Lynnette lifted her skirt and ran, Arista chasing after her. They rushed to Coswall Avenue, where a crowd formed outside the bakery. Pushing past the crowd, they saw a boy lying unconscious on the cobblestone.

“Oh sweet Maribor!” Lynnette cried, falling to her knees beside her son.

Brice knelt on the stone, holding Wery in his arms. Blood soaked his hands and tunic. The boy’s eyes were closed, his matted hair slick as if dipped in red ink.

“He fell from the baker’s loft.” Finis answered their unasked question, his voice quavering. “He was pulling one of them heavy flour bags down ’cause the baker said he’d sell us two cups for the price of one if he did. Pa and I told him to wait fer us, but he ran up, like he’s always doing. He was pulling real hard. As hard as he could, and then his hands slipped. He stumbled backward and …” Finis was talking fast, his voice rising as he did until it cracked and he stopped.

“Hit his head on the cobblestones,” declared a stranger who wore a white apron and held a lantern. Arista thought he might be the baker. “I’m real sorry. I didn’t think the boy would hurt himself like this.”

Lynnette ignored the man and pried her child from her husband, pulling Wery to her breast. She rocked him as if he were a newborn. “Wake up, honey,” she whispered softly. Tears fell on Wery’s blood-soaked cheeks. “Please, baby, oh for the love of Maribor, please wake up! Please, oh please …”

“Lynn, honey …” Brice started.

“No!” she shouted at him, and tightened her grip on the boy.

Arista stared at the scene. Her throat was tight, and her eyes were filling so quickly that she could not see clearly. Wery was a wonderful boy, playful, friendly. He reminded her of Fanen Pickering, which only made matters worse. But Fanen had died with a sword in his hand, and Wery was only eight and likely had never touched a weapon in his short life. She could not understand why such things happened to good people. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she watched the small figure of the boy dying in his mother’s arms.

Arista closed her eyes, wiping the tears. When she opened them again, she noticed several people in the crowd backing away.

Her robe was glowing.