dinner with us in the Commons tonight.”
I shook my head and glanced at Matthew. “I'll stay here.”
“I'll stay with him,” Caleb said. “The air will do you good. I promise to send for you should his condition change.”
“You've already done so much for us.” Surely this town's patience, its kindness, couldn't hold forever.
The smile left Caleb's face. Suspicion returned to his eyes. “We have done what people do. Would your town have done differently, Liza?”
My town did only what it needed to survive, but shame reddened my cheeks. This town had survived, too, after all.
“Let me know when you're ready for dinner,” Caleb said, “and I'll take your place in that chair.” He left without looking at me again. Allie followed a moment later.
Matthew still seemed to be asleep, but I turned away from him to dress, pulling on wool underwear, sweater, and leather pants. I pulled my boots and belt over that, stopping to stare thoughtfully at my knife. They trusted me as well if they'd left me my knife. Evening sun reflected off the blade. The glare hit my eyes, so fast I couldn't turn away, and by that light I saw—
I reached after her. Someone cried out. Pain sliced through my palm, and the vision was gone. I fell to my knees, clutching the knife's blade so tightly I feared to let go. I knew there'd be pain when I did.
Another hand touched mine. Caleb unfolded my fingers from around the blade, one by one. Allie knelt beside him. As Caleb drew the knife away, she pressed a strip of yellowed sheet from Before against my hand. My palm and fingers throbbed as I watched bright red blood spread through the bandage. Allie pressed another strip over the first. Blood stained Caleb's fingers and dripped from the blade he now held. I stared at him, knew him: the young man in my visions who'd walked amid the dead trees.
He set the knife down on the dresser and put a hand on Allie's shoulder. “Do you want to heal this, or shall I?”
“She's my charge.” Allie's voice shook, but her hand, pressing the bandages to mine, was steady. Matthew reached for my other hand and squeezed it hard. When had he gotten out of bed? Allie pressed the sheets harder against my palm. I flinched as pain flared through my hand. She lessened the pressure and said, “You grabbed hold of that blade so tight. Why?”
Caleb said, “Healing first. Questions later. Always.”
Allie nodded and touched the bandages lightly. I felt the faintest of shivers. As I watched, the bright blood darkened and dried, its metallic scent giving way to something older and mustier.
“Good. You stopped the bleeding first.” Caleb's steady voice reminded me of Father's the first time he'd set a bow in my hands.
Allie unwrapped the bandages. I bit my lip as dried blood tore away from my skin. “Sorry,” Allie muttered. She ran her cool fingers over two angry red gashes, one across my palm, one along the inside of my knuckles. “It's not very deep.” She shut her eyes, scrunching her face in concentration. Her fingers grew colder. Slowly she traced the first cut, and the cold seeped through my skin, numbing it. Silver light trailed from her fingers. Beneath that light my torn skin wove itself back together, stretching uncomfortably around first one wound, then the other. The cold moved deeper, chilling bone. Just when I thought I'd have to cry out, Allie drew away. Two silver lines danced over my hand, then sank beneath the skin.
The cold spread out, became part of my hand, became
She opened her eyes and grinned. “That was
“Well done,” Caleb told her.
“It was easy. Liza doesn't fuss, not like the time Jared gashed his knee.”
Caleb nodded solemnly, then turned to me. “You were lucky. If Matthew hadn't called out, if Allison and I hadn't come—that wound could have been far deeper. You could have cut through to bone.”
“I know,” I said, avoiding his eyes.
“Such luck does not hold forever. Let's have the source of this so we can deal with it and your shadow both. Tell me what you saw.”
I stared at my palm, wondering how he knew I saw anything. Yet Matthew had known, too, even though, like Caleb, he couldn't see my visions for himself. I shivered, remembering the soft fall of ash from a burning sky. Healing was one thing, but visions of death and fire, visions in which Caleb himself played some strange part? I opened my mouth to speak, felt my throat tighten around the words. No. I couldn't share this, neither with strangers nor with those I knew. I feared that if I spoke, the visions would turn real.
Caleb frowned, his eyes bright in the fading light. “Magic and trouble have one thing in common. Neither grows smaller if denied. We will speak of this again soon.” He turned away, helping Matthew back into bed.
Allie folded up the bloodied bandages, her grin fading. I knew she wanted answers, too, but she only said, “You're still coming to dinner, aren't you?”
Caleb had set my knife on the dresser. I took it, wiped the blade carefully on a spare bandage, and slipped it into my belt. Allie frowned at that. I glanced at Matthew, hesitant to leave him alone.
Tallow emerged from beneath the bed, stretching and yawning. Caleb turned to me again, eyes narrowed. If I stayed here, he'd only ask more questions. I took the old cat in my arms and followed Allie from the room.
Samuel joined us downstairs. Together we stepped outside into a twilight town much like my own: dirt path, whitewashed houses, open fields. The sky was heavy with the wet dishrag smell that came before rain. Yet beyond the houses and fields I caught glimpses of a green hedge, taller than a grown man. The Commons was the largest building in town. A cracked sign above the door read Coffee Pot Cafe. “That sign used to light up pink and green,” Samuel told me as we stepped inside. “Tack iest thing for miles around. I sure miss the coffee, though.”
A few dozen people sat in a room lit by bright lamps much like those in Samuel's house. In one corner, someone played a tarnished old flute while others listened as they ate. Mom used to play the flute, Before, but who had time for such things now? Didn't players and listeners both have work to do, in this town as much as in mine? The listeners here included a toddler with clear hair that curled about her shoulders, but no one seemed concerned, any more than they seemed concerned about Karin or Caleb.
In a kitchen beyond a rusted metal counter, Samuel, Allie, and I served ourselves bowls of fish and bean stew from a cauldron over a hearth. Allie also handed me a round green fruit, which she called an apple. I wondered why any town would risk harvesting fruit. Corn and beans were dangerous enough, and they didn't grow on trees. Unless, of course, the apple trees listened to Karin the same way mulberry trees did.
Another couple joined us at one of the room's steel-and-plastic tables. They had a girl Allie's age with them, as well as a boy a little younger. I felt everyone's eyes on me as I ate, but no one asked any more questions. For a while Allie's gaze kept straying to my knife, as if she feared she'd find me clutching steel again at any moment. Then Tallow twined around Allie's legs, and she turned her attention to offering the cat small pieces of fish. The other girl joined in. Tallow walked back and forth between them, happily licking their fingers. I bit into my apple. It tasted so sweet my teeth hurt—sweeter than tea dosed with mint, sweeter than new-harvested corn.
As we ate, Samuel and the couple, Alan and Jan, told me about their lives. Samuel's wife, Sara, had died years ago in childbirth. I was wearing her clothes and was staying in the home she and Samuel had moved into just a few weeks before the War, right after they'd gotten married.
Samuel said Sara was in the hunting party that first discovered Caleb and Karin—they were brother and sister—traveling through the woods outside Washville.
They'd come all the way from the city, where Karin had been injured fighting in the War. That startled me, both because it meant Karin was older than she looked and because I didn't know anyone who'd fought in the War.
