then began again. "Under the same sky, under the same moon, let the spirit winds carry me to my destination."
An impossible wind rushed around the hollow inside the tree. William heard the grating noise that usually accompanied the spell, like metal scraping across metal, but he did not open his eyes, did not let his hopes rise. He focused on the children around him, on every detail of them, and on their destination. His stomach lurched and he felt the sense of freefall, of dislocation that always accompanied this bit of magick, and bile rose in the back of his throat. It was as though someone had thrust a fist into his belly and was tugging on his viscera.
But then he felt the wind on his face and heard the babies crying again.
"Master William? Good God, Mr. Swift!"
William blinked and opened his eyes. The babies in his arms were alive and both crying now, even thumb sucker, who had not bothered to unplug his thumb from his mouth in order to shriek. He glanced around him quickly, counting heads. Two in his arms. Three on the grounds. Five. All of them alive.
