Ian also conjured food.
He raised his right hand, palm facing up.
Golden light seeped from his palm, faint and gentle, like morning sunlight filtering through thin mist. The light rose from his hand.
It condensed in the air and became a loaf of bread.
The old man crouching at the shed entrance stopped chewing. The can slipped from his hand, its juices spilling onto the ground. He stared at the loaf of bread hovering above Ian's palm, his mouth open, several teeth missing. The woman holding the child stood up. The child stopped crying, eyes fixed on the bread.
The man repairing the plastic pipe put down the wire in his hand and slowly stood, his knees creaking. The children stopped playing hopscotch. They ran over...
They crowded around Ian, tilting their heads back, their eyes bright.
Ian handed the bread to the nearest child. The child took it but did not eat. He turned back to look at the companions behind him. His lips were trembling.
"Eat," Ian said.
The child took a bite. The bread was soft and sweet, its wheaty aroma bursting in his mouth. He chewed a few times, swallowed, then took another bite. This time, he did not stop. Bite after bite, tears streamed down his face and were swallowed together with the bread. Ian conjured another loaf and handed it to the next child.
Then came the third, the fourth, the fifth. He made so many that the children's arms were full, so many that they crouched on the ground and piled the bread by their feet, so many that the fragrance of bread spread through the entire ruin. The old man walked over and stood before Ian.
He was a head shorter than Ian, his back badly hunched, and he had to