Sorceress of Faith

by Robin D. Owens

  Yeah, Alexa sent absently. Like they say in e-mail, “virtual hugs.” But her mind had fallen into a strange rhythm.

  She was preparing for battle. To fight and kill monsters, perhaps to die.

  God bless! Marian sent strongly, then broke the connection.

  She slid from bed to pace the room a few times, then, when she was warm, slipped off the comforter and spread it back over the bed until it was perfectly aligned. Then she crawled under the covers and hoped for sleep without dreams. And prayed for Alexa.

  Jaquar’s flight back to Mue was full of thoughts of Marian. The sight of her as she’d called the Wind haunted him. Her dress had lifted to show her body—the body he was trying hard to forget that he’d seen naked twice—and the odd undergarment she wore only accentuated her loveliness. Her hair had floated around her, deep red with fiery highlights.

  Most tempting of all were her blue eyes, wide with discovery and excitement, and the joy on her face. How was he going to resist the temptation of all that?

  He gritted his teeth. He would have to. Marian intended to return to her home and her sick brother. If his parents had needed him, nothing would have stopped him from helping.

  Jaquar had rediscovered his honor and thanked the Song he hadn’t committed an action that he would not have been able to live with. He wasn’t about to stain his precious honor by having sex with Marian and binding her to Lladrana through him when she believed she was needed elsewhere.

  So perhaps he should help her hunt for medical aid for her brother—the sooner she was gone, the sooner he could craft a new life without his parents and continue on.

  He might even consider taking an Apprentice.

  When Nightsky and he landed near the Tower, Jaquar saw no light from Marian’s windows. She must be asleep.

  He realized he’d wanted to see her, spend a little time in her company, just enjoy the humming notes between them. Best she had retired.

  Jaquar sniffed the air. A storm was coming. It would bring rain for Marian to practice manipulating—and lightning. Though it was years now since he’d called the lightning storm and it had raged beyond his control, he shuddered. Still, Bossgond was right: Marian had an affinity for Fire.

  Though Jaquar would never match her mastery in that element as a Weather mage, he knew how to call the lightning, ride it even. Better yet, he could teach her the basics, guide her practices and watch her learn and become proficient with her Power, and that was almost as good as using it himself. He didn’t think she’d ever—quite—match him in controlling Wind and Air.

  He would teach her. He would protect her, and instruct her how to protect herself.

  So Jaquar tended to the volaran, then went to his rooms and, listening to the rising wind, fell asleep.

  A sound woke him. An odd noise he’d never heard in his Tower. Foggy with sleep, he listened, heard clicks coming from the speaking tube near his bed.

  Before he could determine the source of the noise, a tiny, cold, sharp-clawed paw patted his face. He jerked in reaction but stopped the whistle that would have flung the hamster against the wall.

  “You are thinking of Marian,” the little being squeaked.

  He’d been dreaming of her—lush and wanton and laughing in his arms as they rolled on the bed and she opened her thighs and her mind and—He grunted noncommittally in response to Tuck.

  “You should go to her.” Two small paws tapped his cheek.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It would be best if you go to her and mate. I am Marian’s companion, but I want to stay here in Lladrana. Her place is here, too. She is a Sorceress.” Tuck hissed, “The feycoocu says she should stay.”

  Ah, the instigator and the reason the mousekin was bothering Jaquar. “You mean the feycoocu wants me to bond with Marian so that when her Snap comes, she will be more likely to remain here. Marian is concerned for her brother—that’s who she wants to help. That’s who she’s bound to the most, emotionally.”

  “That should change. Andrew is good, but he is not as important as you.”

  The brother wasn’t as important to the hamster or the feycoocu as Jaquar, is what Tuck meant. Jaquar didn’t want to listen any more to the creature.

  “I’m not going to have sex with Marian just to please you or the feycoocu.”

  The hamster withdrew his paws, but a moment later, Jaquar felt the tug on his hair and scalp as the rodent climbed onto his head.

  It sat on his forehead, warm and furry…and tickling. Rolling his eyes back, Jaquar could see the gleam of Tuck’s tiny black eyes, serious with a knowledge that Jaquar didn’t want to face.

  “Your Songs match,” Tuck said.

  Jaquar didn’t want to hear that.

  “She belongs here. With you. With me. With Bossgond.”

  “That may be what you want, may truly be best for her, but Marian must decide for herself.”

  Tuck grumbled, huffed, climbed down to walk back and forth across Jaquar’s chest. “You won’t go to her tonight?”

  “No. If we…mate, our pleasure will be a mutual experience, one she wants as much as I. I will not seduce her. Furthermore, I will endeavor not to bind her to me with a strong sexual tie.”

  More mutterings from the hamster. Finally Tuck sniffed and said, “It would be better if you love tonight, in the Tower. Best if you twine your Songs into one. But we must trust the Song.”

  The philosophy was far beyond what Jaquar thought Tuck could achieve. The hamster had been talking better, too. Jaquar wondered how Tuck had made the intellectual leap. The feycoocu? Practice? Jaquar didn’t know, but uncomfortable personal conversation or not, the whole episode was going word for word in his personal Lorebook.

  “Good night,” Tuck said. His claws skittered as he stepped into the speaking tube.

  To Jaquar’s amazement, the hamster flew up.

  A moment later, Jaquar found himself smiling. There were now three beings in this Tower who were masters of Air.

  When she met Jaquar at the door to his study the next morning, Marian noticed a constraint between them in their stilted conversation. Perhaps he thought that she was going to ask awkward questions about where he’d disappeared the night before. Marian didn’t consider it any of her business, but didn’t know what formalities or rules there might be between student and teacher. She was certain that she didn’t want to talk to him about Sinafin’s visit, and he’d no doubt ask if she commented on his night.

  So breakfast talk was desultory. One glance at Tuck’s house showed Marian that he was curled up in a ball in the plush room he’d taken as his sleeping space. The sitting room that adjoined Tuck’s “bedroom” was piled high with his hoard.

  Marian shook her head at the sight. “I think Tuck has finally adapted to Lladrana and gone back to his old nocturnal habits.”

  An odd expression crossed Jaquar’s face, but all he said was “It seems so.” He hesitated, gestured to the trees thrashing in the wind outside the Tower windows. “A storm’s coming in. The height of the front will strike the northwest part of Mue Island midafternoon. This is excellent weather for you to practice Water Power. The hike across the island is an hour, so we should leave after lunch.”

  Forcing a smile at the thought of a long hike in bad weather just to fail at lessons, Marian agreed to the plan. He was the prof, after all.

  He must have guessed her thoughts, or perhaps the notes stringing between them went a trifle flat, because he smiled genuinely. Pushing his clean plate aside, he leaned forward on the table and whispered, eyes glinting, “We can also see how you do with Lightning Magic.”

  Immediately Marian cheered up. She felt her eyes widen. “For real? I’m very good with Lightning in the ecospheres. It’s my best subject. But you’ll let me try it in a real-life situation?” She found herself whispering, too, in excitement.

  Jaquar chuckled. “Yes. A practicum.”

  Marian nearly shuddered with delight. “This is going to be the absolute best class in m
y entire career.”

  He set his hand out on the table, palm up. His gaze was gentle.

  She put her hand in his, squeezed his fingers, then noted the rolling melody streaming from him to her and back, redoubling in strength. Lifting her glance to his, they connected that way, too. His eyes had deepened to dark blue, blue she hadn’t seen on Earth—Lladranan blue, or perhaps it was the silver glints in them—magic, Power. Power blue.

  “Your eyes are so beautiful,” she said.

  His expression closed and he pulled his hand away, stood and banished the dishes. “Be prepared to leave for the shore after lunch. Practice Water and Lightning in the spheres this morning for at least three hours.”

  Well, that was certainly a dismissal. Consultation with the prof over.

  Marian stood and curtsied formally, which made Jaquar narrow his eyes as if he wondered whether she was being sarcastic. She looked once more at the sleeping Tuck, then went down to pursue her studies.

  When she started working with the ecospheres, she understood she’d always used the wind or the sun to work with the water, not handled that particular element itself. She flushed again at the thought of how easily she’d failed in the task the day before of holding water in the air, and how well she’d thought she’d been progressing before that. Sighing, she knew she’d had a touch of hubris and had been squelched.

  She studied hard, experimenting with water for a solid hour, starting with the smallest terrarium through to the largest. Her efforts at mastering water in the terrariums were mediocre. To truly master Water magic, she’d need step-by-step instruction from Jaquar.

  After struggling with Water, she spent some time with Lightning, then looked over the lesson plan and found she’d completed every task. She spent another half-hour being creative with Lightning, then went back to Water before she finished manipulating the elements.

  Marian was deep in her medical reading when Jaquar announced lunch. She had it sent down in a dumbwaiter type device, and ate at her desk, reading. When her waterfall clock pinged that she had a few minutes before Jaquar came down, she freshened up and donned her sturdiest gown to hike across the island. Still, she waited for him for about five minutes, not daring to immerse herself again in the scrolls. She wished Tuck or her PDA had been around to set the alarm—the waterfall clock was too imprecise for her taste. She eyed the thing. Surely there were better timepieces. Some Circlet had to be studying time.

  Jaquar arrived and knocked on her door. He was dressed in a cape the color and texture of duct tape and wore the stupidest hat Marian had ever seen, low crowned and broad brimmed but not nearly the elegant proportions of a gaucho’s. Furthermore, it was made of some horrible gray material that reminded Marian suspiciously of the texture of “soul-sucker” that she’d seen in Alexa’s and Bossgond’s images.

  She drew back a little.

  “I was right. It’s raining and there are lightning storms at the shore. This storm will provide you with good practice with water and fire,” Jaquar said. “Rain or running water is easier to work with than pools or even the tide.” His smile was warm. “Do you have a rain cape?”

  “Actually, I do.” It was still marked with yellow birds as befitted Bossgond’s Apprentice, but she didn’t care about that. She went into the bedroom and pulled it on. As she crossed back into the living room/study she noticed that Jaquar had not stepped over the threshold, and her heart began to pound. She hadn’t invited him in, and he respected her enough that he hadn’t entered without her asking. So different from some of the men she knew. Like Jack Wilse.

  His head tilted to the side and she saw his nostrils flare. He smiled again. “The place holds your fragrance. From what I can see, you’ve made it your own. Good.”

  “Where’s Tuck? I thought he wanted to go outside today—and with at least one of us watching him, he will be protected.”

  Jaquar pulled a face. “In the rain? He was disgusted when he saw it on the windows. I think he’s rearranging his hoard.”

  “Always a hamster’s favorite thing—besides eating. They are originally desert animals.”

  “Ah.” Jaquar touched her shoulder and the cape rippled. When the fabric finished moving, it was plain gray, no pattern of little yellow birds.

  Marian chuckled. “Thanks.” She pulled the hood of her cape over her head.

  “You are welcome. You’ll need a hat to keep the frink—” He stopped, a considering look coming to his eyes. “Perhaps not. Frinks don’t seem to fall around Exotiques.” He offered his hand, and she took it.

  Once again, she sensed that he’d experienced an emotional sea change in the time they’d been apart.

  He opened the door and they stepped out. The odd pinging on the small flagstone patio stopped. Blinking rain from her lashes, Marian noticed the rain looked less dense than before.

  “Lovely, no more raining frinks,” Jaquar said in satisfaction. His grin flashed. “There are definitely more benefits to having you around than just looking at your lovely person, Marian.” He squeezed her hand.

  On the way to the beach, Jaquar quizzed her about her studies in a casual manner that made her feel as if he wasn’t judging her or holding to strict expectations—not nearly as harsh as she judged herself, and his standards for her seemed lower than her own. Was she being too hard on herself again? Too concerned with perfection? Probably. No one could say that Jaquar wasn’t an excellent teacher or a very Powerful Circlet.

  Now and then they paused while Jaquar patiently instructed her in Rain Power—once when it was pouring, once in a drizzle, once in a light shower. He was right—rain in motion was a lot easier to manipulate than still water.

  Finally they reached the beach and it wasn’t more than a minute before lightning struck a few yards away. Marian itched to get her hands on it, wrap her mind around Lightning Power.

  Instead, Jaquar made her practice with storm-tossed waves and tide pools rippling with rain for what seemed like hours.

  Then a roar came from overhead and lightning struck close, and Marian lost her concentration and the bit of rainstorm she’d been managing.

  The lightning sang to her—to her mind, but even more, to her blood. She knew it, each crackle, each beyond-hearing hiss and zing. Even before Jaquar showed her, mind-to-mind and by demonstration, how to weave it into patterns, how to Send it, Marian knew the Song. Linking hands with Jaquar’s, he called it and controlled it, forking it down beyond their feet, sending streaks across the sky.

  She’d never felt anything like it—nothing so Powerful, so satisfying as playing with lightning, creating designs. It was as if she’d taken the electricity inside to sizzle in her blood. As if she was lightning.

  He’d start a Song to teach her, and she’d pick up the tones, the rhythm, the melody and sing herself. Marian’s Song of Lightning, the words more facile on her tongue than his.

  So, eyes narrowed as if he gauged her every note, he set her tasks, and though she knew they were tests, she just laughed. Nothing came easier to her in her life than taming lightning.

  She danced it across the sky, sent it from cloud to cloud, from cloud to ground, to rock, splitting a boulder. She made tiny sparks, long forks, curtains of the stuff.

  Spectacular.

  She played, she designed, she drew and dismissed. And finally as the rain pounded down and she’d done all he’d said, she whirled around in the wind and faced him, grinning.

  He smiled back.

  But as she took stock, she realized something in the Song of Lightning was missing. Something she hadn’t grasped. It was not complete.

  Marian lifted her face to him, questioning.

  “You need practice inside a storm.” He gestured to a cliff. “From there we could step into the wind and let it take us through the storm front.” His eyes had deepened to dark blue and the expression was pure challenge.

  But Marian had always loved storms. “Ayes,” she agreed in Lladranan.

  Jaquar grinned and held out his hand. Sh
e put her hand in his, liked the connection when his long, elegant fingers folded over hers.

  “Let’s go!”

  They ran up the hill. She wasn’t in the best of shape, but Jaquar matched his steps to hers, not dragging her, not pushing her. She liked that, too.

  He led her to a huge rock jutting out in space. Though she wasn’t usually bothered by heights, the wind was strong and another large curtain of rain was marching closer.

  Jaquar stepped forward and closed her cape, smoothed it over her body, sealing it. The Lightning Song was inside her and transformed into sexual sparks. She trembled beneath his touch. A smile hovered on his lips. He kissed her nose but didn’t speak above the rain, the thunder.

  Instead he moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle.

  What next? she asked, because there had to be a next.

  Sing with me. He took up a spiraling chant.

  She followed.

  When the melodic line was established, he dropped his voice to harmonize. At the next break in the chant, he said, “Ready?” There was a tone in his voice that told her he’d step back if she wanted.

  “Ayes,” she said.

  “We’ll do this together.” He started a low, intricate chant.

  After a few measures, she felt the cadence of it, figured out the twisting chords.

  “Now!” he cried. A gust of wind blew them into the air.

  For an instant, she was only conscious of his arms around her—the strength of him, physically and in his psi Power. His body was pressed to hers and many Songs wrapped them both. His Song and hers and theirs, and the Song of Mue Island, the Song of the Air and the Storm and the Ocean. All rang in her mind like an orchestra.

  Then the sheer magnificence of the storm, of their wild ride inside the clouds, whirling with the wind made her shriek with excited laughter. Oh, she could experience this forever. The glory of it was beyond human comprehension. She felt the vibration of Jaquar’s chest behind her and didn’t know whether he laughed with her or Sang, and it didn’t matter.

  They followed the storm winds for a while, then a black fist of a cloud loomed, could not be avoided. Something about it chilled her. It didn’t feel right. When they were in it a fog dulled her senses. She clamped her hands on Jaquar’s wrists and told herself she could feel his muscle, sinew, bone under her fingers when she doubted, when her fingers grew too cold to tell. The cloud battered her with a mean sleet she writhed to avoid, ducking her head. The Songs faded to a horrible hum like a high-pitched cry of a straining car engine, a series of pings that were nearly beyond her hearing.