Sorceress of Faith

by Robin D. Owens

  With a big smile, Bossgond slipped into the chair with a carved back of a tower. He tugged Marian’s hand and she sat next to him in a chair with a shield. The other Circlets followed. Jaquar was at the far end of the table. After one glance at his strained expression caused her stomach to pitch, Marian looked away, observing others.

  Lady Hallard greeted Marian with a short nod, then took the chair showing an almost three-dimensional volaran on its back.

  Everything neat and tidy. Everyone in their place. Marian approved.

  As soon as they all settled, Lady Knight Swordmarshall Thealia Germaine called the Council to order, then introduced Marian—as a Circlet of the Fifth Degree.

  Marian stood, not knowing exactly where to start. Then Tuck ran down her arm from her shoulder to her hand, which lay on the table. He strutted to the middle of the table, sat back on his haunches, wiggled his butt as if to get comfortable and opened a rounded mouth.

  A projection like a hologram appeared in front of him, in a three-foot sphere.

  Marian stood dazed and vacant-eyed in the middle of a series of pentacles. She woke suddenly and completely, then threw herself against a barrier.

  It didn’t give.

  “Line up against the second pentacle immediately,” Chalmon commanded.

  Tuck showed everything in gruesome, colorful, amplified detail—from his own perspective. Marian couldn’t watch, wanted to put her hands over her eyes, to slink from the room. Instead she sank back into her chair, closed her eyes and suffered through the betrayal again.

  She heard a chair slide against the wooden floor, and someone came to stand behind her. Jaquar didn’t touch her, didn’t try to renew the bond between them, but his aura wrapped around her in warm support. She didn’t know how he did that, but she was grudgingly grateful for his presence. Everyone else around her was completely enthralled by the show.

  Now and then people gasped with horror, swore or muttered phrases she didn’t understand. The comments around her were often drowned out by her whimpering, moaning, occasional screams in the movie.

  Her hands fisted in her lap. Bad enough to relive this, without understanding that she hadn’t shown much courage.

  When she heard Tuck squeaking wildly, “Marian, Marian, Marian!” she opened her eyes to see herself, face expressionless and body completely motionless, surrounded by a backdrop of black, seething smoke.

  Marian froze in her seat. The larder. Obviously Tuck hadn’t been affected.

  In the hologram her eyes darted from side to side, but appeared unseeing. She opened her mouth and screamed so loudly that the small diamond-shaped windowpanes rattled and jolted several of the people at the table. Jaquar tensed behind her. She realized he was swearing under his breath, words she couldn’t guess at.

  Now Marian couldn’t look away from herself hanging there. In the hologram, her hands fisted and lifted before her face. “Maybe we should fast-forward, Tuck?”

  Alexa choked. She looked pale and turned tear-filled eyes to Marian. “What was happening to you?” Her whisper was hoarse.

  Shrugging, Marian said, “Nothing. I felt nothing. No physical sensations at all.” She grimaced. “That’s why you see all the contortions—”

  “Quiet!” snapped Thealia, cocking her head to listen.

  On screen, Marian was tapping her heels together and chanting, “There’s no place like home.”

  She squirmed in her chair.

  Alexa choked on a sob, sniffled. Her lips curved upward. “Might’ve worked, who knows?”

  “It didn’t.” Then she realized that in Tuck’s movie, a low chant hummed around her. She strained to catch the words. Everyone at the table did.

  Thealia hissed and leaned back in her chair. “I can’t quite understand the words. They’re mangled.”

  A murmur of agreement ran around the room.

  Marian looked at Alexa. “Alexa?”

  Alexa shrugged. “No, of course not.”

  “They’re French,” Marian said.

  Everyone stared at her.

  Flushing, Alexa said, “I’m bad with languages.”

  Marian tilted her head. “And maybe some bastardized Latin. Anyway it started out with the witches’ scene from Macbeth.”

  Alexa’s mouth dropped open. “You read Shakespeare in French?” Then her brows drew together. “Like ‘eye of newt, toe of frog’?” she asked in English.

  “Yes.” Marian translated for the Lladranans. “We’re listening to archaic French and Latin demonic spells. Maybe that’s why I came to the conclusion I did.”

  At that moment, Marian-in-the-movie twitched and began screaming, “Sinafin!”

  “I think we should definitely stop this production,” Marian said.

  “No, let’s watch it to the end,” Thealia said.

  Sitting back, Marian noticed that Jaquar had taken his seat at the end of the table. His hands were tight fists atop the table and he appeared to be staring into space.

  Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony filled the room, and both Marian and Alexa broke into relieved laughter.

  Luthan leaned forward and asked Marian, “What is the name of this Song again, Circlet Marian?”

  “It’s the Ninth Symphony by Ludwig van Beethoven.”

  His lips moved as if memorizing the information. Then he nodded and resumed his impassive expression.

  Tuck soon finished with the show and Beethoven’s music cut off abruptly. Tuck exhaled a huge sigh and rocked onto his back, paws curled. If Marian hadn’t felt the strong thrum of his Song through their bond, she’d have thought him dead. Not even a digit twitched.

  “Tuck!” Alexa cried.

  “He’s weary, but not debilitated,” Marian said. She scooped him up and cradled him in her hands. “You were a star,” Marian whispered to him. He opened one gleaming eye, closed it. Then she set him on her lap.

  “Get some food and water for the hamster,” Thealia ordered.

  A woman Marian hadn’t noticed before stared at Tuck, then hurried to the door. “What kind of food?”

  “Nuts, Umilla, bits of fresh fruit,” Alexa said patiently, and Marian realized the serving woman was a black-and-white, like Bastien.

  Marian felt erratic bursts of Power pulsing from her.

  The woman bobbed her acknowledgment and scurried from the room.

  “So.” Thealia tapped her finger on the table, gazing at Marian. “What are your conclusions?”

  Inhaling deeply, Marian prepared herself. “The master is a Circlet gone bad.”

  “Over to the Dark Side.” Alexa’s mouth twitched.

  Marian blinked. “Yes. When I was with him, I sensed he’d apprenticed with a Circlet on one of the islands, but the man failed when he tried to raise his Tower.”

  One of the female Circlets shivered. “When that happens, a mind can be fractured, the energy can warp one physically, too.”

  “A Circlet of the First or Second Degree,” Bossgond said, shrugging with dismissal.

  Irritation spurted through Marian. The people in this room were the most Powerful in the land, perhaps in the world of Amee, but most displayed the arrogance that came with such power.

  She met Alexa’s steady green gaze. The woman dipped her head and Marian felt another tie of kinship. Marian had all too often been sneered at when she appeared in the “society” circles her mother preferred. And Marian knew there were several “misfits” at the table. Bastien, the black-and-white; herself; Alexa, the Exotique and former foster child; even Jaquar. He was a man who’d been abandoned as a boy because of his Exotique coloring. Yet all of them had found their way into the circles of Power.

  The door opened and the serving woman brought in a large bowl of nuts, a grainy composite that looked like granola, and bits of apple and pear. Tuck perked up in Marian’s lap.

  He reached the bowl as it was placed on the table and dove in, chirping with delight.

  “This ‘Master.’” Bossgond fingered his lower lip. “He was very large. I can th
ink of only four male Circlets who failed to raise their Tower.” He named them. “And none of them was above average height or weight. Raising a Tower can warp you, but not add mass.”

  “Perhaps the one he serves gave him…more, or his diet.” Marian shut her mouth. She didn’t want to think about the tentacles on his face and what his diet might be.

  Bossgond scanned the room. “All the Circlets here have raised their Towers. We cover several generations. Can you think of anyone I didn’t?”

  Silence held the room for several heartbeats.

  “Bonhlyar,” Jaquar said. “He was normal, too.” An undertone in his voice made Marian think that Bonhlyar hadn’t considered Jaquar normal.

  “Bonhlyar,” Marian muttered. It rang a bell. “Not—oh! He calls himself Mahlyar, now.” She’d received a lot of information from his blood and spittle that had seared her.

  “Ah,” said Bossgond. “I was never convinced that his Circlet Testing was properly witnessed.”

  “What else did you learn of the master?” Thealia asked.

  “He serves the Dark. He is the one who breeds and organizes the horrors, both in the maw and in a breeding ground to the north of Lladrana,” Marian said.

  “We knew that,” said a Circlet.

  “I didn’t. No one told me,” Marian shot back.

  There was an embarrassed silence.

  “We were informed rather late ourselves,” Thealia said steadily. “Obviously the Singer has been right all along that the efforts of the various communities need to be integrated.”

  “The master forms them into battle groups, and orders them where the Dark wants them sent. The Dark has Power to transport them from the maw to other places, but not in large groups.”

  Marian licked her lips. “There’s more.” She felt the weight of their stares. “I think the Dark is not native to Lladrana.”

  “That has been extrapolated before,” Thealia agreed.

  “I think it came through the Dimensional Corridor.” Marian frowned. “Though when I was in the nest, I got this feeling of…immensity…immense age and immense size.”

  “And immense evil,” Alexa said. “Fire-breathing dreeths.” She covered her eyes. “The master got that idea from me. I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “You were wise to shield your mind.”

  Marian blinked. “How did you know?”

  Alexa dropped her hands. “Weren’t you watching—no, of course you shouldn’t have. But the Power aura around your head was quite clear.”

  They saw much more than she would have believed they could. It had been a mistake not to watch, not to see what everyone else had. She stiffened her spine. She’d have to live the events a third time, have Tuck repeat it for her again, so she could observe every nuance. She hated making mistakes. More often than not, they hurt.

  Thealia leaned forward and pierced Marian with her gaze. “You were Sent there and Summoned back. When you were there, you formed an image of the location of the nest in your mind. Tell me you know where the nest is physically.”

  Her voice held the command of a spell, but only her emotional need affected Marian.

  30

  Marian looked around, managed a reassuring smile. “Do you have a globe?”

  Someone whistled and a big globe appeared before her. Marian located Lladrana, followed the curve of the continent northwest beyond the two seas—one landlocked, one not—and pointed to an island of one high volcanic mountain. “Here,” she said.

  “Of course,” whispered Bossgond.

  “Damn!” Thealia slapped the table. She shook her head. “Too far to launch an immediate attack. We might ask for volunteers to survey the place.”

  “Not yet,” Jaquar said. “Let the Tower observers gain as much information about it from all the planes, first.”

  Thealia pursed her lips, nodded. “Fine.” She looked at Marian again. “Other conclusions? You said you knew why it was invading.”

  “I think the Dark originally came through the Dimensional Corridor here.” She struggled to put into words the deductions she’d formed from clues she’d picked up unconsciously. She’d been too terrified at the time to put the puzzle together, but had since examined every detail. Shrugging, she pulled Tuck from where he was wallowing in his food bowl and put him back on the table. “Replay that time—” She gulped. “After the master struck me.”

  Tuck started the replay with Marian throwing the brithenwood stick into the master’s eye. Oddly enough, the bloody scene comforted her. She’d defended herself, and hadn’t done too badly.

  Then there was a roaring, a chanting not quite in sync. “This is what I heard. At the time, I was understandably not listening.” She managed a strangled laugh at the memory of being suspended over the room full of monsters. “But I remembered later.”

  Again the others frowned in concentration. Shook their heads.

  “Tuck, can you choose the loudest group of chanters and refine the sound to project only their voices?” She had no idea of his capabilities.

  Tuck stopped, waddled over to his water dish and lapped. Then he centered himself in the table, sat with paws curled inward and opened his mouth.

  “Get it. Get it. Get it. We will get it, Master. Master. Master.” The last word emphasized the sibilant.

  “Sangviles.” Jaquar choked.

  A chill pall enveloped the room. Sangviles feasted on Power. Every person here would be a tasty treat. Marian shivered.

  “I think the Dark entered Amee by the Dimensional Corridor and arrived in Lladrana first. When it moved on, it left something behind, and wants it back,” Marian whispered, but the chamber was so quiet it was as if she shouted.

  There was a full minute’s silence.

  “That’s all?” someone sputtered. “Just give it back.”

  “You’re not thinking,” Alexa snapped. “Whatever it needs would only make it stronger, I’m sure. What we don’t want is an even more formidable enemy. It is an immense Dark evil as it is, affecting the entire world of Amee. Amee cries,” she ended softly.

  Marian lifted her chin and swept the table with her gaze, meeting each person’s eyes except Jaquar’s. “Both Alexa and I know that Exotique Terre’s Song is much stronger than Amee’s, yet Exotique Terre probably doesn’t have the same abundance and potency of Power. So how much greater was the Power on Amee before the Dark drained Amee’s and broke its Song? Every minute the Dark feasts on Amee.”

  Bossgond grunted. “A very good question.” A smile flickered on his lips. “Both the Exotiques are excellent students, good thinkers and natural Power Users. The Song would not send us anything less in this time of need.” He stood and bowed to Alexa, then turned and bowed to Marian. “Good work. We now know more about the master and the Dark and the reason the Dark is invading Lladrana. There is much we still need to learn, and ultimately we must destroy the Dark before it demolishes Lladrana, but you have increased our knowledge base significantly. I salute you.” He bowed again.

  Marian sat up straighter. “Thank you.”

  “I think the Marshalls will want to discuss all the information they learned privately,” Bossgond said to the Circlets. “You all, go disperse everything you heard to the rest of the Towers. Jaquar, come with me, we must speak of the Dimensional Corridor,” he ended coolly.

  “One moment,” Swordmarshall Thealia said. “The Marshalls understood last night that Exotique Marian did us a great service, so we wish to thank her with a presentation of our own.”

  Bossgond settled down into his chair, eyes bright with interest.

  Thealia lifted the speaker-horn. “Come in, now, please, Medica.”

  The door opened and a woman wearing a dark red tabard with a big white cross entered, holding on her hip a baby girl about a year old. The woman was a Medica—a doctor-healer. The child was a black-and-white, a person of potentially great Power that was fragmented and erratic.

  Marian tensed. This was the child that had nearly drowned in jerir. She’d swallowed th
e magical brew—inhaled it, too.

  The Medica sat in a chair with a shield carved on it. She put the little girl, clad in a diaper, on the table. The baby grinned and started crawling as fast as she could down the table.

  Marian looked around. The Circlets observed the baby detachedly, the Marshalls wore goofy smiles and tried to attract her attention. She scuttled directly to Thealia’s husband, patted his round face.

  “Her name is Nyja,” the Medica said. “Like many black-and-whites, before her dip in the jerir, her Power flow and mental processes were splintered.” She inhaled. “I have copies of my notes of her condition before and after her plunge.”

  Marian felt Alexa simmer with anger through their bond, and sent comfort to her.

  Like most black-and-whites, the child was subject to frissons, convulsions,” the Medica continued.

  Bastien, now master of his wild black-and-white Power, stiffened. Alexa twined her fingers with his.

  The Medica pushed a book that looked like a journal onto the table. “I understand that your brother has that symptom?”

  “He has muscle spasms,” Marian said. The little girl was basking in the attention, going from person to person to play with each. Her Song was clear and steady and strong.

  “Ahem.” The healer cleared her throat and shifted a little farther from Alexa. “The night the babe was immersed in the jerir, she inhaled the liquid into her lungs, swallowed some, and—” the Medica sucked in a breath “—had a tiny hole in her skull. The jerir reached her brain.”

  “What!” Alexa jumped to her feet, furious.

  The baby began to whimper. Alexa tromped to where the child sat and scooped her up, cuddling her. The little one settled against Alexa’s breasts, obviously comfortable with her.

  The healer had paled and did not meet Alexa’s eyes. “We Medicas are very well versed in head trauma, treatment and surgery. The hole was drilled a few moments before the jerir experi—uh, therapy, and closed as soon as I revived her.”

  Alexa rocked and patted the baby, narrowing her eyes at the Medica. “I don’t remember that.”