The Summoning (Custodes Noctis) (11 page)

“And you just decided that for him?” Galen asked with a smile, the raven bobbed his head. “Of course you did, silly question.” He leaned against the counter and listened to the quiet around them. The shop had been busy that morning, but as the day wound on, people headed home to get ready for Halloween parties and trick or treating. Flash knew never to book the band on Halloween so Galen had the night off.

“
He is fine, resting last we checked, close the shop, get a coffee and take a short walk.”
Dera made a little noise that sounded like “murph” in his throat.
“Go, we watch.”

Galen took a deep breath to protest, then changed his mind, he could “hear” the soft hum through the muted bond, his brother was resting, or doing something so his mind was at ease. Lost in research perhaps. It seemed like a lot of his time was lost in books lately, always looking for something that might restore his full Gift. Since their encounter with the
Ealdféond
several months before, Rob had returned to his research with renewed vigor. Not just his usual obsessive need to know, but searching through the Sagas to find a way to return the Gift to what it had been. Rob was convinced they were going to need it, the signs of something shifting in the world were becoming more and more apparent.

Galen believed the things they fought were becoming more common again. The world was shifting. Rob had a theory about that. Galen snorted, of course his brother had a theory about it, not only a theory, but hard scientific evidence, mythology and literature to back it up as well. He laughed. Rob’s enthusiasm for research occasionally filled their apartment with an actual palpable warmth, and energy with a life all its own.

Closing the door of the shop behind him, Galen decided to skip the coffee and just wandered down the street, enjoying the smells of autumn. It was his favorite season, something about the way the scents mingled together and the chill on the air, it set a glowing joy singing in his heart that left him smiling happily at the children walking past in costume. On the way out, he’d grabbed a large bag of chocolate and offered pieces to the various witches, Ironmans, werewolves, princesses, several blue Avatars and one green and purple thing he wasn’t sure about but it had a crown and the little girl giggled when he offered her a peanut butter cup.

In a much better frame of mind, he stopped in Gateway to India and got a chai tea to go, reveling in the scents of fennel, cardamon and ginger and headed back towards home. He went around back when he arrived, pausing in his garden he sat down on the bench and let the last of the stress slide away. He knew part of it was the effects of the garden. The magic he’d worked into the soil along with the fertilizer and seeds swirled around him wrapping him in a blanket of comfort. The earth was wet and the mints still gave off their strong smell, peppermint and lemon balm warring for the upper hand. The gray mullein towered above the mallow, some of it dying back, some patiently waiting to be harvested.

Movement caught his eyes, Dor landed on the fire escape and hopped through the window, something clasped in his talons. Galen wondered where the bird had been and hoped it had been an errand for Rob rather than a raid on Flash’s new car. After losing his to a large piece of the mountain the
Ealdféond
had been trapped in, Galen and Rob had replaced it. For some reason only fathomable to thousand year old ravens, Flash’s new car was an even better source of continual amusement. If it made Rob laugh, Galen approved.

He sighed. His brother was recovering, but it had been a close call. Some days it felt like they lived their life from one close call to another. The problem with this one was that Rob was right in his nearly bitter pronouncement that if his Gift had been functioning correctly and their bond at full force it would never have happened. Galen smiled, Rob usually followed up that little bit of bitterness with “right or wrong, it is, and we have to live with it. We’ll find an answer.” Rob’s moments of bitterness were not long-lasting, he continued on, without his Sight, with the muted bond and kept looking for answers.

Galen stood and stepped out of the protective curtain of the garden, feeling the soft, far-off hum of the bond in the back of his awareness. It was buzzing a little. He quickened his steps and headed into the building and up the stairs. Both ravens were laughing and he could hear his brother joining them as well. When he opened the door, silence fell like someone had hit a switch.

“
Never!”
Dera assured him, offended.

“Yeah, what?” Galen stepped to Rob, his brother looked a little pale. He laid a hand on his head and let the healing flow, feeling the warmth course through Rob’s body, driving the pain away and for a moment, the bond was there. Strong, warm, comfortable. He sensed rather than heard Rob’s sigh, the ravens hummed. “You’ve been up too long.”

“You know I might have to kill him,” Rob said with a smile. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have to hit a pan every time he finished a shot.”

When Galen got back to the table there were two packages on the table. He set the two he had down as well. There were other presents in the pile on the couch to be exchanged at the party, but they always took a moment to exchange something special before the party. It was part of their Tradition. The gifts having a meaning the other party-goers might not understand.

Carefully pulling off the mylar ribbon and handing it to Dera, he opened the package and looked inside. It was a knife, the blade copper, the handle silver, and the runes of a spell covered the length of the blade.

He looked up at Rob. “Where did you…?”

“I read a description of it in the Saga of the Winter King, the Gathering Knife of the Healer. It was a little difficult to find someone to work the spell into the blade, but it is there, ready for you to make your own.”

“This one.” Galen couldn’t wait and handed Rob a square package. “They actually go together, so open the top one then the bottom one.”

“Okay.” Rob pulled the ribbon with sparkling stars off and handed it to Dor, then tore the paper off. He pulled the small harp out and looked up at Galen and without waiting ripped open the other package, gently turning the ancient book over in his hands. “The Songs of
Taliesin
?”

“It’s only a Thirteenth Century edition. They are meant to be sung, like all the Sagas, and you always do sing. I thought you should have a harp to accompany you.”

Rob was squinting at the harp an odd unfocussed look Galen recognized as his brother trying to use the Gift of Sight. Rob looked a moment longer then up at Galen, his eyes shining. “You made it.” The smile that lit his face reminded Galen of his brother as a child, his heart light, and the laughter that rang out through their apartment was every bit as joyful as it had been. “My harp. I…”

“It’s Tradition isn’t it?” Galen asked. He knew it was, and knew that for his brother the Tradition would make it mean that much more. In times past, as Rob was fond of saying, the elder brother bestowed a harp on the younger brother. Symbol of his role as holder of history, adviser, bard. The harp had magical qualities as well, the longer it was used the more power it gained. At his death the harp would be destroyed and the pieces buried with him.

“You made it?”

“Yes, I chose the wood, and the spell, made the oils and tuned it for your voice.” Galen smiled gently. “You keep the Sagas, Rob. You keep Tradition.”

“Yes.” Rob took a somewhat unsteady breath, tears bright in his eyes. “Well, I should have given you this first, since there is no way I can ever top what you just gave me…” Dera and Dor chuckled. “But here.” He pushed a package across the table. “Because of everything that’s happened this year, I thought you should have something special.”

Galen picked it up, it was obviously a book. He glanced up at his brother, Rob and the ravens looked back with suspicious innocence. Not sure what the looks were about he carefully untied the ribbon and offered it to the ravens. They refused it and waited. Galen unfolded the paper and turned the book over in his hands. Sixteenth Century judging by the look of it, although he could be off by a century.

The downstairs door banged open, breaking the mood. Galen reverently touched the signature
“Nicholas Culpepper”
before gently closing the book and putting it carefully on the shelf.

“Get down here! There’s Clang to carry!” Flash called.

Rob groaned and Dor and Dera took off with a happy noise. Galen knew they were headed straight for Flash’s car.

The End

About the Author

Born in California, Muffy Morrigan began her writing career at the age of six, when after completing her first hand written novel she attempted to sell it to the neighbors for the lofty price of ten cents. After myriad careers, including archaeological consultant, teacher, herbalist, shop keeper, news editor, reporter and columnist, she has settled in to her first love and passion—writing. She currently lives and works in the Pacific Northwest.

www.muffymorrigan.com