D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

I’m going to die here.

Every breath scorched his throat, his lungs. Still he fought on, but his heart labored in his chest, as much from grief as from fear.

Pushing through what had become a wall of burning wood, he abruptly found himself at the edge of the inferno. He stumbled into the open, cool air a balm on his face and neck, his hands and arms. He managed one more step and collapsed.

Strong hands grabbed hold of his arms and dragged him on, until the crackling of wood and the hissing of flames were lost to the soft lapping of waves at timbers. Ethan opened his eyes just as Nap and Gordon set him down beside Janna.

He croaked a “Thank you.” Neither man said a word.

“You need healing,” Janna said. She looked at him more closely. “At least I thought you would.”

“I cast a protection spell to guard me from the flames. I didn’t think it worked. I felt like I was on fire.”

“You’re bright red. But there’s no blisterin’ and no blackened skin.” She glanced up at his head and grinned. “Your hair didn’t even get singed. That’s some good conjurin’, Kaille.”

“Thanks,” Ethan said, looking back toward the burning warehouse. “Do you think he’s still in there?”

“Ramsey?”

“Aye.”

“I didn’t see him come out, and his men are still watchin’ for him. I think he’s dead. I hope he is.”

Ethan nodded, though he didn’t actually believe that Ramsey had died. Not yet. As long as Patience’s shade and the ghosts of the others lingered in the warehouse, Ramsey still lived, since his conjurings had awakened them. He watched the burning building for signs of the shades, but he couldn’t see for the smoke and flames. He knew only that Patience had still been there seconds before.

Men-laborers and sailors-had formed lines leading from the edge of the wharf to the burning warehouse, and were passing buckets of water to those nearest the flames. The building itself was too far gone to save, but there were warehouses on either side of it that needed to be protected. Ethan knew that he should get up and help douse the fire, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“You just rest,” Janna said, seeming to read his thoughts. “You’ve done enough.”

Sephira’s men, including Mariz, had joined the effort, as had several of Ramsey’s crew. It was odd to see them working together, so soon after they had been pummeling one another.

“I shoulda known that man would come around here eventually.”

Ethan twisted to follow the direction of Janna’s gaze. Sheriff Greenleaf had reached the wharf and was striding in their direction, a scornful look on his face. Several men of the watch walked behind him. Ethan knew that he would be searching for someone to blame for the fire and the additional deaths; without Ramsey here, the sheriff would lay on him responsibility for all that had happened.

“What did you do now, Kaille?” Greenleaf called while still several yards away. The man was predictable.

“I fought Ramsey,” Ethan said, making no effort to get up. “And I barely escaped the warehouse when he set it on fire.”

“You look none the worse for wear.”

“I was fortunate.”

“Aye,” the sheriff said, his voice cold. “It seems to me that you’re always fortunate. Some would call that coincidence. Others might credit your bonny luck to something darker.”

Ethan said nothing, but continued to stare up at the man.

“Where’s Ramsey?” the sheriff asked after some time.

Ethan pointed at the fire. “He’s in there.”

“He’s dead?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But surely if he’s…” Comprehension darkened Greenleaf’s face. He shook his head. “Damn you and your kind.”

“If it wasn’t for our kind, you woulda had to fight Ramsey yourself,” Janna said, her scowl no less intimidating than the sheriff’s. “How do you think that woulda gone?”

“Janna…” Ethan said, his voice low.

The sheriff stared down his nose at her. “You should watch yourself, woman. You keep saying things like that, and you may wind up with a noose around your neck.”

Her smile was so pleasant one might have thought they were discussing the sunset. “I ain’t never seen a rope that would hold me or a man brave enough to try to put one around my neck. And I sure don’t see one now.”

Even in the failing light, Ethan could tell that Greenleaf’s cheeks had reddened.

But the way the sheriff glowered at Ethan, one might have thought that he had spoken and not Janna. “Don’t leave,” he said. To the men of the watch, he added, “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” He stalked off toward Sephira.

“You shouldn’t goad him like that,” Ethan said, his voice low.

“Why not? He ain’t gonna hang an old woman, and even if he tried, it wouldn’t work.”

“No, but he might hang me.”

“That wouldn’t work, either, now would it? Sometimes it seems like you forget you’re a speller.”

Ethan had to laugh.

Janna watched the sheriff and Sephira. “What do you suppose they’re talkin’ about?”

“I’m sure Greenleaf is looking for some way to blame me for all of this. And if Sephira is feeling less than charitable, she might just help him.”

“I don’t think so. I’m a good judge of people’s character, and I think you can trust her.”

Ethan almost laughed again. Yesterday she had hated Sephira more than anyone in the world. From the way she was talking now, one might have thought that they were old friends.

“I should have asked before, Janna. Do you need healing?”

She shook her head. “Mariz took care of me. I just need rest.”

Rest sounded good.

Greenleaf continued to talk to Sephira, though he looked less happy with every word she said. When he made his way back to where Ethan and Janna were sitting, he appeared so forlorn it warmed Ethan’s heart.

“You’re free to go,” he said. “Both of you.” He leveled a finger at Ethan. “But I want to see you back here tomorrow. This is still your mess, and I’m going to have more questions for you before long.”

“I’ll come back in the morning,” Ethan said.

He climbed to his feet, his muscles sore, his legs leaden. He had escaped the warehouse without serious burns, but he had been hammered by Ramsey’s spells again and again. He felt bruised, beaten.

Before he could walk away, Greenleaf said, “He couldn’t really be alive, could he?” He nodded toward the warehouse, which still burned. The flames had died down, but the embers glowed balefully in the twilight. “Look at that. If he was trapped in there, he would have to be dead. Even a witch can be burned.” He faced Ethan. After a brief silence, he said, “I want an answer, Kaille.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Could you have survived a fire like that?”

“No. But I’m not a witch.” And with that, Ethan turned from him and began the long walk back to the Dowser.

Stepping into the Dowsing Rod was like returning home after a years-long voyage. Ethan was so relieved to be back in the tavern that his legs almost gave out beneath him before he reached the bar. Too late, he realized that while he had come through the fire relatively unscathed, his clothes had not. His waistcoat had been burned beyond hope of mending, and he had left it at the wharf. His shirt was blackened on the sleeves and stained everywhere else, and his breeches looked no better.

Before he could leave the tavern, Kannice spotted him and came out from behind the bar, concern etched on her face.

“You’ve looked better,” she said, taking his hand.

“Aye. I’ve felt better as well.”