Sorceress of Faith

by Robin D. Owens

  Was that like the exercise of “be a cloud” that profs in the Drama Department taught? Bossgond’s mind led her to a cloud that showed gray at the bottom, yet puffed up white and pretty near the top. It was humongous.

  She shut her eyes and focused on sensation. She seemed to be floating in the sky, but not as she had before, not herself, Marian, but Cloud. She floated stomach-down, and the portion of her body closest to the ground felt heavy and full of liquid. For the first time in her life her ass felt airy. She couldn’t prevent herself from thinking of it as a huge billowing cloud, and giggled.

  Bossgond hissed. His irritation nudged her, and control of the cloud slipped from her grasp. It rained. Thankfully nothing happened to her real body.

  “See if you can move the cloud,” Bossgond said, disapproval clear.

  She pushed her cloud. Nothing happened, except that she got a visual of her hands penetrating cool air. She tried something different. She was now separate from the cloud and grappled to encompass it. With her mind she formed a tiny membrane from air molecule to air molecule of the cloud, then pushed. It moved. She pushed again, and it slid rapidly through the air. Having fun, she set her mind against it and shoved. It turned into a streak of white.

  “Whee!” Marian cried. She was flying, chasing a cloud.

  Bossgond made a strangled sound and fell backward, away from her.

  She stopped, withdrew her consciousness from the weather globe and shifted around to see what was wrong.

  He was holding his head as if he had a migraine.

  “Bossgond?” she asked.

  The mage winced. “You are Powerful. I didn’t expect you to be able to move the cloud so easily, so fast and far. I never could,” he grumbled.

  “You have other talents.” Marian scooted behind him and started massaging his temples, wondering why she felt compelled to reassure him. He grunted, then sighed with pleasure.

  “Of course,” he said, but he didn’t sound as sarcastic as she’d expected. He huffed out a breath. “You are a naturally gifted student in Power. It happens sometimes, that there are geniuses.”

  An inner glow of pleasure lit her. Of course, she’d been a professional student all her life and knew she learned quickly…not that this was learning so much as revealing, discovering something deep inside her, something she was meant to be.

  Bossgond said, “Naturally the Song would bring someone innately Powerful to the Tower Community.”

  That evening after another mediocre meal, Marian joined Bossgond in the ritual room. He began to Sing the blood-bond ceremony and she joined in when she could. When he picked up a small, sharp knife and strips of linen, she froze. What was she getting into?

  Bossgond smiled reassuringly. “We will be bound together for four hours—the correct amount of time for a bond between Master and Apprentice. There are both lesser and greater bonds, depending upon the length of the binding. A Pairing-Marriage bond is a full night and day.”

  She nodded and tried to relax as he took her arm and shoved up her sleeve, concentrating on something else—like how glad she was that neither of them had drunk a lot at dinner.

  His voice deepened with mystery, with mastery as he cut her arm. The pain was slight, but she yelped and stared as he inserted a little tube in her arm. It looked as if he’d encased a whole vein. Then he slit open his own arm and captured a vein.

  Exactly how much blood would they be exchanging? This whole thing involved a lot more than she’d realized.

  After they were linked, they finished Singing the ceremony, Marian in a low tone, experimenting with using her voice and Power. Even before they snuffed the last candle, she could feel his blood inside her, weighty with age, with Power, but also…murky.

  With his blood came memories, strange and distorted and flickering too fast before her mind’s eye for her to catch and analyze them.

  As the minutes passed, through Bossgond, Marian’s small tune merged with the planet’s. Wonder grew inside her.

  She found herself panting, and regulated her breath—yoga breaths. Slowly, they left the top ritual floor and descended to Bossgond’s study. He’d placed a small desk and chair next to his larger one, along with the big glass sphere that contained Marian’s planet.

  His mouth moved and a second or two later she heard his distorted voice, not beautiful now, but beating at her ears.

  “Study the continents, the contours of the land, and especially the weather.”

  Marian stared at the sphere, but minutes passed before her eyes focused. She swallowed. Everything was so overwhelming! She chose a cloud—studied it as it floated over the continent, changed shapes, absorbed other clouds and became a weather front. Her heart pounded dully in her chest.

  Bossgond fiddled with lenses on his desk. Glimmers of his thoughts came with the flow of memories.

  A few minutes after the second hour, Bossgond abruptly quit his work and they went back to the ritual room, where they relaxed in lounge chairs. This was easier, as she didn’t have to struggle with the input from his mind as he worked.

  Slowly, slowly, without the distraction of her studies or his, relaxing in the chair, Marian regained her equilibrium and could snatch bits of Bossgond’s knowledge, process it, understand it. Comprehension of the language came first, and she smiled faintly. Lladranan culture celebrated the Singer—a prophetess oracle—and the Song, what they called the Divine. It made sense that she “heard” the language in her blood, trickling to her brain, opening new paths.

  Too aware of her own memories flowing to Bossgond, Marian let Bossgond’s most personal ones zoom past her. She knew he’d had two long-term lovers, that the relationships hadn’t been totally satisfying. He probably learned all about her mother—and Andrew. Perhaps he could help with Andrew. At least Bossgond now knew how much she loved her brother and why it was imperative for her to return to Earth.

  Then Marian “saw” the northern boundary of Lladrana, the fence posts and magical forcefield boundary strung between them. The fence posts blackened and fell, the border gaped. Monsters invaded. Horrible, hideous, evil-looking things that brought nausea, so she pushed the thoughts away.

  She experienced worms in the rain. Most died when they hit the ground, some tunneled into the earth. Frinks.

  Some people opened mouths to the frinks, were consumed by them inside until they turned into monsters within a human skin. Mockers.

  From a colorful whirl of views through the binoculars, Marian picked out Alexa—at a graduation, at a funeral, hiking up a mountain trail at night, walking through a silver arch.

  Alexa choosing a baton. Alexa in battle—grisly images…Marian shook her head sharply, no! She didn’t want to see that. Not now, not yet.

  A new fence post—Alexa grinning, holding a helmet under her arm.

  Marian herself at her work-study job in the Engineering Department. On a date with Jack Wilse. Talking to her mother. Hugging Andrew.

  She pulled her thoughts back to the here and now—to the shrouded room around her, the cupboards that held the globes of Amee and Earth she’d seen the night before. The clock showed three hours had passed and seemed to tick with her heartbeat.

  Bossgond made a strangled noise. She glanced at him—a gray tinge had crept under his skin. His breath was ragged.

  “I can’t bear it,” he mumbled. “Your world is too difficult to contemplate. Too harsh.”

  Marian thought that being invaded by terrible monsters was worse than Denver traffic, which she’d been thinking of. But she reached for the linen strips that bound their arms together.

  “No!” Bossgond cried, sitting straight up. “This needs a delicate touch.”

  She understood him much better now, so she leaned back. As he began to chant over the bindings, her blood slowed and dizziness hit her. He carefully separated their arms. The tubes had dissolved. A hollow sigh of relief escaped him.

  After a few more chanting words, his hard fingertip ran up her arm, sealing her wound and leaving
cold fire in its wake. Bossgond wrapped one strip along her arm and sang a simple healing tune that made Marian smile. She was feeling sleepier and sleepier. Had Bossgond siphoned her own energy into himself, thinking it was his right as her master? She didn’t like that thought or the dark parade that followed. Maybe he’d been acting all day, and now she was about to become a sacrifice. Bad. Very bad. How could she have been so gullible?

  Darkness swooped down on her.

  Maps tucked under his arm, Jaquar followed Chalmon up his Tower stairs to his study. The other Sorcerer radiated irritation, probably still upset at Jaquar’s behavior in claiming Exotique Marian the day before. Or perhaps it was that Jaquar had gathered a circle of Sorcerers and Sorceresses to watch the Dark’s nest, and they were reporting to him.

  Before Jaquar’s parents died, Chalmon had considered himself the leader of their generation of the Tower Community. Jaquar, like most, had gone his own way and done small tasks for Chalmon as requested, and if they cost little.

  That had changed. Jaquar had never wanted to be a leader, barely had the patience to deal with the idiosyncrasies of a group of individuals, but he hungered for vengeance.

  When they reached Chalmon’s tidy study, Venetria rose and came forward. Jaquar sensed she’d been with Chalmon since the debacle at the Marshalls’ Castle the day before.

  “Salutations, Venetria.” He bowed and kissed her hand. “How did you two get here?”

  Chalmon waved a hand as if impatient with the question, any small talk. “I bought a coach and Venetria bespelled it to fly. It will be a welcome addition to my household.”

  Venetria frowned. “It’s my coach.”

  “I bought it.” Chalmon scowled at his lover.

  “But my flight spell is much more costly than the coach itself.”

  “Why didn’t you settle this between the two of you before?” asked Jaquar.

  Chalmon reddened. Venetria smiled in satisfaction. “Chalmon was in a hurry to get into the coach. All that Power compressed in that pentacle yesterday was so invigorating.”

  Venetria heaved a sigh, which raised her chest. She did have beautiful breasts. Almost as beautiful as the Exotique’s, though Jaquar had no business thinking such thoughts.

  He strode to the center of the room where a study table and several chairs sat, unrolled one of the large sheets of paper he’d brought with him and placed it on the table. “This is a diagram and map of Plane Eighteen. I’ve found it to be the best for observing the nest. The master and monsters don’t sense us because it is a few levels more spiritual—more good—than what they can achieve.”

  “They are too destructive for Eighteen?” Venetria asked. “I don’t do well in any Plane lower than Twenty-four.” She slid Chalmon a glance. “Unless I’m angry at Chalmon.”

  Jaquar’s mouth twisted. “I’ve reached upward to Eighty-two, as low as Eleven—which is the Plane the horrors use most often.”

  Chalmon grunted. “Is that other roll level Eleven?”

  “Yes.” Jaquar moved the first map to one side of the table and set the second down.

  As he unrolled it, Chalmon placed a paperweight on each of the four corners and studied the musical notation at the bottom of the chart. His nose wrinkled as if smelling a bad odor.

  “Foul,” Chalmon said. He tapped the music and a low, grating hum and clashing notes reverberated through the room. Venetria jumped and put her hands over her ears.

  “You probably shouldn’t have done that,” Jaquar said mildly.

  Greasy smoke hovered in the air. “You’re right.” Chalmon scowled. “Now they could become aware of me, might have a direct path here. I’ll have to do a Ritual Cleansing.” He glanced at Jaquar. “How do you make such maps without alerting the monsters, the Master, the Dark itself?”

  “Very carefully.” He had no intention of revealing his secrets.

  For an instant, Chalmon’s face lightened with humor, then he sobered again and nodded to chairs near the fireplace. They were simple and covered in royal blue, Chalmon’s color. He waited until Jaquar and Venetria were seated, then said, “I am not comfortable with your previous plan to train the new Exotique and use her to infiltrate the nest.”

  Relief eased Jaquar’s tight muscles. Despite his lust for revenge, he’d had qualm, too, since he met Marian. Her personal Song was so lovely.

  Chalmon continued. “I studied the information you sent regarding the recent observations of the Dark’s nest. The Sorcerer who was watching last night said there was a great stirring when Marian was Summoned. The Dark obviously knows she’s arrived. We may not have time for her full training.”

  Venetria pursed her lips. “True. I hope Bossgond teaches her rapidly and well.”

  Chalmon said, “The Sorceress watching the nest this morning stated there has been increased activity, as if more monsters would soon be released.” He squared his shoulders. “I contacted the others. We—the group of us—agree that we may have to move faster than anticipated.”

  Anger stirred inside Jaquar. “Sounds as if you were busy during my trip from my island this evening.”

  Eyes steely, Chalmon said, “From the Power I felt surrounding the Exotique, she is strong enough and Exotique enough to penetrate the magical shield keeping the rest of us at bay.”

  “I want her trained up to Circlet status first,” Jaquar insisted. “It would be foolish to throw away such a fearsome weapon as Marian without learning all she is capable of.” He stood and paced. “Has it occurred to you that the Master is baiting a trap? And he wants us to do just as we planned—send the new Exotique Marian to her destruction instead of guarding her and using her? She’s Powerful and could be the worst danger to him if she develops into a Circlet, unites us and fights with us and Exotique Alyeka.”

  Chalmon shifted his shoulders. “That may well be true, but I’m sure she could hurt the nest, and you saw what one sangvile did. Its damage is exponential. If the Master releases several—”

  “We are watching. We will know when the horrors leave the nest maw. We know how to defeat all the monsters we’ve encountered so far, including the sangvile, including the dreeth. I do not want to act in haste!”

  Venetria and Chalmon exchanged glances.

  “We should definitely spend more time with her and learn her Powers before we solidify our plans,” Venetria said. She grimaced. “I suppose we should visit Bossgond.”

  “He’ll probably be having many people dropping by—Circlets of the Tower and Marshalls, too. Nothing will stop Exotique Alyeka from greeting another from her old world.” Jaquar smiled as he recalled the small woman’s excitement the previous day. “And since Alyeka doesn’t fly well, her husband, Bastien, will bring her. As a black-and-white, Bastien has a wide streak of curiosity himself.”

  Jaquar chuckled. “Yes, Bossgond’s Tower may become a busy place. Enough to make him cranky. I plan to go see him and Marian myself.”

  Venetria and Chalmon watched Jaquar leave. As they stood at the top of the tower, Chalmon’s fingers tightened on hers, his profile went stern. The Song between them was rough and uneven as their thoughts and desires conflicted. As usual.

  “I didn’t ask to be jolted out of my complacency and into the knowledge of great danger.”

  She jerked her hand from his and turned away from the window. “I’m sorry I burdened you when my aunt died, made you face what the sangvile could do to us,” she said stiffly. “I must go.” She’d wanted to stay, had felt protected and warm here, even though his furnishings were not to her taste. He’d never noticed that, of course. She digressed from the topic he’d introduced, but she didn’t want to think about what plans he might propose.

  He grasped her, both hands on her shoulders. “Jaquar is deviating from his original tune in this.”

  “Easier to consider harm to an unknown person than someone we’ve met.”

  “A very beautiful woman who has an intriguing Song. Who he held in his arms, who spun notes with him even during a short in
terval.” Now Chalmon gazed beyond her. “But if Jaquar retreats from this plan, I will not.” His hawkish stare met hers again, pinned her. “What of you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Marian woke at the feel of a cool, damp, herbal-scented cloth wiping her face. Bossgond stared down at her, concerned.

  “It’s only been a few minutes, and is still evening,” he said in a raspy voice. “Let us adjourn to my chambers.”

  Testing her arms and legs, Marian stretched. Her limbs worked fine, though her insides felt a little hollow.

  She took Bossgond’s hand and rose, stood a moment, but no dizziness occurred. Smiling at her master, a man whose bark was worse than his bite from all she’d learned of him, she went with him back down to his study.

  It seemed even more comfortable since Marian had experienced the Power it had taken to raise the Tower, the money—known here as zhiv—to furnish it.

  Attentive, Bossgond settled Marian in the nest of pillows in the center of the room, then brought her coffee. She’d discovered through their bonding that coffee wasn’t rare—not as rare as tea—but Bossgond considered it a treat.

  He sat opposite her, his wrinkled cheeks faintly flushed. “We are bonded, but not as deeply as usual between Master and Apprentice. To compensate for my failure to complete the full bonding I will show you something special tomorrow morning.”

  Marian stared at him, recognizing that his self-condemnation at such a “failure,” wasn’t attractive. He’d done his best, hadn’t he? They did have a bond, a Song, and it felt strong to her. He’d done neither of them harm. In fact, harm to him had been averted, since the strangeness of Earth had threatened his sanity. Yet he expected her to condemn him? She didn’t know what to say.

  He waved a hand irritably. “You may go.”

  So she curtsied and left. Head crammed full of the day’s experiences, she wound down the stairs thinking that she should keep a journal. She entered her room in full dark, but before the door closed behind her, a soft light flickered on.