He met his own hollow gaze in the mirror. “Mental,” Jaquar said. The reflection in the mirror changed and he saw the white sparkling of his brain, the waves of strong mental energy. The rhythm of his energy was good. His mind was clear.
“Magical,” he ordered. The mirror showed his Power radiating out in colorful bands from his body. Lladranans tended to judge magic by the tones and tunes it made, but the mirror reflected it visually. There were no breaks, no streaks of blackness. His Power had never been stronger. Good.
Jaquar hesitated. “Emotional,” he whispered, and saw his body shrouded in grief. Fury and vengeance glowed red in his eyes and heart. Not good. But he wasn’t going to travel to any plane that needed lighter, more uplifting emotions.
He’d be able to find that ugly lower plane easily, blend in, cruise through it.
“Spiritual,” he said. Again the darkness, nearly smothering the gold aura tracing his body. Ragged spikes showed how his spiritual health fluctuated. Perhaps when he’d destroyed the sangvile he would make an appointment with the Singer for a personal Song Quest. A Song Quest would tell him how best to manage his grief and guilt. Later.
“Physical.” There he was again, face strained, changed since his adoptive parents had died. He recalled his last leave-taking with his adoptive parents, no more than a month ago. Parents, they would have corrected him, not “adoptive parents.” They’d been right in that as in so many other things. Though they hadn’t birthed him, had only taken him off the streets when he was eight, they’d been his parents.
His last memory of them was as they laughed at some joke his father had told just before Jaquar left their home. They were framed in the golden light streaming from the doorway of their house. His mother, round of face and body, leaning into his father, the aura of love radiating from her….
Just the moment before, her sweet breath had caressed his cheek as she’d kissed him farewell. Her scent had wound around him—the flowery herb fragrance that had been his comfort from the moment she’d claimed him as her own.
His father had hugged him hard, as always, and Jaquar had felt the strength of Power and body that had always meant love and safety.
No more. Ever. All because of him.
He had brought their evil killer to them. The odd boy they’d saved from the streets had ultimately led their deaths to them, far before their time.
“Off.” His image faded and he was glad.
Unhurried, he walked to the pentacle, closed the circle with a hummed note, and settled into a soft pallet in the center to begin his quest to find and destroy his parents’ slayer. He sang.
When the Songspell ended, his astral shape slipped from his body with an easy pull and a tiny “pop.” Hovering over his physical form, he felt light and free.
He stayed in the same physical plane and rose above his Tower, his island, to orient and anchor himself. As was customary, his was the only Circlet Tower on the island, and the island itself was small. Most circlets lived on their own island in the Brisay Sea, east of Lladrana. He’d wanted one only a few miles from Coquille-on-the-Coast where his parents lived so he would visit them often.
On the physical plane, the sangvile had two forms: one, a black spiderweb, and the other, a manlike dark energy. Its rudimentary, nasty emotions were that of an evil predator. As strong as it was now, if spread out in spiderweb form, it would cover a house. The man form would be a giant.
The monster had gloated over the pain and fear it caused, laughed in malicious glee at its feast of Circlets and their Power. Those tainted emotions had leaked through several planes and led Jaquar to it. He had found the horror too late to pin it down, set it ablaze and watch it die.
Below, he saw his Tower, round and of red stone, with a flat roof and a walkway around it; Mue Island, looking like the blunted top of an archery arrow, slightly southwest of Coquille-on-the-Coast. He drifted even higher, until he could see most of Lladrana, the rocky hill where the Marshalls’ Castle sat—in the middle of Lladrana, far from the ocean, east and north of Coquille-on-the-Coast. He tugged on the cord between his astral self and his body. It held firm.
Then he plane-walked, searching for the sangvile.
He passed through several known planes to reach the one he wanted, tuning himself to its unique vibrations. Only on this plane could he pinpoint the hideous energy of the sangvile.
And there was the monster that had slain his parents. And Jaquar lusted to destroy the sangvile with all the fierce desire within him. Here, the sangvile was a gliding black smudge.
Jaquar was back on the hunt. Though this lower emotional plane was a gray nothingness, Jaquar could dimly sense the geography of the physical plane below, where the sangvile roamed. Here, the image of the sangvile was a gliding black smudge, traveling northwest from Lladrana. Jaquar followed.
No sights; worse, no sounds. The dreary atmosphere made his emotions all the more powerful.
The sangvile moved. Geographic familiarity, physical reference points, were gone. The sangvile was far outside the borders of Lladrana, flying north with information and energy and magic to give the Dark.
Jaquar’s astral self followed. As a mind-shadow, Jaquar had no eyes to weep or voice to scream his grief. The emotions that gave him the strength and cunning to track the beast scoured him, made him vengeance incarnate. He would kill the servant and destroy the lord. No price was too high to pay.
The thing hesitated in flight, then lashed out with a black-energy tentacle. Jaquar ducked, drew back. Was it aware of him? Aware of something as predatory as itself, as ruthless?
Coalescing into a streak of dark lightning, the horror sped up. The monster was near its…nest?
Ahead, the grayness of the ethereal plane changed. In the distance was a black point. Jaquar sensed something huge and vile and pulsing.
2
In front of Jaquar seethed a mound of evil so dark that it swallowed all light, all energy. The sangvile rounded itself into a ball and arced downward into a hole of red, with tentacles of gray and acid green and black. The mound radiated a loathsome, diseased feeling that seemed to coat Jaquar with slime.
The place was inimical to all humans. And it was hungry.
No price was too much to pay to avenge his parents.
Jaquar flung his astral-self into it.
And hit a magical shield. Rebounded, stunned and aching.
He spent his rage battering the magical barrier with all his might, all of himself. He shifted to planes above and below and struck the shield time and again, then returned to the first plane.
Jaquar Dumont. A sneering voice resounded in Jaquar’s head along with a hideous clash of notes. He stopped his fruitless assault. Hovered. Wondered whether to reply, if acknowledgment would make him vulnerable.
The great Jaquar Dumont, bastard with tainted Exotique blood, the voice continued, and Jaquar realized it was human—and male.
A human Sorcerer consorting with the horrors and monsters that invaded Lladrana? Had Jaquar been in his physical form he’d have been sick with revulsion. Did Jaquar know the voice? He didn’t think so. He did sense the Power of the Sorcerer. The Sorcerer was nearly a Circlet—but he wasn’t the true and ultimate evil. The man served another.
The Sorcerer laughed at Jaquar. So, you have found us, but only on this low plane. You cannot break the Dark’s shield, nor harm this nest. No Sorcerer or Sorceress of Lladrana can.
Come out and fight! Jaquar threw the mental call to the human.
The Sorcerer snorted. If and when I exit our nest it will be with an army, or allies so strong that no one will be able to stop us.
All of Lladrana will fight you! Jaquar shouted, trying to pierce the shield with Mind and Power alone. Futile.
More sneering laughter. The Marshalls have discovered how to raise the magical barrier against us. But in two weeks they have not done much. The Marshalls are few and slow. The boundary still has many gaps.
Wild shrieking came from the human. If he’d bee
n sane at one time, he wasn’t now.
Gathering himself into a spear of Power, Jaquar arrowed to the red maw-gate of the pulsing mound. And was flung away.
The sangvile is safe from you, as are all the servants I control. You will never be able to pass the shield on any plane. No Lladranan with Power can breech this forcefield. No Lladranan can hurt this nest. The voice insinuated into Jaquar’s mind as he continued to batter at the gate. Since you loathe the sangviles so much, I will set more upon Lladrana. Soon. Aimed at Circlets.
Despairing, Jaquar continued the assault until his energy faded and he had only enough strength to return home. He awoke hours later, body stiff, psychically blind since he’d abused his Power. With croaking voice, he dismissed the magical pentacle.
Jaquar staggered to his desk and fell into his chair, ready to record all he knew of the sangvile, all he’d learned in his pursuit. His face was colder than the rest of him. He lifted his hand and touched his cheek. It was wet.
Boulder, Colorado
The same morning
Marian froze. “I didn’t call you.”
Golden Raven raised little penciled-in eyebrows and pushed by her to enter the apartment. “I heard you.” She tapped her head, glanced around and took a seat on the couch.
“I find that very strange.” Just as odd as everything else that was happening. Marian shut the door.
Golden Raven wore tight jeans and shirt that did nothing for her heavy figure. But unlike Marian, Golden Raven accepted her body. “I know you do, but just listen. My vision was of you and a young man who looked a great deal like you—except he had black hair instead of your red.”
Andrew. Marian had never told Golden Raven about him. Marian had met a lot of frauds while taking New Age classes, and Golden Raven wasn’t one of them. The woman was a brilliant forecaster.
Tilting her multi-shaded blond head, Golden Raven surveyed Marian’s apartment. “Very much like you, Marian. Books, papers, everything too neat and tidy. Still striving for perfection, I see.”
“Golden Raven, I’m running late for my job—”
“Our paths are not the same, but I had to tell you of the vision before Wood Elk and I left for the West Coast.” She looked at Marian, eyes narrowed. “You have a great deal of intelligence, and more—just plain magic in you, right beneath the surface. But you dabble. You don’t commit yourself to freeing your powers.”
Marian wasn’t accustomed to teachers berating her. She stood stiffly beside Golden Raven.
“You dabble, not taking what you learn seriously. Yet I feel a brilliant spark within you, humming just under your skin.” She tapped Marian’s chest above her breasts. “Strong magic.”
“Golden Raven, it would be interesting if that were true. But—”
“You feel your psi powers trying to break free and even now reject them. I heard you calling me this morning—can you deny that?”
“No.” But she wanted to. On the other hand, she’d always had an internal push to find…something…ever eluding her. Could it be magic? Could she have strong psychic powers? She’d only been aware of her weather sense and her connection to Mother Earth.
Golden Raven grasped Marian’s arm, then stilled, her eyes going blank and unfocused. “The full moon. Tomorrow night.” Golden Raven sucked in a breath and stepped back from Marian, breaking the physical connection. She shook her head, then met Marian’s eyes. “I don’t know what it means. I can’t tell you. Except that this full-moon ritual is very important for you. It will be life changing. For you and your brother.”
Her words were as fearsome as Marian’s nightmares, and seemed just as real. Believe, or not? Golden Raven had mentioned Andrew again, the bait Marian would always swallow.
She said steadily, “When I said your name this morning I wanted to ask if you knew others who had had experiences like these I’ve been enduring.”
“Your psi potential demanding to be fulfilled. Do the ritual, find one who will help you direct it. As for your brother, he is linked to you and I believe he will be…greatly affected in a good way by your psi development.” She opened her mouth, then shut it and shook her head again. “No, I should not tell you, even if I could. I’m sorry, Marian. I must go now, and Blessings upon you.” With a little duck of her head she turned and left the apartment. The door clicked shut behind her.
Marian barely saw her go as emotions churned inside her. She needed another shower, although a hot bath would be better to banish the sudden chill.
She might have shrugged off the continuing auditory illusions, might have ignored Golden Raven’s advice to find another teacher. Might have continued to “dabble” in New Age spirituality on her way to receiving her doctorate. But she would never ignore any threat to her brother. Andrew was the person she most loved. She’d do the ritual tomorrow night.
She’d anger Candace by not appearing on demand, couldn’t in good conscience take her mother’s money when she wasn’t going to follow through on the favor of the fund-raiser. That meant putting her career on hold, getting a job—leaving her college fund with her mother. Marian squared her shoulders. So be it.
If a full-moon ritual was important to understand the strangeness happening to her and if it could help Andrew, she’d do it. And take it seriously, by God—or by All the Powers that Were.
Lladrana
The same day
Jaquar had just finished recording his journey in his lorebook when a crackle of lightning had him jerking his head to the crystal sphere on his desk. He flicked it with his fingernail, ping, and accepted the sending of another Circlet.
Cloudiness filled the crystal, then dissolved to wisps. Two people finished the Songspell that allowed them to communicate with Jaquar and stared out at him. A shaft of pain speared through him. Jaquar was accustomed to speaking only with his parents this way, and they would never sing to him again.
Chalmon Pace and Venetria Fourney—on-again, off-again quarreling lovers—gazed at him. They both bore the mark of great magical Power, thick streaks of silver at both temples in their otherwise black hair.
The last Jaquar had heard, Venetria had been backtracking the sangvile. She’d lost an aunt in Coquille-on-the-Coast.
“Bad news,” Chalmon said gruffly.
Jaquar grunted.
“Venetria’s information, compiled with what I’ve gleaned from the oldest lorebooks, tells us that the appetite of the sangvile is exponential.” He cleared his throat. “And it prefers those with Power. The monster is directed at us, the Circlets of the Tower Community.”
With stiff lips Jaquar said, “We lost eight strong Sorcerers and Sorceresses in Coquille-on-the-Coast. That can’t be allowed to happen again.”
The other two nodded. “We agree,” Chalmon said. “We must protect ourselves from this horror. We’re sure you are right—the sangvile followed you from the Marshalls’ Castle.”
Jaquar laughed harshly. “I thought it was too weak to attach itself to me. I thought it would hide and garner strength in the Castle. Instead it knew I could lead it to a richer feast later.” He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for that. “You said its hunger is exponential?”
“Yes,” sighed Venetria.
“It’s back at its master’s nest.” The words pulled jerkily from Jaquar, he didn’t want to think of his journey to the red maw, his vain assault, the gloating triumph he’d sensed. Nevertheless, he told Chalmon and Venetria.
They were both pale when he finished.
“It’s coming back, and not alone,” Venetria whispered. “More than one sangvile?”
“Yes,” Jaquar said. He’d be ready for the horrors, and he wasn’t averse to attacking. “We need more to find the nest, to understand what this ‘master’ is and how to battle it. I’ll organize the effort.”
Chalmon frowned. “I don’t know—”
Jaquar gestured, stopping Chalmon’s protest. “I’ve lost the most. Isn’t that the Tower Community tradition? The one who is most passionate gathe
rs Powerful Circlets of the Fifth Degree and directs them?”
The two looked at each other again.
“We’re all concerned with the defense of Lladrana and now finding the master who directs the monsters to invade,” Chalmon said.
Smiling coldly, Jaquar said, “If anyone wants to challenge me for leadership, I’m available.”
Venetria dipped her head. “So noted.”
Chalmon shrugged, turned the subject. “No Sorcerer or Sorceress could pass. No Lladranan with Power could breech the shield. That means we use someone from the Exotique land. Someone for the Tower community. Our Exotique.”
“We could ask the Exotique Alyeka,” Venetria said.
“She’s one of the Marshalls. We can’t be indebted to them. We’d lose our independence,” Chalmon snapped.
“Summoning our Exotique is already planned,” Jaquar said.
“The master said, ‘No Lladranan can harm the nest,’ as if just the presence of one who is not Lladranan can hurt the Dark.”
“A natural weapon,” Chalmon breathed.
“Think what she’ll be like when she’s trained!” Venetria said.
Jaquar said, “The Summoning Song will bring to Lladrana a person who will work well with us.”
Venetria sucked in a breath. “Yes, but she must be strong if we are going to send her to the nest.”
Jaquar said, “Any Exotique the Marshalls can contact will naturally be strong. As eldest and most powerful of the Tower, I believe Bossgond sent the Marshalls a list of the proper qualities.” Jaquar felt his mouth twist. “Bossgond didn’t notify me, but I received an acknowledgment from the Marshalls.”
Frowning, Chalmon said, “Bossgond didn’t tell me, either. It is time he breaks this hermit existence.”
“I’m sure he’d be glad to hear you tell him so,” Venetria said sweetly.
Chalmon continued. “The Exotique must be well-trained before we send him or her to this master you discovered, Jaquar. He or she must at least be trained enough to report what is found in the nest.”
Sorceress of Faith Page 2
