"No," Flame insisted. "Not see. Do nothing."

"But it's a child," Jinissa protested, listening to the terrified moans and shrieks from off to her left.

The fire elemental was right, of course. She shouldn't look. She couldn't afford to do anything. One of the basic rules for someone in her position: don't give yourself away, don't let them know what you are. Public use of her power would tell everyone in town they had a Calavrian witch in their midst. She couldn't afford any temptation to a revealing display.

She tried to pretend she hadn't heard the scream, going about her business of carrying laundry to the wash-house. But paying no attention to the fuss would also draw suspicion. She turned to see what caused the commotion. A child, a small boy, maybe six or seven years old, hung on a high branch of a pine tree, at least thirty feet above the ground. Along the trunk of the tree, knots and smaller branches provided foot and handholds, enough to let him climb that high. But he'd settled on a longer limb, and it was now cracking under him. A panicked mother stood directly below him and screamed. Neighbors held out unhelpful arms. A couple began to scale the tree themselves.

Flame, still wrapped around her finger in the form of a lightning-shaped ring, quivered and hissed. "Not good, looking. Shouldn't look. Will think."

They couldn't climb fast enough to grab the child. And even if the people below could catch him before he met the hard ground, another branch ten feet below might cause considerable injury.

"Not safe," Flame insisted. "No looking. No thinking. Do nothing. Will hurt you."

Flame was right. She owed nothing to these people, would only endanger herself if she reacted. A ripping crack tore the air as the branch canted even further downward, and the child scrabbled to hold on. The people beneath gasped, while the mother shrieked and begged for help. Jinny bit her lip and ran her hands into her hair. The child was doomed, to serious injury, if not death. She could do nothing about it. She dared not do anything about it.

"Do nothing," Flame agreed. Jinny always wondered how the elemental managed to read her mind so accurately.

Even if she did rescue the child, that good deed would weigh nothing against the heinous accusation against her. Witchcraft was feared and reviled in this land, more than the grossest of other perversions and sins. The child's own life might be forfeit, having been saved by the exercise of a power these people saw as something dangerous and demonic. In their warped thinking, he wouldn't deserve a life preserved by the use of an accursed power.

"Don't look!" Flame's words hissed and crackled. "Too soft, you."

Over the shrill cries of the adults on the ground, she heard the child's whimper and the clawing of small fingers. She could picture the upcoming scene in her head: the small body sliding off the hanging branch, tumbling down, knocking against other limbs on the way, then possibly caught or possibly not by people on the ground. She could hear the screams, almost smell the blood. Jinissa covered her ears and tried to look away.

"Good," Flame agreed. "Close eyes. Close ears."

A louder cracking sound from the branch drew even more yells and moans from everyone present. The child shrieked as the branch shook him off. The boy's blue eyes looked around wildly, and for a moment it seemed that he met her eyes with a pleading glance. Not possible, of course. He couldn't know she had any help to give him.

But she couldn't ignore his eyes, either.

"No!" It was more crackle than word.

She ignored Flame's protest. It was stupid, it was dangerous, it might well be fatal. She couldn't watch the boy die right in front of her when she might do something about it.

Jinny held out a hand, focused her mind on drawing the forces of air together around the falling child, calling the breezes and herding them into the path she desired. Wind swirled around the boy. Flame moaned. Wind sang in joy, sailing at her command as it formed a cushion to slow the child's descent and protect him from knocking against other branches on the way down. She gathered more and more of the air, until she had enough of it, then held it in place while the boy floated down, avoiding obstacles in the way, and came within reach of the many upheld arms. Sudden cries of "magic" and "witchcraft" mingled with the gasps and sobbing relief, alerting her to the danger she was in.

Flame writhed around her finger. "Go," it insisted. "Fast."

Once the boy was in his parent's grasp, she let go the wind cushion, whirled and ran. Too late, though. Before she'd gone far, footsteps sounded behind her, gaining on her, and then hands fell, hooking her clothes, wrapping around an arm and an ankle, bringing her to the ground. She hit hard. Breath whooshed out of her lungs. Flame jerked on her finger. Sudden, sharp pain flashed through her head, her vision fogged. Even the yells and shouts faded moments later as she sank into darkness.