Sorceress of Faith (10 page)

Bossgond
shoved open the door and they walked out into a small area paved with large
gray flagstones, then into springy green grass. The wind whisked their garments
around them, tugged at Marian’s hair. He set a hand on her head and said,
“Alam,” and her hair settled around her head. Neat trick, but she rather missed
the fingers of the breeze caressing her scalp.

The
sunlight was yellow, clouds wispy white against a sky not quite as blue as a
Colorado spring sky. Marian shifted her shoulders as she saw forested hills
rolling to the horizon. She was used to a view of the Flatirons and Rocky
Mountains. She was accustomed to a campus full of buildings, professors and
students, not a lonely island tower with one brilliant Sorcerer.

Bossgond
pulled on her hand and they circled the great tower, over bony rock, slippery
moss and sweetly scented grass, until they were almost halfway around. He
stilled, closed his eyes, cocked his head, then opened his lids and nodded
once. “No one watches.”

That
was good to know—another trick Marian would like to learn. A person couldn’t
depend on atavistic itching between the shoulder blades. Bossgond squatted,
gestured to her to do the same, then indicated the top of a stone at the bottom
of the tower wall that looked well buried. He licked his finger and wiped off
some dirt, and Marian saw a tiny outline of a bird. Bossgond’s heraldic
bird—she’d figured that much out. He whispered a word that was taken from her
ears by the wind and a cube of moss and earth around the stone lifted as if
cut. Another sighing two-note whistle and the stone removed itself. Bossgond
waved for her to look into the darkness.

She
had to wait a moment for her eyes to adjust before she could see a rough
pyramid point inside the hollow.

“The
keystone of the tower,” Bossgond said. “The proof that a person has become a
Circlet Sorcerer or Sorceress is when they raise their own tower with their
Power.”

Marian
swallowed.

He
reached in and caressed the keystone, smiling as if he petted a beloved animal.

Marian
thought of her lost hamster Tuck and sniffled. What on Earth—on Amee—did these
people do for handkerchiefs? And where would they put them? She hadn’t noticed
any pockets—but as she thought of them, four flapped against her skin.
Interesting.

“If
this stone is found and destroyed, my tower will fall. I may or may not be
hurt, depending on whether I am in the tower and how much of my Power I have
invested in my tower at the time. At the moment you are not Powerful enough to
do me harm, and when we Bond by Blood as Master and Apprentice, we will be
incapable of harming each other. Any secrets will never be able to pass our
lips.”

Blood-bond.
Right. The idea should have deterred her, but it didn’t. Blood played a large
part in various cultures’ rituals to symbolize a connection between people. She
considered it a small price to pay for knowledge.

“You
understand?” asked Bossgond.

Marian
nodded, tucking the information and ramifications away to consider later. She
reached in and touched the keystone. A little current ran through her—not
soothing like her connection to Mother Earth had been—and she twitched. She
couldn’t imagine grounding herself with this rock; there was too much energy.

Bossgond
sighed, shrugged. “Not a good stone for you to link to.” With a wave of his
hand the tower stone and the cube of sod settled back into place, looking as if
they’d been undisturbed for centuries. “This is my Tower on Alf Island. But it
is not the first Tower. We will walk to old Mortig’s Tower. Perhaps that will
be better for you.”

They
set off briskly and a minute later Marian bumped into a sizzling invisible
barrier. She yelped and jumped back.

On
the other side of the…forcefield, Bossgond smirked at her. Then he stepped up
before her, touched his index finger to the barrier and “cut” a door for her.
She lifted her chin and swept through past him.

“When
we bond you will be able to enter or leave at will. I will also show you the
courtesy portal for well-intentioned visitors.”

After
a quick walk away from the sun—west, then—of about a half hour, they reached
the remnants of tower walls about five feet high. Bossgond showed her the
hidden keystone to this, too. She started to touch the thing and electricity
zipped between her fingers and the stone, shocking her. She fell back on her
bottom with an outraged cry.

Bossgond
creaked a laugh, helped her up, dusted off her seat and strode off in another
direction. As they walked, Bossgond told her about his island.

He
had demonstrated the strongest Power in several generations when he was a
youngster and had piqued the interest of the Powerful Mortig. The choice of
islands was always given to the most Powerful first. Bossgond had held Alf
Island for many years.

Alf
was about a hundred miles across and had everything a person would want—fresh
streams full of fish, hills, forests, glades. His tower was near enough to the
coast and a small harbor to appreciate the waves without being threatened by
any flooding or crumbling ground. A paradise to Bossgond.

It
sounded pretty good to Marian, too, though she was sure she’d miss mountains.

She
thought back to when she’d hovered over the island. The shape was a little like
Australia.

After
an hour-and-a-half walk they came to a depression in the ground, too close to
the rocky edge of the island to be altogether stable. The circle of flat stones
was barely visible, but Power still radiated, drawing her.

Bossgond
stood back and watched, but she strode to the hidden keystone with confidence.
This one didn’t vibrate quite right, either, but it felt better than either of
the others.

Bossgond
shook his head. “You are not of Amee, so no previous keystone will tune to you
easily. Perhaps you will find a better place than this as you range the
islands. For now, let us do the grounding here.”

To
Marian’s embarrassment, she found herself lying on her stomach, arms angled
down a few feet to the keystone. When she curled her hands around the
pyramid-shaped rock, Power shot through her, erasing any exhaustion, starting a
tingle racing in her veins.

Bossgond
sat cross-legged beside her and placed a hand on her back, rubbed it. It felt
nice, gentle, avuncular. She closed her eyes and let her mind sink into a quiet
pool, only feeling—the warmth of the ground beneath her, the small breeze
around her. And with three hummed notes, Bossgond sent her into a deep trance.

Distantly
she heard his voice instructing her. Under his spell, she sang to the stone and
it reverberated one note, two, three back to her, and she felt a small tether
to Amee.

With
a soothing chant, Bossgond lifted her from her trance, brought her into
clear-headed wakefulness. Again she felt energized. She laughed in delight at
the connection with a world-song again, though this particular planet-melody
was heart-wrenchingly sad.

She
stood and stretched, limbering up after her time lying so still on the ground.

Bossgond
looked at her, then at the circle of grass and stones. Then he gazed out to the
sea, his face impassive. “If we do well together and you do not want another
island or a manor on the mainland, I will grant you the right to raise another
tower on the island.” The corners of his lips curved slightly upward. He
gestured. “You may choose where you please, as long as it is outside my
protective ring around my tower.”

The
forcefield they’d crossed. She nodded.

His
expression turned grim and he raised a finger. “
If
we do well together.”

His
tone was that of a man who’d been crotchety for decades.

When
they returned to the Tower, Bossgond led her back upstairs for lunch. She sat
at the table and he set a plate and silverware for them both. Then he put a few
empty platters between them. He went to a cupboard and came back with a box.

Taking
a crumb of bread, he put it on one platter, then added a bit of dried fruit, a
few strings of jerky. As Marian stared, Bossgond passed his hands over the
dishes and sang a long Songspell. The breadcrumb turned into a large loaf of
bread dusted with flour, the jerky became four thick slices of roast beef, the
fruit plumped into apples.

Under
Marian’s fixed gaze, Bossgond cut a piece of each and put it back into the
magical box, then returned the box to the cupboard.

When
he returned, he sang a little blessing, then made a sandwich and dug into his
reconstituted meal.

Hesitantly,
Marian sliced a piece of bread—wishing there was some Dijon mustard—and put a
slice of roast beef on it. She took a bite, chewed and swallowed.

The
food was plentiful but tasteless. The victuals had to be nutritious because
Bossgond was still alive and he’d probably been eating this way for years. No
wonder he was so scrawny.

After
finishing off an apple and half her sandwich, Marian said, “Don’t you cook?”

Sandwich
at his open mouth, Bossgond’s eyes widened. He put down the bread and meat.

“Do
you?” His voice was hoarse, his gaze gleamed with hope.

“Of
course.”

He
stood up so fast that his chair rocked. “Come with me!”

Nearly
running to keep up with him, Marian followed him out the door, down the stairs
past her own suite and to the level below her room.

Bossgond
threw open the door. A gleaming kitchen took up most of the space, along with
an empty pantry.

“Cooks
were too much bother,” he muttered. “I can fish,” Bossgond said eagerly. “I can
draw a deer to us and butcher it.”

Ick
. Marian was a
civilized supermarket predator; she couldn’t imagine such a thing. It was
enough to make a person a vegetarian.

She
crossed her arms. “I don’t intend to be here very long. My priority, and what I
want to spend my time doing, is learning from you, not cooking.”

He
looked torn, then tried a pitiful look, but he was too arrogant to do pitiful
well.

“I
would, however, supervise a cook.” She liked her food, too—all too much.

Bossgond’s
lower lip stuck out.

“How
long has it been since you had a cook?”

“Fifty
years,” he muttered.

“You
need a little pampering. You’re too thin, you need good food. You
deserve
it. I’m sure you could afford a cook.”

“They
are impossible to work with, men or women. They pry. They talk too much. They
don’t like living on the island.”

So
he wanted an unambitious introvert who liked solitude. Marian wondered how to
advertise the position. “Let me think about this.” She wouldn’t be able to eat
Bossgond’s rations for long.

He
nodded, but his expression eased. He climbed the stairs back to his chambers
with a spring in his step.

Bossgond
banished the food and dishes with a wave of his hand, then they both returned
to the center of the room.

Scowling,
he said, “You plan on leaving soon? We paid the Marshalls for your Summoning.”

Marian
lifted her chin. “My brother is ill, he needs me.
My
ritual was to find
answers to strange things happening in my life and how to help him. I’m hoping
that Amee will have information about his disease and how to mitigate it. I
intend to take that knowledge back to him. I’ll try to repay you.”

Bossgond
snorted, then studied her with narrowed eyes. “We will speak of this later.
First you must study.”

Within
a few minutes, Marian had mastered the art of grounding herself, and the small,
invisible thread spinning between her and the ancient keystone had thickened to
a braided strand.

He
taught her to light the fire with her mind, to levitate a book, to “call” her
walking stick. Energy drained from her with each task, and a slight film of
sweat dampened her skin. Her dress gave out the scent of herbs.

Then
Bossgond rose and offered both his hands, beaming. “You have mastered the first
level of Apprenticeship.” He bowed.

Already?
She dropped a little curtsy and a bubble of triumph expanded in her chest.

“To
celebrate we will have another cup of hareco.”

Oh
boy, if coffee was so rare that she had to pass tests to get it, life was going
to be tough.

He
poured them each another cup of coffee and settled into the middle of the room
with his mug. He gestured around them. “Survey the room, touch what you like to
discover your particular vocation of study.”

Marian
blinked at him. “How?”

One
corner of the man’s mouth crinkled upward. “You will know. It will hum in your
mind.”

Marian
had always loved music as much as books, but this aural culture made her feel
alien. Still, she smiled, drained the last, delicious sip of coffee and set her
mug aside. She looked around.

Bossgond
leaned back against the pillows and sipped, staring out the window. Without his
penetrating gaze, Marian felt able to act more naturally and to concentrate on
exploring the room full of fascinating objects. She looked at the huge
binoculars, but didn’t cross over to them. When she moved away from the
instrument, Bossgond grunted in approval, and she decided to save the
binoculars for last if she didn’t find anything else that struck a chord.