed and helped Silas sit up. Mr. Coltor handed her a glass with a double finger-width of amber liquid in it, and she held it to Silas’s mouth. “Come on, baby,” she said. “This will help it feel better.”

  His first sip was hesitant, then he swallowed the rest eagerly. Lainie gave the glass back to Mr. Coltor, who poured a little more whiskey in it and handed it back to her. “You’ll need some fortification yourself,” he said.

  Lainie didn’t have much of a taste for alcohol, but she sipped at the glass. The whiskey went down so smooth she barely noticed it, and immediately a little warm glow started up inside her. She tossed back the rest, coughed, then returned the glass to Mr. Coltor. “Thank you. But I better not have any more.” It would go straight to her head, and then she’d be no good to Silas at all.

  The doctor downed a single finger-width as well, then Mr. Coltor handed him another glass, this one full. “To clean your gear. Nothing but the best for our boy here.”

  While the doctor splashed his instruments with the ten gildings’ worth of whiskey Mr. Coltor had given him, Lainie spread the spare sheets on the bed next to Silas, then made him lie down on them on his stomach. “The doctor’s going to take those bullets out, that are hurting you so bad,” she told him. “It’s going to hurt, but when it’s done you’ll feel a lot better. I promise.”

  Unresponsive but also unresisting, Silas lay as she had arranged him. Did he understand any of what was happening? Lainie pushed away another twinge of guilt and positioned herself next to him so she could hold down his shoulders. “We’re ready,” she said to the doctor.

  At the first shallow cut of the doctor’s surgery knife, Silas jerked and let out a wail that tore at Lainie’s heart. As the doctor went on cutting deeper, Silas flailed around and cried out in desperate, wordless pleading. Lainie leaned all her weight onto his upper back, but she couldn’t keep his legs still, so Mr. Coltor climbed up on the bed and straddled Silas’s legs to hold them down.

  The doctor began probing deep in the cut in Silas’s back with his fingers and a thin pair of steel forceps, while Silas thrashed around, crying out. Feeling like her heart would break, Lainie struggled to hold him down. Long moments dragged by as the doctor dug for the bullet, until finally he said, “I think I’ve got it.”

  He worked the forceps out of the hole he had cut in Silas’s back. Gripped between the ends was a bullet-shaped lump of utterly black ore. “Never seen a bullet or any kind of metal like that before,” the doctor said. He dropped the bullet onto a handkerchief he had laid out on the bedside table, then wiped his sweaty forehead with a second handkerchief.

  “I told you,” Lainie said. “Wizard bullets.”

  That was one bullet out and two to go. Dr. Filburn already looked worn out, and Lainie didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. The doctor went to work on the second bullet, and things got even worse. If the whiskey had had any effect on Silas at all, it had worn off by now. He wept and wailed like he was suffering the torments of all the hells, and in his thrashing around he slammed his head back against Lainie’s nose so hard she saw stars and her nose started to bleed.

  At last, the doctor extracted the second black bullet and dropped it on the table by the first one. “That’s two gone,” Lainie said to Silas, only just managing to keep from crying as she spoke. “Just one more. Hold on, baby, you can do it.”

  Silas only sobbed wordlessly. Tears swelled in Lainie’s eyes; she felt as low and mean as if she was kicking a newborn puppy. She blinked back the tears so as not to upset Silas any more than he already was. “Let’s finish this,” she said to the doctor.

  The last bullet was the worst. The doctor cut deep and dug with the forceps, but he couldn’t quite get a grip on it going in through Silas’s back, so he had to make another cut in Silas’s side, beneath his armpit. Silas screamed as the knife sliced through skin and muscle between two of his ribs. But the bullet was within easy reach of that cut, and the doctor soon had it out.

  As soon as the third bullet was out, Silas fell limp and silent except for his ragged, whimpering breathing. A layer of the tension that had filled him ever since Lainie first saw him in that warehouse in Sandostra melted away. He barely even reacted as the doctor cleaned and stitched the deep incisions.

  When the wounds were closed, Dr. Filburn gave Lainie instructions for caring for them and making sure they healed properly, then left. Mr. Coltor, looking as sweaty and worn out as if he’d been trying to break a demon horse, followed him out of the room, leaving Lainie alone with Silas to recover from the ordeal.

  Chapter 5

  LAINIE SMO
OTHED SILAS’S sweat-soaked hair away from his face. With the bullets out, the lines worn into his face had eased and softened somewhat. She doubted they would never go away completely, though. An ordeal like he’d been through these past months couldn’t just be erased as though it had never happened.

  With the bullets out, it was time to remove the block. Lainie started to gather and focus her power, but her concentration was in tatters and her power slipped through her grasp like water through her fingers. She gave up the effort and sat looking at Silas, anxiety gnawing at her. Every moment she delayed removing the block was a little more of his life force drained away. But she was too worn out; she just couldn’t do it right now.

  She touched his face. Already he was feeling warmer, now that the freezing presence of the Sh’kimech was gone, and his breathing was easier than it had been since she rescued him. She gathered her scattered mage senses as best she could and felt for his life force. It was faded and weak, but not close to gone. There was enough for a few more days, at least; certainly enough to last another hour while she recovered.

  The black bullets still sat on the white handkerchief on the bedside table; Dr. Filburn must have left them there for her to deal with, magic being outside his realm of expertise. That was something else that needed to be put right, and it shouldn’t take very much out of her, even if she did get some resistance from the Sh’kimech. It wasn’t her magic that was drained but her body and emotions.

  Leaving Silas to rest, she gathered up the bullets in the handkerchief, careful not to let the ore touch her bare skin. Although she had come to an – understanding, she supposed you’d call it, with the Sh’kimech, she remembered too well the piercing, freezing pain the first time she had touched Sh’kimech ore, when Silas had dug up some of the mysterious ore that had been causing so much trouble in Bitterbush Springs, and then again when Carden had bound some to her hand to force her to lead him to more of it. And she had no desire to experience any more of the Sh’kimech’s fury and pain at being trapped in bullet shape.