Page 72 of The Iron Dagger
“Are your children named Bess, Tabitha, Malcolm, Beatrice, and Jimmy?”
The woman’s cries stopped, and she fought to control her breathing. “What did you say?”
The woman needed to be distracted before she descended into full panic.
“Your children. They are alive and well, living in an old mill in Little Snail. The village is caring for them, and Jimmy is about to walk any day now.” Or he was, before Hara left.
“How—how—” the woman said, her eyes wide and desperate as they searched Hara’s face.
“I helped care for them. I come from Little Snail,” she said, and she felt her throat ache with unshed tears of her own. She turned back to the pile of rock in time to see the men pull Widderstone out of the shifting rock.
“Look out! Move back!” one of the men screamed, and the small group that had gathered instantly began to run. A resounding crack, deeper and more booming than the loudest thunder, echoed through the space. Hara could not think, could not move, until she felt a strong grip on her arm pull her back through the passage they had come.
Another terrifying boom sounded behind her, and thick dust filled the air as the ceiling collapsed. Hara let out a scream, but she could not hear it over the crash of rock and the shouts and slamming footsteps of the people around her. The lights were dimmed with the dust, and Hara choked and coughed and her feet stumbled, her knees landing heavily on sharp rock. She pulled herself up and ran.
Finally, she came to a corridor where the dust had not reached, and she placed her hands on her knees, feeling them tremble. Her mask was damp with perspiration, and to her surprise, tears. She looked about her, but Sarai was nowhere to be seen. The woman who was sobbing was the one who had pulled her to safety, and she went to her. They clung to each other.
“Henry,” the woman kept saying, over and over through fresh tears. “My Henry.”
“He’s all right. I just saw him,” said Hara, refusing to believe that he might be dead. “They pulled him out. He was justthere.”
Then a horrifying thought curdled her stomach. Was Sarai trapped back there? Hara gained her feet and started down the hall they had come.
“Where are you going? It’s dangerous back that way!” the woman called, but Hara had to find her friend.
The dust was beginning to settle, and Hara called, “Sarai! Sarai!”
She turned left, then right, trying to find her way back to the collapsed chamber. Tears were blurring her sight. “Sarai!”
“Hara?” called a voice to her right, and Hara bolted in that direction. Sarai was there on the ground, a thick line of blood coursing down her cheek and soaking into her mask, making an ugly stain. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m well,” Hara said, her voice breaking on a sob of relief. “But you’re bleeding.”
“I’ll be fine. I was just scratched when I fell,” said Sarai.
“We have to go back and look for survivors,” said Hara.
Sarai shook her head. “Hara, you and I are not equipped for this. We don’t know how to prevent more rock from falling if we were to dig through the pile.”
“So, we leave them there to die?” asked Hara.
“No. We alert the other foreman of the collapse and he will bring a rescue team. I saw most of the group flee from the room before the rock came down. The only one who I did not see escape was Gormun.”
Her horror only abated slightly. “There is a woman back there, they were rescuing her husband. I want to go back to her and let her know that you saw them escape.”
Sarai nodded. “Let us find her, and hopefully I can find a foreman.”
They were somehow able to retrace Hara’s steps, and Hara almost cried out when she saw that Selda and her husband had reunited. Sarai went to a group of men who were slapping dust from their clothes. A few had cuts on their arms or faces, but no one seemed in grave condition.
“You’re safe, oh, thank the gods,” said Hara, making her way to the Widderstones.
“Yes,” said Selda. “But he’s injured, and the medic doesn’t come until the end of the month.”
Hara snatched the reticule from around her waist and knelt beside him. He had a long, jagged scratch across his shoulder that was bleeding freely. Hara performed a numbing spell with a few turns of her hands, and the pained lines between his brows disappeared.
“You’re a hedgewitch, then?” he said in a voice rough with dust.
“Yes,” said Hara, remembering that they were Norwenders and unafraid of magic. “I was a healer in my village.”
