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After he’d finished the elegant gesture, Bossgond placed Marian in the center of the pentacle and began the chant that would whisk them from the Castle Temple to the pentagram in Bossgond’s Tower on Alf Island.
Marian listened to the old magician sing what she thought was a spell. It was amazing. She drew the cloak around her. Her hands and feet were cold. She’d agreed to go with the old man and it looked like she was going by magic.
Still, she could feel the pressure of energy, magic, whatever, gathering. Was there any chance that it might send her back home? Was this a dream about how to find her teacher? She’d like to believe it, but the bruises she had on her body ached with all-too-real pain. In an hour or two the marks would show on her skin.
With every moment that passed, Marian felt her hope fade that this was a dream.
She looked at the oldest mage again. She should have been watching her new teacher all along, paying attention to what he was doing, but there was too much going on. And he’d made it clear he would be her mentor, she’d learn. She hoped.
“I would be honored to teach you to use your Power,” he’d said. The cadence of his words had hummed through her, feeling right. She felt inherently she could trust him, unlike everyone else in this place. There was a smoothness of the energy of his intentions toward her that didn’t come from anyone else in the room.
Every other person who had touched her had snags in their Power flow toward her that she’d recognized as self-interest, specific goals in their minds as to how to use her. Bossgond hadn’t.
She understood now that the circle of people who’d brought her to this place were called Marshalls. She’d picked that word up. She’d always been a quick study and didn’t think the language would pose much of a problem, especially since it was close to French.
The Marshalls still ringed the pentacle, grouped in pairs and watching with interest. Since they’d been chanting when she’d come here, they had to be the ones who’d burdened her life over the past month. Their music was unique. The crystal lamps made of great gemstones and arranged in the colors of the chakra were the chimes she had heard. And she knew the sound of the silver gong.
Yet she didn’t feel at ease with those pairs dressed in matching colors, clinking with chain mail under their rich robes and carrying weapons. She didn’t care for this enormous, echoing Temple. Something about the atmosphere raised all the fine hair on her body.
Then there were the other magicians. The handsome Jaquar scowled at her from outside the pentagram, almost vibrating with intensity. Oddly enough, she could hear a stream of melodious notes coming from him and it lured her. No. Absolutely not. That wasn’t right. She trusted her instinctive impression of him as someone who could harm her deeply.
These people seemed to use music in their magic, but it was still difficult to believe that the trickle of tunes she heard from them was anything but her imagination.
She usually soaked in and analyzed everything around her, but all the new experiences demanded that she shut down the overflow of sensory information for self-preservation. She stepped closer to Bossgond.
Marian clutched the cape. The lining was soft and warm. She swayed to the chant. Bossgond had a fabulous voice. She’d enjoy listening to it, learning from him.
Slam! The huge door to the Temple hit the stone wall and a small woman shot into the room, followed by a big man who was reaching for her.
“Alexa!” the man called.
Unlike everyone else, the woman was pale-skinned, with a white scar on one cheek, short in stature, and though she had silver hair, she appeared young.
The Marshalls started to surround her.
“Wait!” the woman called. In English.
Bossgond gripped Marian’s upper arm hard and sped up his chant, the rhythm now almost syncopated, making her dizzy with the energy surrounding them.
The Marshalls’ protests drowned out most of the woman Alexa’s words. Marian heard, “Wait! I came as soon as I could. You need to know, you’re in Lladrana—”
Magic coalesced around Marian and Bossgond, a huge pressure of Power. She tried to take a step forward, but was held in place by an invisible force.
“Can I go home?” Marian cried, straining to hear.
“Not yet,” Alexa called.
“How soon?” Marian yelled.
Alexa shrugged. “Maybe a month!”
Marian bit her lip. What if Andrew returned earlier or had an exacerbation during his retreat? She could lose him! She would definitely lose her college fund…and her job.
What should she do? What could she do?
Her ritual had been in part to find help for Andrew. These people might be able to cure him. She’d just have to find the information and get back to him fast.
The man who’d followed Alexa plucked her from an irritated circle of Marshalls. Holding her protectively, he ran with her to the edge of the pentacle.
Alexa met Marian’s gaze. “Make sure you ask about Pair-Bonding. And the Snap!”
Bossgond intoned, “Vont!”
The room disappeared. Vertigo hit Marian, and in the next instant she fell onto a thick rug into which was woven a red pentagram.
“Gagghhh,” she croaked. Brilliant. Wonderful impression to make on her teacher—and now the man whose power she was under.
Surely she could beat him physically if she had to, couldn’t she? Heaven knew she had heft.
But he sat next to her, watching with concerned eyes, then stooped and brushed back her hair. Then he took her hand and helped her up with unexpected strength, banished the flowing energy lines around his pentagram with a whistle. Then he led her to a soft chair that looked a lot like a fancy outdoor lounger. A series of velvet pillows was attached to an adjustable wooden frame; the back was set in a reclined position and the footrest was elevated.
Marian sat, leaned back and arranged the cloak in folds around her. She’d kept a good grip on the front since receiving the cape and it had only flapped open a little now and then, but had saved her modesty.
In Lladrana.
Alexa had called it Lladrana. Who was she, and why wasn’t she the one helping Marian?
Bossgond, who’d gone to a sink on the far side of the Tower, came back with a goblet of water. From the sprig of leaves that floated on top she guessed it wasn’t just water. She picked the greenery out of the cup and sniffed. Minty. She dropped the leaves back into the drink and, keeping her eyes on the old man, swallowed a bit.
He smiled in reassurance, took the cup from her, drank some himself and handed it back. Had she looked that suspicious?
Bossgond went to a large cabinet and opened it. Out floated a sphere the size of an exercise ball. Large and blue-green-brown, it rotated slowly. Marian’s stomach tightened when she realized it was a globe, but that the oceans and continents were unknown to her. She looked away.
“Amee,” Bossgond said.
First things first. Finding out how time passed on this new world was of the utmost importance. All around her and through her, magic surged like electricity. She should be able to master it and use it to help Andrew, but how much time did she have?
She stood and moved closer to the globe, saw three large continents and a countrylike portion outlined in black.
When the globe completed one full rotation, she said, “One day.” As it continued to move, she ticked off the days on her hand.
Feeling a little foolish, she continued with her mime. She drew a pentagram, then sat on the floor. “Earth!” she said.
With skinny little brows raised, he said, “Exotique Terre.”
“Terra.” She nodded.
His eyebrows rose higher. “Exotique Terre.”
Marian sighed and repeated, “Exotique Terre.” With whooshing sounds and wide gestures, and more noises to indicate the gong and chimes and chants, she acted out her trip to Lladrana.
Then she went to the globe again and counted days as it rotated, tilting her head in a question. Was any of this getting through?
Bossgond frowned, then crossed his tower room to more shelves and cupboards. He returned with a crude globe of Earth, about five inches around. When she took the heavy ball of metal, she sensed someone from her own world had made it. The echoes of the Song of Mother Earth lingered. She could do better.
Narrowing her eyes, she concentrated, reaching deep inside her for the Earth-song. While she was at it, she visualized the continents and oceans as best she could. Not well enough. She closed her eyes and thought of space shots of the earth, radar and Doppler weather maps, especially of the United States, and Colorado.
The metal in her hands warmed. When she opened her eyes, the globe looked a lot better, the land masses and oceans well-defined. She scowled at the eastern coastline of the United States. Something was definitely off there; Australia and Asia weren’t as sharp as on a regular globe. Not perfect. Her shoulders slumped.
Bossgond’s bony fingers closed over her shoulder and squeezed. Catching her gaze with his own chocolate-brown one, he gave a little bow. “Thank you. You have increased my knowledge of Exotique Terre tenfold.”
He was trying to drive another point home. She was well aware of a teacher’s body language. Cradling the Earth globe in the crook of his arm, he touched the much larger orb with his index finger.
“Amee.” He glanced at her, eyes piercing. “Thay parfay.”
Ah, the words were close enough to French. The image of planet Amee wasn’t perfect.
So he could sense her emotions, or perhaps he just read her dissatisfaction with her construct in her face.
She sighed.
Bossgond released the Earth-globe and it hung next to the large one of Amee. Earth rotated slower, in sync with Amee’s days and nights. Amazing that the days were the same—or perhaps this was an alternative earth—but with different continents? Maybe all the planets with similar rotations were reached by one dimensional corridor….
Marian’s head hurt. She had too little information for hypothesis, and so much was happening.
All the tension in her body at the thought of being trapped here and Andrew worrying himself into seizures released in a long shudder. Weary, she swallowed hard, walked stiffly back to the lounge chair and sank into the pillows, closing her eyes.
When she opened them, she gazed up at Bossgond, feeling lost. He urged her to drink more of the herbal liquid, and she did. Her stomach calmed.
Bossgond touched her shoulder. “Marian,” he said. Tapping his chest, he said, “Bossgond.”
He was encouraging her, emphasizing how much she’d already learned. That she was learning with every breath, with every glance.
He took her hand and linked their fingers. She sensed great age. Vitality, isolation.
Looking down at their hands, she saw a white aura, heard chords forming into a song. He smiled, and she found herself smiling back. Bossgond patted her hand and rose.
He went to the pentagram and fished out the large crystal ball from his bag, then returned. With a little tune, mist swirled inside the sphere, then solidified into the image of the handsome magician who’d first entered the pentacle with her.
“Jaquar Dumont,” Bossgond said.
Marian remembered the older woman who’d spoken for the Marshalls calling him that, in flat tones. Jaquar.
“Chalmon Pace,” Bossgond said, and the other mage’s face replaced Jaquar’s.
He looked like a pompous associate professor, ever conscious of his status and sure of his worth. Still, there was something in his eyes that made Marian think he could be a good friend. His image faded.
The female magician appeared in the sphere. “Venetria Fourney,” said Bossgond.
The strikingly beautiful woman was easy to recall. They’d both received shocks when the woman touched her. Marian rubbed her fingers and grimaced at the memory. She’d liked the look of Venetria, but since they’d shocked each other and Bossgond and she meshed, if the conflicting energy was any indication, they wouldn’t work well together.
Marian caught her breath as she reran the thought. Wasn’t she being cool and analytical about all these strange and wondrous things? Perhaps it was a dream. When she went to bed and woke up, maybe everything would be fine. Tuck would wake her up in the middle of the night by running on his wheel or rattling in his cage, rearranging his hoard….
Right now, all she knew was here. She licked her lips. Marian wondered about Alexa. She’d liked the look of her better than the rest. Marian tapped the ball with a fingernail.
“Alexa?”
The woman’s image formed. To her surprise, Marian saw the small figure dressed in jeans and a down parka with knit hat, scarf and mittens, trudging through snow in the mountains. She recognized the parka as one she’d admired in a local boutique. Colorado? Was Alexa from Colorado, too? Excitement flooded Marian and she nearly missed seeing Alexa enter a silver arch.
Several seconds later, the woman appeared in the same pentacle as Marian had, except that the energy lines of this one glowed green.
Her parka was ripped, her hat gone, and her hair was brown. Not silver, as Marian had seen. Something had turned Alexa’s hair silver since she arrived. Some experience here in Lladrana.
Jaquar wanted to leave the Temple, fast. Since the Marshalls were dismissing the pentacle, none of the Circlets would be able to leave that way.
His mind raced, considering plans to retrieve the new Exotique. He ignored Chalmon’s and Venetria’s recriminations. Unlike them, he had friends in the Castle.
He also ignored most of the Marshalls. Jaquar immediately went to Bastien Vauxveau, who was talking to his wife, the Exotique Alexa. Jaquar tapped Bastien on the shoulder. “Come along, I have some propositions. One for you and one for Alyeka.”
Bastien turned to Jaquar with gleaming eyes. “We’ll be glad to negotiate.” He sent a glance to the other Marshalls. “They don’t need us.”
Alexa sighed and spoke in heavily accented Lladranan. “I got here too late.”
“You weren’t supposed to interfere at all,” Bastien scolded. “I don’t mind flouting the Marshalls, but the Singer knows what she’s doing and she said not to take part in the Summoning.”
“Huh,” Alexa said, glancing around as if she was afraid the Singer was watching. “We weren’t part of the ritual, but I did want to help her understand. It was miserable for me.” She set her mouth and swept out of the Temple.
For a small woman, she moved fast. Jaquar thought her locomotion might be aided by her great Power. Alexa wanted to hurry, thus the Song swept her along.
When Jaquar exited, he stopped under the Temple’s portico to let his eyes adjust to the moonlight. It was a beautiful spring night and the Marshalls’ Castle looked magnificent, as always. But Jaquar sensed a distinct change in the atmosphere since he’d last been here. At that time, under all their trappings of Power, the Marshalls had been fearful. The magical boundaries of Lladrana were falling and the Exotique they’d Summoned to reverse this had just left. They’d discovered the sangvile in their walls.
Just that easily, remembering the sangvile dimmed the evening for Jaquar. Alexa, who’d been waiting for Bastien and him, put a hand on Jaquar’s arm.
“I heard about your parents.” She pronounced every word carefully, clearly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Jaquar grunted.
Bastien threw an arm around Jaquar’s shoulder, squeezed and let go. “You have propositions for us?”
If he wanted vengeance—justice, he’d need help from these two. He twisted his mouth into the semblance of a smile. He must not have done too well, because Alexa took a step back and her hand fell to the Marshall’s baton she wore on her left hip.
Jaquar switched his gaze to Bastien, who was shorter than he and more solidly made. “You have the best stable of flying horses. I want a volaran, preferably one you raised from a foal.” It seemed he’d be doing a lot of traveling and volaranback would be the easiest, least energy-consuming way.
Now Bastien clapped a hand on Jaquar’s shoulder. “We’ll deal.”
“And I want to talk to Alyeka about the new Exotique….” Jaquar noted Alexa’s scowl at the word and corrected himself. “Marian. I want to consult Alyeka about Marian.”
Alexa sent him an approving look. “Let’s discuss this in our suite,” she said. With a whirl of blue-green robes she took off down the cloister walk.
Renewed hope filled Jaquar. He wasn’t finished yet. Somehow he’d get the woman back.
5
Marian awoke to the sound of waves pounding against rock, different from her white-noise machine. Opening sleepy eyes, she stared at a rounded stone wall—not white plaster. She shot up in bed and memory rushed back. She was not home in her apartment, not in Boulder, not in Colorado, not in the United States of America. She wasn’t even on Earth—she reached for that basic connection…and felt nothing.
She’d had no nightmares, but shivered as she recalled the ones she’d had in the past month. The druids could have been the Marshalls. Other parts of those dreams could happen here on Lladrana. Could they possibly have been more than dreams—like a foretelling of the future? Fingers clutching her blankets, she stared around her.
A beautiful, stained-glass partition showing flowers in a meadow stood a few feet from the end of the bed. To her right and left, the stone wall curved out of sight. She was in a tower room of the Sorcerer Bossgond.
“Lladrana,” she whispered, and the word seemed to sink down, down, echoing through the floor, through the two stories beneath her, into the ground—and sent a resonance back. The faint, broken notes of a beautiful, sad melody rose to strum in her mind like a sobbing violin. She shook her head, but the song remained, hovering in the back of her brain.
Inhaling deeply, she tasted the faint tang of salt, and noted the waves again. She was on an island. Beyond the glass partition she saw bright sunlight from the windows on the far tower wall. She’d traveled through a wind-whistling space, but not outer space—another dimension?
Her stomach rumbled, and she focused on her hunger…and finding a bathroom. Last night she’d merely stumbled into the room, found the bed behind the glass partition. Letting the cloak drop where she stood, she had crawled under the covers. She’d shivered, then visualized heat surrounding her body and it had happened. Magic? Maybe.
She hopped from the bed and her feet sank into a luxurious rug of jewel-toned colors. The long gray cape she’d borrowed from one of the Marshalls who’d summoned her lay like a dark cloud against the carpet. She frowned as she picked it up. Though it had braided frog-fastenings all the way down the front, she didn’t consider it viable clothing, but since it was all she had, she swirled it around her, pushed her arms through the slits and looped the frogs. Feeling a little better—and warmer—she noticed shelves on the far side of the bed where a stack of clothes were folded. She’d investigate later.
Though the glass partition didn’t rise as far as the stone ceiling, it ran along this portion of the tower ending at the wall to her right. To her left, there was space enough for a doorway. When she walked around the partition, she saw that the bedroom was approximately a third of the whole room. The other two-thirds looked like a study, except for a small, carved wooden closet protruding halfway down the round wall in front of her. The closet door faced her. She hurried to it, opened the door and sighed in relief at the sight of an old-fashioned toilet with the tank near the ceiling.
When she was done, she left the closet in search of a sink and found multiple ones behind the closet. On the far side of the sinks was a counter that held glassware, like an old alchemist’s setup.
Then came the door to the stairway and, after the door, a huge desk. Shelves lined the room, except for the three large window embrasures and a fireplace. A small grouping of two chairs and a love seat sat in front of the fireplace close to the stained glass.
It was charming, but not home. How long would she be here? She only wanted help for Andrew, then she’d leave.
A horn blew and Marian jumped. Bossgond’s voice came to her. Breakfast and lessons in fifteen minutes. None of the words were hard, so she grasped the meaning and hurried back to the clothes shelves in the bedroom.
She touched the yoke of a royal-blue velvet garment, then lifted it and found herself holding a long gown with embroidered yellow birds. It seemed to be her size.
Additionally, she had a green dress, a maroon one and a black gown—all with little yellow birds and narrow three-quarter-length sleeves.
Though the blue robe had looked and felt heavy when she held it, the minute she put it on it seemed like gossamer. It molded around her breasts and lifted them, and Marian squeaked in surprise. Built-in magical bra! This would take some getting used to. The gown sent warmth to her skin—reflecting her own heat?
Marian looked dubiously at the one pair of footwear on the floor, tucked under the lowest shelf. They appeared more like pouches to put over her feet than actual shoes. Picking them up, she found they had soft leather uppers and springy insoles. When she turned them over she saw a material that looked like fine scales. Snake? Dragon?
Anyway, they looked far too big for her, and the uppers stuck up in folds. She couldn’t see any laces.
Bracing a hand against the wall—it was warm to her touch—she slipped on one of the shoes. It felt lined with fur and she hummed with pleasure at the soft silkiness. Then the pouch tightened, molding to foot and ankle. She tottered, stumbled, took a few steps to regain her balance and fell onto the bed. She stared at her foot. Not only had the slipper conformed to her body, but it had turned the same color as her gown and now had little yellow birds all over it. She wiggled her feet—one shod, one bare. The one with the shoe felt better. Magical shoes.
Her heart jumped. What if she couldn’t take it off? “Off!” she ordered.
Nothing happened.
She hooked her thumbs inside the shoe and pushed down. The shoe slid off her foot, tickling her sole, and plopped to the floor.
All right; one of them could come off. But if she put on both, would she dance to her death? There were plenty of folklore stories about shoes and mutilation, like Cinderella.
For a moment she just stared at the shoes, realizing that she was in a place far, far different from home. That it seemed somewhat like Earth accentuated her shock—she judged this place by Earth experiences, concepts, standards, and they might not apply. Any move she made, thinking she knew the outcome, could be wrong and lead her to her doom.
She fell back on the bed, hands over pounding heart, touching the cloth that seemed like velvet but could be anything—fur, skin, plastic wrap for all she knew. Even her senses could be lying to her. Perhaps nothing here was real.
And if she continued to think that way, to challenge everything—her senses, her mind, her experiences—she’d go mad. To her horror, tears dribbled from her eyes.
This should be such an incredible, fascinating experience for a true scholar! A whole new world to learn, a new aspect of her own self—and magic!—to explore and master. She should be thrilled.
Instead, she wanted to curl up into a fetal position and pull the covers over her head.
Bossgond was waiting for her. With breakfast. Even the thought of food couldn’t move her.
She was flipping out over a pair of shoes.
They were magic shoes.
Now her nose was clogged. She’d need to go to the toilet closet and get some tissue-stuff she’d found there. It was in a roll and had felt like regular toilet paper. She’d just used it, not scrutinized it. Who knew what it was?
Was she going to let panic over the thought of a new world, a magical world, paralyze her?