The Spell of Rosette

by Kim Falconer

  ‘I’m nowhere near done,’ came her grating reply. Peripherally she could see initiates jostling around the dusty ring, stretching this way and that for a better view. If they wanted a show, she’d give them one.

  She gathered her energy and drove forward with a low, crouching sweep. It did not catch him unawares. He leapt over her blade as she cut through the air, projecting energy from her centre, up her arms and down the wooden blade. The weapon was a sluggish conductor, yet she managed to knock him back as she blocked his next thrust. Pressing her minute advantage, she cracked her blade into his ribs, energy and all. First strike.

  No good. His blade was there to meet hers before she touched his flesh. Inches from each other, they locked eyes. She felt the rise and fall of his chest, dusky scents mingling as her breath matched his. All her might was pressed against him, and he blocked it with ease, and something else as well.

  He drank the energy in. He drank her in. She could feel it! Her heart pounded and her breath tore the air with ragged gasps. He pulled her to him before she could boost again and her wooden sword fell to the ground. His hands tightened around her wrists.

  Pressed against his neck, she could taste his salty skin. She didn’t know whose sweat dripped down her cheek, his or hers. The grip tightened further. She winced as her bangles dug into her flesh.

  ‘You’re not to boost with magic, Rosette,’ he whispered into the dampness of her hair. His lips moved slowly as the words formed against the curve of her ear. ‘This is not practised in the arena. Not yet.’

  ‘You used it first!’ she said, tempted to bite. She let her teeth rest against his pulsing jugular. ‘I felt it.’

  ‘Did you?’

  Beneath the bravado, Rosette sensed the tiniest hint of surprise. Then she knew. He was shielding his mind, holding something from her. He had not expected her to feel his magic. This could give her an advantage.

  Too late. While she speculated, the Sword Master arched his back, lifted his arms and flipped her to the ground. As she hit, the air in her lungs rushed out and his knee came down hard on her hip. He pinned her arms above her head.

  ‘Would you say that I have you now, Rosette de Santo, for the fourth time?’ An’ Lawrence dropped his face to her cheek, the roughness of his stubble brushing away the dust and sweat as he spoke.

  No, I would not! Rosette went for one last move. She let her entire body go limp as her lungs silently filled with air. He shifted the weight off her hip and she twisted like a cat inside its skin. Calling on a colossal boost of magic centred in her spine, she sent energy to her legs, tucking them to her belly, flipping over and pulling the Sword Master with her. Now his head was between her legs, his arms—for a millisecond—pressed into the powdery ground on either side of her thighs. Not exactly the position she had in mind, but a small point none the less. She had him flat on his back.

  ‘Not quite yet.’ She could sense the stunned aura of the gathering. It would have been better if she had sensed his next move.

  His energy came from nowhere, no sign of a build-up, just total release. She was on her back in an instant with the Sword Master astride her hips, the weight of his pelvis against hers. He had her arms bound across her breasts and sweat fell from his forehead onto her throat.

  ‘You win, of course,’ she said as she shielded her mind. She started to gather energy like a tornado draws in the sky.

  A quizzical look came over his face for such a brief moment she wasn’t sure if it had been there at all. Suddenly he was on his feet, pulling her up from the ground.

  ‘That’ll do, Rosette. And well done. My imagination has been whetted, I’ll admit. Where did you learn those moves?’ he asked.

  ‘From…my brothers,’ she answered, catching herself before she talked of Maka’ra or Jarrod.

  ‘Brothers? Did they train at Bangeesh Temple?’

  Rosette stumbled. ‘They work on their own, mostly.’

  She shielded her mind tighter. Not every sword master had formal training in a temple or even belonged to a coven larger than one or two. It was plausible.

  ‘You’re lucky you had them.’ He smiled, taking in her bedraggled look. And where did you learn that magic? It’s not Nell’s, he asked telepathically.

  She didn’t reply.

  Rosette?

  She shrugged her shoulders. Here and there.

  He looked at her, his expression impenetrable. Indeed. ‘We’re done for the day. Go to the baths now, and see the healer.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She glared at him, daring him to contradict her.

  An’ Lawrence shook his head from side to side. ‘You’re cut, bruised and bleeding. Do as I say, and please stop questioning my every direction; it’s getting tedious.’

  ‘Yes, Sword Master.’ Rosette gave him a brief bow then picked up her weapon, brushed the dust off the hilt and headed towards the baths. The crowd made way before her, whispering things she did not bother to hear. She lifted her head, her shoulders back, stilling her mind even as her legs quivered beneath her. She just had to get to the baths without them giving out, then she could let go.

  For the next month, the routine did not change. Rosette trained with Zero and sparred with the initiates until noon, then did forms with a full class of apprentices under the guidance of several other senior instructors. Sometimes, in the last hour, the Sword Master would come and watch, making a comment or an adjustment here and there. He rarely looked her way or seemed to notice her progress.

  Until today.

  She had done her forms at the back row of the class with two other initiates and was sitting on her heels in meditation. When the gong sounded she stirred, rising to head for a welcome soak in the pools. The sun was dropping towards the horizon and already the air was turning cold.

  ‘How are you finding the training, Rosette?’ An’ Lawrence stood in front of her, blocking her way.

  ‘I’m progressing.’ She tilted her head up to look him in the eyes. ‘But you already know that.’

  ‘Take a beating today?’

  She glanced at her arms. Bruised patches and grazes were mixed with dust and sweat. ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  She continued to match his gaze. He clearly had more on his mind than bantering with her. Rosette lifted her eyebrows, inquiring.

  ‘You’ll have supper at my lodge tonight.’

  ‘I will?’

  An’ Lawrence glared at her.

  ‘I will. At sunset. Thank you.’ She bowed.

  He nodded and moved on.

  Why in the world does he want me to join him for supper? Elation flooded her mind as she hurried to her cottage. This has to be good news about the apprenticeship.

  Excited as she was, her body protested. Every bone, every muscle, vein and tendon ached. Her legs wobbled with the effort of climbing the three little steps to her cottage door, turning the brass knob and stepping inside. How would she ever be able to lift her sword tomorrow? But she had thought that every night, and every morning she managed. It was getting easier, and she was getting stronger, bit by bit.

  Who hurt you this time?

  Rosette looked down at the welts, scrapes and bruises rising on her arms and legs that glistened with the healer’s ointment. ‘No-one hurt me really. It’s all part of the training.’

  The large feline stared at her unblinking. I will crush them for you. Drayco’s tone was calm, matter-of-fact.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, but thanks.’ She smiled as his purr rumbled through the cottage. ‘Training with the sword is very rough.’

  Will you rest now?

  ‘I’m to go back up and see the Sword Master, for supper.’

  Why?

  ‘Hopefully, he wants to tell me that although I am ruthlessly beaten to a pulp daily, he thinks I am apprentice material.’

  Will he?

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  What do the planets say?

  ‘Good question. I’ve been under Saturn
transits all year, of course, so hard work and slow progress is natural right now. But Jupiter approaches my Mars opposition Venus and squares the south lunar node.’

  Say it in a way that makes sense to me?

  ‘I get the feeling of adventure, expansion and something to do with the past or someone from the past. Jupiter is honoured by being open to new possibilities and in return he expands the mind through higher learning, the body through travel and the spirit through deeper meditation and magic.’

  Sounds like we are going on a trip to meet an old friend.

  ‘Or being offered an apprenticeship with the Sword Master!’

  I’d like a trip.

  She laughed and brushed her hair, wondering what supper with the Sword Master would be like. They certainly hadn’t struck an even stride with each other yet. What would they talk about?

  I will come too.

  ‘Only if you like, Dray. It’ll be a quick bite and either good news, or a lecture about using magic during training.’

  You did?

  ‘Not today. That’s why I’m so beat up!’

  Drayco picked up a paw and licked it. I’ll come anyway.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She says I may.

  Rosette shot him a look. ‘His familiar?’

  Her name is Scylla.

  ‘I can’t wait to see this!’

  CHAPTER 9

  Drayco sat statue-still beside Rosette, a formidable companion. His black tufted ear and long whiskers brushed the top of her thigh as she knocked lightly on the Sword Master’s door.

  Her hand dropped to the top of his head. I’m glad you’re here.

  Me too, Maudi.

  Slipping off her boots, she let her toes dig into the fine, plush mat and knocked again, this time a little louder.

  ‘Enter,’ the Sword Master called.

  Rosette straightened her shoulders, wincing slightly as she turned the knob. She stepped over the threshold, Drayco by her side.

  ‘Close the door behind you,’ An’ Lawrence said without looking up from the hearth. When the latch clicked, he turned around, staring at Drayco. ‘This’ll be interesting.’

  ‘You didn’t say not to…’

  Before she could finish, a warning hiss came from the rafters, answered immediately by Drayco’s throaty growl.

  It’s her! It’s Scylla, Drayco boomed into Rosette’s mind.

  ‘Oh boy,’ she whispered, following his gaze up to the ceiling. ‘Maybe I should have asked first…’

  Smaller than Drayco, this temple cat—if that was what she was—had long buff-coloured hair and a bobbed tail. Her ears had tufted tips that looked like black feathers and her paws were huge and shaggy. She hissed like a viper and sprang to the ground in front of them, hackles up.

  ‘Steady, Scylla,’ An’ Lawrence said, putting his hand out in front of her face. The bristling feline moved her head to the side to see around his fingers and hissed again. ‘These are invited guests.’

  He stroked her hackles down only to have them shoot back up. ‘May I present my familiar, Scylla from the South Tuscian cliffs.’ He turned and spoke in a formal tone: ‘Scylla, this is Drayco of Dumarka and his mistress Rosette of whom I have spoken. They’re welcome company.’

  He emphasised the last two words, and slowly her stance relaxed and her hackles went down. The nape of her neck seemed much smaller now, almost delicate.

  She’s beautiful, Drayco crooned.

  That she is. I’d watch the temper, though, if I were you. ‘Pleased to meet you, Scylla,’ Rosette smiled. ‘I heard you had a familiar, Sword Master, though I’ve never seen her. Drayco has sent her messages but says she almost never replies.’

  ‘She keeps to herself. She keeps to me.’

  ‘I know what that’s like.’

  He waved Rosette to the large oak dining table. ‘Hungry?’

  Very! Drayco replied loudly in her mind, although he did not look at the table, or even sniff towards the hearth. He was all but inhaling Scylla. They cautiously sniffed each other from a safe distance.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Rosette replied aloud.

  ‘Pardon?’ An’ Lawrence frowned at her.

  ‘Sorry. What did you say?’

  ‘I was asking if you were hungry.’

  She had been famished, but now that she sat at the Sword Master’s table, she didn’t know if she could eat. A wave of exhaustion washed over her. The smell of supper, the intimacy of his lodge, the warmth of the fire and the glow of the candles all conspired to mellow her senses. What she really wanted was to hear that she’d secured an apprenticeship and then go home, close her eyes and fall asleep.

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘You’re exhausted,’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I can’t get through your mind-shield any more. Good work, but I know how to add up.’

  She looked at him blankly.

  ‘You’ve been thrashed every day for a month in the arena.’ He raised his hand to keep her from interrupting. ‘When you aren’t being battered, you’re boosting your energy-force like a warrior. Forbidden at this stage, of course, but well executed.’

  ‘You’ve been watching?’

  ‘I’m always watching, Rosette.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘The point is, boosting is hard work. Drains the resources. You’re also fatigued with a sense of culpability. Do I have to remind you why we don’t want apprentices using magic on the practice field?’

  Apprentices? Her heart lifted until she saw the expression on his face. This was a scolding, not an award.

  She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them, responding by rote: ‘Initiates and apprentices do not boost because it is dangerous to themselves and to others; we don’t have the control or the experience to execute that calibre of magic whilst wielding a weapon.’

  ‘So you do know the rule.’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘And can you admit to me you could use some healing?’

  ‘I’ve had ointment from the healer.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I asked.’

  She exhaled. ‘A healing would be appreciated, thank you. Either that or a long, belated holiday.’

  ‘Not so bull-headed as I thought,’ he mumbled under his breath.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘It’s just a healing, Rosette, not a challenge. I want you at your peak tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

  He didn’t answer.

  Scylla jumped back up to her perch in the rafters, seemingly uninterested in what was happening at the table. She did, however, give a little purr as she leapt. An invitation? It must have been, the way Drayco sprang after her.

  ‘First the exhaustion,’ the Sword Master continued. ‘We need to get rid of that.’

  ‘Do your best.’ She laughed, but it sounded nervous to her ears.

  An’ Lawrence stood behind her chair and tingles shot up her spine. He reached out with both hands, letting them hover above her shoulders, moving them slowly down to her elbows, her forearms, and over her long slender fingers. Waves of energy coursed through her and though he never touched her body, she felt instantly revitalised.

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Now the wounds,’ he said.

  Rosette had no idea how much time passed. She opened her eyes to see An’ Lawrence slicing bread at a high table near the fire. He must have lit more candles, as the room seemed brighter now.

  ‘You’re back,’ he said.

  ‘I feel…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I feel…totally refreshed!’

  ‘That was the goal.’

  The proximity to him, the resonance of his voice and the crackle of the fire, the flickering candles and the smell of food made her senses quiver. Energy surged through her body as she watched his movements, his presence, his mindfulness of her. It felt wonderful. He felt wonderful…only one thing seemed not quite right.

  It was a niggling thought, a
perturbing sliver in her mind. In all this rush of energy and power, she could tell he withheld something. Maybe it was a plan or an intention. Maybe he had a hard-on for her and didn’t want her to know. Maybe not. All she knew for sure was that he kept a secret. It reminded her of the way she felt around Clay.

  ‘Thank you, Sword Master.’

  ‘My pleasure, Rosette—that’s some nasty bruising around your shoulders.’

  ‘Zero,’ she said and pressed her lips together.

  ‘Fast, isn’t he?’

  ‘Like a striking snake.’

  ‘Tomorrow, I’m going to teach you how to outmanoeuvre him.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  He nodded as he placed the steaming bread and a plate of butter on the table.

  She frowned. How could she learn that in only one day?

  ‘You’re very receptive,’ he said.

  Was he kidding? With his touch who wouldn’t be?

  ‘Thank you,’ she said around a mouthful of hot bread. ‘Is there honey?’ She was starting to think of him sexually and wondered if he felt the same.

  Forget it. You’re here for something else. The reply from her familiar came like a blunt arrow, jarring her out of the fantasy.

  Drayco, I was just…

  The Sword Master has news. You have to pay attention.

  Do you have a direct line to him now?

  Scylla speaks with me. I like her.

  That’s nice, Dray. Keep her talking.

  A link to the Sword Master’s thoughts via his familiar would certainly be handy. She paused. Unless it went both ways.

  She’s not asking about me, is she?

  ‘I think you’ll like this,’ An’ Lawrence said before she heard an answer.

  He carried two bowls filled to the brim and trailing a spicy scent that made her mouth water. As the aroma drifted over the table, her body turned to follow.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Avan-chak—spiced bean curd cooked with fruit, chilli, pine nuts and wild rice. Old family recipe.’

  ‘You come from the Prieta range?’ She knew he didn’t, but she asked anyway. Their dishes were known to be as exotic as their lifestyle. Those remaining nomadic tribes were fascinating, a people scattered throughout the region, holding to the old ways and the old gods.