I felt some anxiety about coming here because everyone had bragged on me for the last few days as a great healer. This would be the first time I’d consciously try to practice my profession again. Despite what Glinka and the others thought, I might’ve lost the knack.
Holly greeted me in the lobby as an old friend, rather than as an employee. And I counted her friendship as one of my many blessings.
“Ian, you look terrific. Absolutely dazzling. Between Laura and Doctor Glinka, you’re better than new. Nothing like clearing out the old pipes, is there?”
She seemed to be trying too hard, but I played along. “Sure, and I feel terrific. Okay, maybe I’m a little anxious about whether I can perform healing magic again but otherwise I’m doing great.”
She led me to her office and closed the door. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I don’t know if anyone has explained it to you yet, but your healing powers are a combination of your great-great-great-grandma Eilwen’s Mendile magic and the Osage powers you inherited from your grandpa Samuel. Together, they pack quite a punch. Best of all, it’s all innate.”
“You mean, you are going to have to spend days teaching me what I already should know?”
She chuckled. “Sorry, too busy. Your healing magic comes from your bones. Hell, Sitka could knock your head completely off, and you would probably still be able to save critters. I’ll have to show you a few tricks again, but mostly, you’re good to go straight off the factory floor.”
As I pondered that, she kept rattling on.
“To find out for sure, we’re going to work on the feral cat that got hit by a car. I repaired her ruptured spleen, but she has a broken leg. I’m hoping you will be able to take care of that. One of my vet techs, Sarah, is cleaning up the kitty now. She’s got a bad case of fleas. The cat, not Sarah.”
I grinned at the image of the prim vet tech scratching herself while trying to help animals.
“One thing before we go in there,” Holly said. “She doesn’t know about your fight or your injury. Its steady as she goes.”
Although she was short and slim, she had an amazing softball pitching arm. And I knew all about her kids and husband.
Holly and I entered the treatment room, and a gaunt tuxedo cat lay on the examination table. He looked fine, except for the lack of a few meals and a broken front leg. According to what Holly had said, all I had to do was to close my eyes and focus my magical core on the leg. Wakonda, the Great Mystery Spirit of the Osage people, or the Celtic healing gods would do the rest.
I stepped toward the cat, but it tried to move away. Sarah had expected that and kept a good grip on the animal. I moved more slowly and gently reached out my hand to touch the cat’s shoulder.
She flinched, but after a moment relaxed. I felt a tingling in my fingertips, and I slowly stroked the leg, barely brushing my fingers against her fur. Then I closed my eyes and prayed. Great Mystery Spirit, please heal one of your injured creatures.
I kept stroking the leg and I could feel it straightening under my fingers.
After a couple of minutes, I opened my eyes, and the cat appeared normal. I couldn’t fight a smile, but I kept myself from blurting out, did you see that? It really worked!
My chest filled with warmth, and the scent of catnip filled the air.
Holly patted me on the back. “Yeah, healing magic is in your bones, and it’ll be there until your dying breath. Gill and Sequoia helped you a lot over the last few months, too.”
“Ian, it’s a pleasure working with you again.” Sarah beamed at me.
For the rest of the morning, I worked at the hospital and constantly surprised myself being able to help suffering animals. Laura had told me this was why I had been put on this earth, and that woman was damned sharp.
Chapter 19
Gundy’s Roadhouse and Saloon, Boulder, Colorado
AT LUNCHTIME, I MET Fred, Dave, and the notorious professor from Oxford at one of my favorite restaurants. It was already crowded when I got there at eleven-thirty.
Gundy’s had a rowdy country style that was far different from most Boulder restaurants. It was the kind of place where people line-danced through the restaurant and threw their peanut shells on the floor. Definitely not the right atmosphere to meet a highfalutin’ English professor, but Fred had picked the place, not me.
Sorcha Leòideach didn’t seem to mind. She was a short, wiry woman with long, snow-white hair that flowed loose down her back. Her hand was tapping out the beat to a Dolly Parton song blasting from the bar. Her eyes were bright and constantly in motion. Although her biography online had said she was eighty-three years old, she still maintained a full schedule as a tenured professor at one of the world’s most prestigious universities. I couldn’t help but be impressed by that.
She shook my hand, and I got a strong jolt of magic. Her fingers were long and thin, and she had painted her manicured fingernails ruby red. Otherwise, she didn’t wear makeup. Her white peasant dress made me think of a farmer’s wife, somebody’s grandma, instead of a British intellectual.
We sat at the table far in the back, away from everyone else, which was perfect for talking in private. Because of the background noise, I had a little trouble understanding her Scottish accent and her low and gravelly voice, but she didn’t aim any obvious shots at me as Gill’s spawn.
We chatted about her trip from Oxford, and I noticed that she kept staring at a jackalope mounted on the wall above us.
Finally, she asked with a frown, “What is that creature?”
I laughed. “It’s a joke actually, a regional fantasy character that’s supposed to be a mixture of a pronghorn antelope and a jackrabbit.”
“It’s intended to fool foreigners? How disgusting.”
It was obvious from the tone of her voice that she disapproved of that kind of humor.
“It’s lighthearted fun,” I said, “along the lines of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Do they know about Easter bunnies in England?”
“I have no idea. I married twice, but no children. I’m not familiar with modern festivals and rituals focused on the young.”
I’d accidentally seemed to get the conversation going in the wrong direction, so I switched gears. “Where were you raised?”
“I was born in Ayr, on the Firth of Clyde. I lived on my father’s farm there until I left for university.”
“What’s a firth?” I asked feeling stupid.
“It’s a bay. Ayr is on Scotland’s west coast and looks out upon the Irish Sea. On a clear day, you can see Northern Ireland from my father’s land.”
“Professor Leòideach—”
“I understand we are to become intimate acquaintances,” she said. “Please call me Sorcha.”
I nodded. “Sorcha, have you had many chances to visit the US before?”
“Of course. I often attend professional events in the States. I have not, however, had the pleasure of visiting Colorado until now. I understand that the major attraction for foreigners are skiing and Cannabis. I’m not fond of either.”
It seemed like Coloradoans had just been put down, but I didn’t understand quite how. I was just trying to be pleasant.
Our waitress came and took our drink orders.
When she disappeared, I tried to think of a comfortable topic of conversation, and luckily, Fred rescued me. “Sorcha was delighted to get a chance to view—up close and personal—the book you brought back from Brittany.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing her opinions on it,” I replied.
We all sat silent, but she apparently didn’t care to opine.
I asked, “Have you told Sorcha about my recent injury?”
“As I understand it,” she said, you have lost all the Holar magic you learned over the last nine months. Do I have that right?”
“Yep. I learned a lot that I’m going to have to redo. On the plus side, I might’ve picked up some bad habits that I have now forgotten. You get to start with a fresh slate, assuming you care to take on th
e task.”
She gave me a thin smile. “Yes, I believe that is one benefit that might accrue from your suffering. As Voltaire once suggested, it is all for the best in the best of all possible worlds.”
Our waitress brought our drinks and took our food orders. Instead of drinking wine or scotch, Sorcha had ordered a flight of tequila.
“Salud,” she said. Then, to my surprise, she licked her hand between her thumb and forefinger, dashed salt there, licked it, downed a shot, and bit on a lime slice.
I tapped my beer bottle against her empty shot glass. “Sláinte.”
That was all it took to break the ice.
Dave finally joined in, talking about Enlightenment philosophers. The professors turned out to be as fluent in Latin and a few other languages as I was in English. All three of them threw foreign words around with ease, and I mostly listened.
When our waitress served my baby back ribs, I devoted myself to eating rather than talking. They continued to chatter on, and I noticed that none of them mentioned Gill Carmichael’s name. They talked about his book a lot, but never mentioned the man.
Finally, I asked, “Sorcha, what are your initial impressions about Gill’s book?”
After a pause, she spoke slowly and carefully, as though a witness at trial. “If it is authentic, it is a remarkable discovery. I understand that you have not authorized any carbon dating because we would have to sacrifice a small portion of the relic.”
“I prefer to go slow on any step that’s irreversible. Are you recommending carbon dating?”
I particularly looked at Fred and Dave who I knew Gill trusted. They both nodded.
“Do you have any reason to doubt the book’s authenticity?” I asked.
Again, Sorcha spoke carefully. “Not at first blush, but modern testing methods are much more accurate than my instincts.”
“Fair enough,” I replied. “Let’s assume for a minute that it really is a thousand years old. What do you think?
She nodded. “Making that assumption, I’d have to say the object is exquisite. It’s remarkably well preserved for an antiquity that supposedly spent centuries in someone’s attic or basement in cold and damp Brittany.”
“Actually,” Dave said, “we don’t know how it was preserved. It might’ve been hermetically sealed.”
I didn’t want to provoke any bickering and I wasn’t sure what else to say about the book. They continued to talk about verification methods and already proven documents from a thousand years ago. An hour later, when our waitress brought the check, they were still going at it. I picked up the tab because they were all technically working for me.
After I paid, I asked Sorcha, “How would you like to handle the next step in my training?”
“I have been made to understand that I shall be a guest at your ranch this evening,” she said. “Perhaps you could drive me there, and I could meet Diana Murray. After I’ve consulted with her, I will be in a better position to answer your question.”
I’d been scheduled to work only a half day at the hospital, so I drove her to the ranch. Along the way, I pointed out some of the scenic features of the area, but she didn’t seem to have much interest in Mother Nature. Nevertheless, when we crested the rise at the ranch, I glanced over at her as she got the first good view of the long, jagged ridgeline of the Continental Divide.
“Ah, the rumors are true,” she said. “Colorado is quite mountainous. They look cold and forbidding. Why would anyone care to venture near them?”
I fought a laugh. To me, the Rockies were warm and welcoming, much more than a city like Boulder. I reconsidered proposing a trip to the high country for her. She obviously wasn’t an outdoors sort of gal.
-o-o-o-
Brigid’s Community Ranch, Boulder County, Colorado
WHEN WE ARRIVED AT the commons building, I introduced her to Diana and left the two of them to get acquainted. Meanwhile, I headed to the lounge and waited for Laura to finish healing one of the kids who’d fallen off the playground’s merry-go-round.
When she came to join me, I gave her my impressions of Sorcha. It was hard to imagine someone more different from me, but I hadn’t given up on the idea of learning from her.
While I was waiting for Sorcha, Laura and I took one of our rambles outside with the critters. There wasn’t much to say, except to thank her for putting up with my weirdness. She was too much of a lady to do anything but laugh at my clumsiness in thanking her.
As usual, something about the open-air and the dramatic vistas calmed me like nothing else could. Eventually, I spotted Diana and Sorcha standing on the patio outside of the commons building. Diana waved at us to come in.
When we did, Diana said, “Here’s what I propose. You and Sorcha can use Tess’s training room, and Sorcha can get a sense of your current magic. I’ve explained to her how your tribal powers seem to combine and operate independently of your Holar spells, and she will decide if she can help you or not.”
“Works for me,” I said.
Laura came with us, and Sorcha didn’t complain. After we got to the room, Sorcha took both of my hands in hers. Again, I got a considerable jolt. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough experience with her to know whether that was good or bad.
While we were standing together, she seemed to be rummaging through my mind. Images flashed through my head. Then she let go of me and rubbed her brow.
“You are a puzzle. I agree that you’ve lost most of your magical fighting power. I know Carmichael’s aura well, and your mind contains few traces of his magic.” She smiled.
I didn’t see that as a strength, but apparently, she did. “They tell me that I have to wait a month to fight. You should have plenty of time to mold me as you like. You surely understand my limitations better than I do.”
She nodded. “Your mind is not stable enough yet to control much power. In short, for the month, you are a tabula rasa. We will begin at the beginning.”
“Should I take notes?” I asked.
She handed me a notebook and a pen and motioned for me and my wife to sit while she stood. “About eight thousand years ago, a man named Holar lived in what is now the Republic of Kazakhstan in Central Asia. There were far more magicians in those times for some reason, and many guilds existed at that time for improving the craft. Almost all of them have been forgotten, but one has survived. That’s no doubt because Holar produced the most powerful fighting spells the world has ever known. In the many millennia since, his guild has scarcely improved upon his original teachings.”
This was mostly new to me, and I hung on every word. Laura must’ve heard some of this information before, but she sat, equally transfixed by how Sorcha explained the underpinning of Celtic magic.
In that first meeting, the Oxford prof called up my magical core, and I accepted the calling. I was really starting from zero.
In my first spell, I conjured a red rose. It turned out to be pink, but Laura patted me on the back, and she created a glass bowl filled with water to put the rose in.
For some reason, that simple spell tired me considerably.
Sorcha noticed and said, “Magic requires effort, and at first, even small steps will take great concentration and energy. Don’t be discouraged. As you begin to use that portion of your mind again, the part that Laura and Dr. Glinka repaired, you will find it comes easier with practice. It’s like a muscle that must be exercised regularly to become stronger.”
“How long before I get back to where I was?”
Sorcha shrugged. “I honestly can’t say that you ever will, but I expect that what you learned over nine months can be relearned faster, particularly if I’m teaching you. Time will tell.”
She mixed explanations with practice drills, and I soon realized that she’d thought about magic long and hard. Each comment she made, and each movement, was smooth and precise. Creating one rose had exhausted me, but although she had to be frustrated at my slow pace, she didn’t let it show.
Finally, she said, �
�I think we will finish today with a protective spell.”
Laura raised her hand. “In the past, Ian has used a chunk of limestone to help him conjure his ward. Should I go get it?”
“Of course,” Sorcha said.
Laura dashed off and returned with the block of yellowish limestone I’d collected at the top of Carter Pass. It was heavy, so she handed it off to me right away.
I explained how I’d visited this natural rampart with Tess, and I showed her pictures from my own phone that I’d taken there.
I glanced at Sorcha to see if this was boring her, but she was following my comments closely. Then the old woman bent over and smelled the rock I held out.
She showed the first grin I’d seen from her. “Excellent, odors are remarkably effective in dredging up memories. Smell it yourself, Ian.”
I did, and it still had the musty fragrance I remembered. Suddenly, an image filled my mind. I swirled on the rampart and took in all the mountains surrounding the high alpine pass. Luckily, I tightened my grip on the rock because it almost slipped out of my hands.
I explained to Laura and Sorcha what had happened.
Both beamed at me.
“Now is the time to try to create a ward,” Sorcha said. “Think about the rock and then say, “Holarthon, elbo protège.”
While I was still holding the chunk of limestone, I stared at it and said, “Holarthon, elbo protège.”
The spell worked. Sorcha reached out her hand, something invisible blocked it.
“A good first effort,” she said.
Laura smiled at me. “He’s always had trouble with wards, don’t ask me why. He plays better offense than defense, but his wards became pretty damned good thanks to…help from others.”
Sorcha snorted. “You can say Carmichael’s name in my presence, and I won’t stun you silly. He has gone out of his way in recent years to vex me, but I appreciate that he was a gifted fighter. As with many of the powerful, though, magic seems to have swollen his ego.”
I wasn’t going to get in the middle of their feud, which obviously was still going strong, and I simply said, “We appreciate you turning a blind eye to his huge influence on me.”
Vengeance (The Sorcerers' Scourge Series Book 3) Page 18
