by Robert Brady
Melissa praised his wisdom, kept him at arm’s reach at all times and kept the number in their new-formed clique increasing. The answer to any question became either, “Bill said,” or “You should ask Bill.” Of course there followed a steady stream of advice on his clothes, his hairstyle and his beard, which his new friends alternately hated or needed to manicure in a different way. When Melissa found out he bought his trousers at Target, Bill thought for a moment she would cry.
He impressed himself by wearing cologne for the first time in five years. By that second Saturday, however, he’d been properly groomed, manicured and styled, and left no question in anyone’s mind that he had graduated from trainer to ‘pet,’ mostly Melissa’s.
Chapter Three:
The Song in Her Heart
The day had come.
Angron had decreed the time for the event. Her new brother had apparently spoken with their King before leaving the Silent Isle.
Glynn donned the beautiful white robes of a Caster. In the two weeks since she had been given permission to sing, she’d had a new robe commissioned for her, just to be worn this one time. She wished only that her father had lived to see it, or her natural brother.
The cotton felt like a dream to wear. She cinched the belt tight on her trim waist. Its touch made her alabaster skin tingle, light and secure, properly demure and yet deliciously naked in the way it let her move beneath it. It imbued her with the power of her station, a Caster—the ruling elite of the Uman-Chi.
Finally, to sing! Even if she died this day, she died on a high note seldom felt by others.
Well, perhaps not. She drifted back to reality, and let her toes touch the ground. A good enchantress doesn’t build bridges from twigs and muck. She might sing that the next harvest would be dismal, or that the herds were palsied.
She straightened her back and set her jaw, then with a wave of her hand had the Uman servants open her chamber door for her. No, she assured herself. She had not spent these days in deep training with a Master like Chaheff, learning how to focus great energy, to give crop or weather reports. This would be whatever the gods decreed it, certainly, but no less than it would be.
Glynn glided in the manner of Uman-Chi Casters, maintaining the hem of her robe equidistant to the floor. This discipline prepared her mind for the song, and for the sacrifice she might have to make. She maintained it until she entered the throne room. Ten other Uman-Chi, all in the white robes of Casters, waited for her there in the gallery. D’gattis, with the yellow mark on his robes, stood closest to the throne where she would be, as her brother had promised.
They’d drawn a chain of thirteen circles, each interlocking, on the white marble around the Circle of Judgment before the throne. The priest of a different god had consecrated each one of them. Glynn took her place within it, and D’gattis and Avek sealed her with a spell. If she should lose control, then that would be the first line of defense against the unleashed power.
Her heart raced, her mind swam with the song, its imperative, its power. Her years of discipline in the art of casting barely kept her from fidgeting. The time had finally come!
Glynn inhaled, exhaled, and looked to her wise King.
* * *
Lunch rolled around and for once Bill found himself alone. The timing couldn’t be better—he had driven and he really wanted to listen to Rush on the car radio.
That wishful thinking lasted until he saw them all in the parking lot by his car. He sighed and grumbled to himself—he didn’t always want to talk and answer questions at lunch. Bill shook his head and let the door swing shut behind him. As he started down the office steps he saw the hood up on Melissa’s car, and realized they were looking at that.
And there stood that sweet, friendly girl, bent over her engine with a guy he knew as Roy standing next to her, and one of her teenybopper friends trying to crank the car over.
“Stop!” he shouted. Melissa, Roy and most of the others jumped like so many kids stealing cookies from a jar. He ran the short distance to them, his belly jouncing up and down over his belt.
“Dude, like, what’s up?” Roy challenged him.
“If you’re going to look at the engine, tie back your hair,” Bill scolded them, ignoring Roy. He came to a stop, already sweating, next to Melissa. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her from the engine compartment. “Your hair was right in that engine, Melissa.”
The girl in the car cranked again, and the engine roared into life. Melissa jumped again, but she didn’t pull herself away.
“See that?” Bill asked her, letting go of her and pointing at the fan belt. “Melissa, your hair was right there. You’d be dead now.”
Her eyes widened and she looked to her peer group for support.
“He’s right, Mel,” one of the girls said. “There’s even grease on your tips.”
Melissa grabbed the ends of her long black hair and held them in front of her eyes. Sure enough, some were sticking together, black with grease.
“Wow, Bill,” she said, looking up at him. For a second he thought she would cry. “I, you know, like, I am so sorry.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry, just tie your hair back,” he said. “My dad got pulled into the block of his Chevy that way, by his tie. It didn’t kill him but I saw the bones in his chest where—”
He looked around, and they were staring at him like he was the messiah or something.
“What?”
“Dude, that was, like, so cool of you,” Roy said.
“What?”
“Yanno,” the girl who started the car said, Spanish by the look of her. “All Sir Lancelot to save her.” She looked at Melissa, and said, “Girl, you’ve got to buy him drinks tonight.”
“Oh, yeah,” Melissa said. “We’re like, going to the Mill tonight.”
Bill took a step back. “Oh, kids, um—I don’t think we should—I mean, you don’t want an old fart like me—”
The look in Melissa’s eyes burned with excitement, and then faded as he watched them.
Bill immediately felt every second of his fifty years of age. In one sentence he had reminded them he was older than most of their parents, and he just couldn’t play with them.
His heart slowed down, and only then did he realize it had been pounding.
“Come on,” he said, “you kids don’t want some old guy slowing you down.”
“You’re not so old,” Melissa said, her eyes on the ground.
“And who cares if you are,” Roy said, and actually put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Dude, you know how much I’m making here, ‘cuz of you?”
“Me, too,” one of the girls that he hadn’t trained said. “Just talking to you, listening to what you tell the other people to do, I made more sales this week than I did last week, and I still have Thursday and Friday to go.”
“We, like, owe you,” another of Melissa’s girls said. “So come out with us.” She waved a hand at him. “You don’t want to make Melly cry, do you?”
It looked to Bill like Melly was going to cry. She wouldn’t look at him now, focused on the tips of her hair in her hand, and her shoes, apparently.
Every bone in Bill’s body melted. Even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew that he was screwing up.
“Okay, the Mill tonight,” he said. Melissa looked up like she had just got ‘Bingo’. “What time?”
“We meet at six for happy hour,” she said. She turned to her friend and continued, “This is great, and I’ve got this new top I want to wear.”
“The pink one?”
“No, the blue one with the sparkles that I got at Bealls.”
“Oh, I love that one!”
And off they went to lunch, where they would only let him get a salad, and of course Rush Limbaugh was on his own.
* * *
“By the power of Adriam, we do invoke thee,” the combined Casters intoned.
“Praise to the All-Father,” Glynn answered.
“By the power of Eveave, we do invo
ke thee.”
“Praise to the Taker and the Giver.”
Throughout the list of gods, they invoked the protection they would need for the song. Finally they came to Steel, who was only half of a god, a child of Earth and a woman, who had emerged from Water to be among them, and be the One who could touch Adriam’s creation directly.
“In the name of Steel, we invoke thee,” the Casters intoned.
“Praise be to Steel, who is the Savior,” Glynn said.
The power boiled in her throat. Tears ran down her cheeks, from the effort to contain it. She could see the words before her in her mind, becoming more imperative, letting her know they needed to be spoken.
This preparation went on for grueling hours.
“Commence your song,” Angron commanded from his throne.
And Glynn sang:
“Fovea, oh Fovea, beloved of the gods,
Of Earth and Water’s coupling
Were we among them born.
We walk upon the fertile Earth
‘Mongst seeds already laid,
Six heroes brought forth by the One
Await the coming day.”
“The day, the day, there comes the day.
The day, the day is near.
The day, the day, here comes the day.
The time of War is here.
“From Fovea, from Fovea, the Cheyak, they are gone,
Struck down for their failing,
To make way for the One.
The One, who walks upon the Earth
The One, who is of War.
The One, who others wait upon
To fight forever more.”
“The day, the day, there comes the day.
The day, the day is near.
The day, the day, here comes the day.
The time of War is here.”
“To Fovea, to Fovea, a champion is called.
Summoned on these very words
To witness rise and fall
They will fall, who walk with her
They will fall, who oppose her
They will fall, for the power
Of the goddess, who chose her.”
“The day, the day, there comes the day.
The day, the day is near.
The day, the day, here comes the day.
The time of War is here.”
“On Fovea, on Fovea, seek a noble young and old,
A foreigner among his kind
A hero, fate foretold
One who fights as does the Sun
Waits in a sacred place
A guardian will bring you there
With a devil born and raised”
“Through Fovea, through Fovea, over you shall watch
One who eludes prying eyes,
With one who can’t be touched.
So shall they come together
Heroes of the land
Together to oppose the One
While all apart they stand.”
“The day, the day, there comes the day.
The day, the day is near.
The day, the day, here comes the day.
The time of War is here.”
“For Fovea, Fovea, then must they live and die.
Fight the battle from within
With a champion from outside.
You shall be the weapons
The tools of men and gods
Who come too late for victory
And win despite these odds.
“The day, the day, there comes the day.
The day, the day is near.
The day, the day, here comes the day.
The time of War is here.”
As the last note died, the thirteen circles burst into flame and burned themselves into the floor, one at a time, as the magic released fought for a way out. A moment later all of the fires died down together, and Glynn flew from their midst down the center of the throne room, more like a rag doll than a Caster, to bounce from the polished surface of the double doors and to fall unconscious on the carpet in a heap.
* * *
The bar was smoky, crowded and reeked of beer and aftershave. Bill showed up after he ate, lots of starches, so he wouldn’t get drunk. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t compound it with a DUI.
He found them all sitting at the bar, all smoking and each with a drink. They were clearly waiting for him, and the stool next to Melissa had been left empty.
“Hey, there he is,” Roy said.
“There I am,” Bill said. He sat next to Melissa on the stool, and she kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, probably to cover his embarrassment, rubbing off her lipstick with her thumb right after.
“What are you drinkin’?” one of the bartenders asked him. There were at least four of them. If he went out at all, Bill usually went to the sort of place that had one person behind the bar.
“Bud,” he said.
“Uck, beer,” Chelsea, one of Melissa’s girlfriends, said. “Half the alcohol at ten times the calories.”
“You mean I might lose my girlish figure?” Bill said, taking a stab at being funny at his own expense.
That got an ‘Ohhhhh,’ from the girls and a few smiles. The bartender poured a one-pint bar glass and Melissa pushed a five in front of Bill.
“You don’t have to pay,” he said.
“Nope, you’re mine for the night,” she said. “Deal’s a deal.”
“Yeah, but that’s not right,” Bill said.
“Check out Galahad,” the girl who had tried to start Melissa’s car said.
“I thought I was Lancelot?” Bill said, not knowing if he should be offended.
Melissa smiled at him. “You’re both,” she said. “I think it’s sweet. Boys don’t know how to act these days.”
“Well, how are we supposed to know?” Roy protested. “You want us to open doors but you go racing through them ahead of us, then you smack us down for being sexist.”
“I got smack down for ordering for a date, once,” another of the hanger-on guys said. “Said I did it to make her feel stupid.”
“Uff—I hate it when guys order,” Chelsea said. “They always get it wrong.”
“Then you have to choke down a steak and potatoes when you wanted chicken,” Melissa said.
“Or lobster,” another of the girls said.
“Slut,” Chelsea commented, smacking lobster-girl’s hand on the bar. All of the girls smiled, though Bill didn’t get it.
“Well,” the girl said, “the first part of hitting pay dirt is pay.”
“Wow,” Roy said to Bill.
Bill just shook his head and took a sip from his beer.
“I thought I was being cool showing up with flowers,” another of the guys said.
“Oh, you have to show up with flowers,” Bill said.
All of the girls laughed. “No one does that,” Melissa said.
“They should,” Bill said.
“I did once,” Roy said. “The girl said I was playing her.”
“Were you?” Bill asked.
He at least had the class to say, “Yeah, but I was doing it with flowers.”
They all laughed. Little by little, Bill began to think this would be nothing more than the first fun night out in a year.
* * *
“She lives,” the Uman-Chi healer said. Glynn recognized him as a priest of Adriam from his yellow robe.
Glynn lay on her back in her own bed, in her suite of rooms. Avek, D’gattis and Chaheff attended her, their white robes covered in soot.
“Where…what?” she asked.
“You are in your suite in the palace,” D’gattis said. “Your song burned a hole in the floor and then fired you like a crossbow bolt down the throne room.
“Is anyone hurt?” she asked.
“Only you,” the priest said. She recognized Taffer Roo, whose people had been Adriam’s beloved for as long as Uman-Chi could remember. Angron claimed a Roo had helped bring him into this world.
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“Am I…” she began to ask, and then her courage failed her.
Taffer smiled. “You are well, just exhausted,” he said. “Still the same fingers, the same toes, and all of your hair still attached.”
She ran a hand reflexively through her green locks.
“When can she cast again?” Avek asked.
“Avek, please,” Chaheff said.
“The matter is somewhat pressing,” D’gattis said.
“What is?” Glynn asked.
They looked at each other, then at her. Finally, Taffer said, “Well, it seems that, since you cast your spell, there is a vortex in the throne room we can’t close.”
Her head buzzed like there were bees in it, but Glynn tried to sit up. The bedclothes fell to the floor, revealing her naked beneath. Her knees and elbows felt as weak as a newborn colt’s.
“You must be still now,” Taffer told her, as he pressed his hand between her naked breasts.
His hand felt as smooth as the silks she wore to bed. Healers’ hands, sensitive and loving. ‘The wife of a healer knows contentment,’ it had been said, and she knew why.
Power radiated silently from him, refreshing her body. She took a breath of air and the energy she breathed in amazed her.
“She is ready?” Avek demanded.
Avek enjoyed no great power, so he didn’t understand being strong and then being weakened. Her power already exceeded his, centuries her senior. He demanded that she rise to a challenge he could never hope to equal.
Protocol allowed her no alternative but to wave a weary hand and to acknowledge him. “I am well,” she lied. “Let us to the King.”
She dressed in her whites, now scorched and frayed and nowhere near as good as before. With Chaheff helping her, first to dress, then holding her elbow, Glynn returned to the throne room.
She made no effort to glide this time—she couldn’t have done it, had she tried. She felt relieved merely that her knees didn’t buckle.
***
A multi-colored whorl sat at the base of the throne now.
“Angron first tried to dispel it,” Avek informed her, wringing his hands. “Then he tried to move it so he could depart his throne. Finally we tried to rally the Casters in a joint effort to terminate the thing.”
