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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.
She scanned the shelves. The books intimidated her a little since she couldn’t read the fancy cursive lettering. She leafed through one and jolted when a couple of the pictures became three-dimensional. Then she put it back with a sigh. She wouldn’t be in Lladrana long enough to learn how to read the language. A pity.
For an hour she indulged herself with the treasures crammed on the shelves—boxes and bottles, rugs, goblets and instruments, and art objects of all kinds. She found an elegant, gold-etched bottle that held all the scents of summer, a flying carpet for short trips around the island, models of castles and people and animals. Bossgond only stiffened twice during her explorations: once when she picked up something like a wand, but longer, heavier, and feeling like blood and death; again when she reached a big, open book that looked like new pages had been added.
She moved on to another table with a series of glass jars that looked a little like terrariums, increasing in size from a large mug to a great globe of about two feet. She touched the top of one in the middle and a sharp ping sounded in her mind. Static electricity—from glass?—shot up her arm.
In an instant Bossgond was beside her. Grinning.
“Very good,” he said, rubbing his hands.
Marian wet her lips, stared at the jars. Now that she’d touched one, they all sang to her, like a series of glass windchimes. “What does it mean?”
7
Bossgond smiled. “You are a Weather Mage.”
Her pulse quickened. “Weather? Are you sure?” She’d always had that odd sense….
He chuckled. “Very sure.” Taking the largest globe with both hands, he walked to the conversation pit and set it in the middle. “You must start with this one. When you reach Scholar status, you will be competent in modifying the weather in the midsize jar. Your Circlet Test will be of fire, wind, wave and earth in the smallest jar.”
The one with plants and trees and tiny bugs. Marian gulped, knowing instinctively that she could kill them all.
She sat cross-legged in front of the large sphere.
“Look into the glass,” he said.
She did and caught her breath. There was a world down there! With continents and oceans, mountains, streams, vegetation.
Bossgond sat behind her, his skinny chest to her back, his legs framing hers. Marian tensed.
He clucked his tongue and placed his knobby hands on hers. His chest expanded behind her as he inhaled deeply. “I was no better than average at this task,” he murmured. “But I can show you how to direct your Power. Concentrate on the world below. Do you see the clouds?”
Marian frowned and narrowed her vision, and a portion of one continent seemed to enlarge. “I see…buildings! There aren’t really people down there, are there?” Her voice trembled in horror. She couldn’t do this, wouldn’t do this if she might harm anyone! Mistakes would be terrible.
“Look closer,” Bossgond said.
Marian did. Concentrating, she focused her gaze until she saw a city of stone and wood, with winding roads to manor houses and two castles on a hill. They were all perfect little models, but they were models—as were the trees and animals. There were no fake people. Her breath rushed out.
“Now, back to where you see clouds,” Bossgond said.
She “zoomed out,” noted fat cumulus clouds and some wispy ones. She hadn’t taken any science courses in years, wished she recalled more about weather. She smiled. Weather, with a capital W, was now her focus of study. She was a potential Weather Magician. How cool!
“We will try to move the clouds.” Bossgond’s hands tightened over hers. “Feel the essence of the clouds, their density and shape.”
Was that like the exercise of “be a cloud” that profs in the Drama Department taught? Bossgond’s mind led her to a cloud that showed gray at the bottom, yet puffed up white and pretty near the top. It was humongous.
She shut her eyes and focused on sensation. She seemed to be floating in the sky, but not as she had before, not herself, Marian, but Cloud. She floated stomach-down, and the portion of her body closest to the ground felt heavy and full of liquid. For the first time in her life her ass felt airy. She couldn’t prevent herself from thinking of it as a huge billowing cloud, and giggled.
Bossgond hissed. His irritation nudged her, and control of the cloud slipped from her grasp. It rained. Thankfully nothing happened to her real body.
“See if you can move the cloud,” Bossgond said, disapproval clear.
She pushed her cloud. Nothing happened, except that she got a visual of her hands penetrating cool air. She tried something different. She was now separate from the cloud and grappled to encompass it. With her mind she formed a tiny membrane from air molecule to air molecule of the cloud, then pushed. It moved. She pushed again, and it slid rapidly through the air. Having fun, she set her mind against it and shoved. It turned into a streak of white.
“Whee!” Marian cried. She was flying, chasing a cloud.
Bossgond made a strangled sound and fell backward, away from her.
She stopped, withdrew her consciousness from the weather globe and shifted around to see what was wrong.
He was holding his head as if he had a migraine.
“Bossgond?” she asked.
The mage winced. “You are Powerful. I didn’t expect you to be able to move the cloud so easily, so fast and far. I never could,” he grumbled.
“You have other talents.” Marian scooted behind him and started massaging his temples, wondering why she felt compelled to reassure him. He grunted, then sighed with pleasure.
“Of course,” he said, but he didn’t sound as sarcastic as she’d expected. He huffed out a breath. “You are a naturally gifted student in Power. It happens sometimes, that there are geniuses.”
An inner glow of pleasure lit her. Of course, she’d been a professional student all her life and knew she learned quickly…not that this was learning so much as revealing, discovering something deep inside her, something she was meant to be.
Bossgond said, “Naturally the Song would bring someone innately Powerful to the Tower Community.”
That evening after another mediocre meal, Marian joined Bossgond in the ritual room. He began to Sing the blood-bond ceremony and she joined in when she could. When he picked up a small, sharp knife and strips of linen, she froze. What was she getting into?
Bossgond smiled reassuringly. “We will be bound together for four hours—the correct amount of time for a bond between Master and Apprentice. There are both lesser and greater bonds, depending upon the length of the binding. A Pairing-Marriage bond is a full night and day.”
She nodded and tried to relax as he took her arm and shoved up her sleeve, concentrating on something else—like how glad she was that neither of them had drunk a lot at dinner.
His voice deepened with mystery, with mastery as he cut her arm. The pain was slight, but she yelped and stared as he inserted a little tube in her arm. It looked as if he’d encased a whole vein. Then he slit open his own arm and captured a vein.
Exactly how much blood would they be exchanging? This whole thing involved a lot more than she’d realized.
After they were linked, they finished Singing the ceremony, Marian in a low tone, experimenting with using her voice and Power. Even before they snuffed the last candle, she could feel his blood inside her, weighty with age, with Power, but also…murky.
With his blood came memories, strange and distorted and flickering too fast before her mind’s eye for her to catch and analyze them.
As the minutes passed, through Bossgond, Marian’s small tune merged with the planet’s. Wonder grew inside her.
She found herself panting, and regulated her breath—yoga breaths. Slowly, they left the top ritual floor and descended to Bossgond’s study. He’d placed a small desk and chair next to his larger one, along with the big glass sphere that contained Marian’s planet.
His mouth moved and a second or two later she heard his distorted voice, not beautiful now, but beating at her ears.
“Study the continents, the contours of the land, and especially the weather.”
Marian stared at the sphere, but minutes passed before her eyes focused. She swallowed. Everything was so overwhelming! She chose a cloud—studied it as it floated over the continent, changed shapes, absorbed other clouds and became a weather front. Her heart pounded dully in her chest.
Bossgond fiddled with lenses on his desk. Glimmers of his thoughts came with the flow of memories.
A few minutes after the second hour, Bossgond abruptly quit his work and they went back to the ritual room, where they relaxed in lounge chairs. This was easier, as she didn’t have to struggle with the input from his mind as he worked.
Slowly, slowly, without the distraction of her studies or his, relaxing in the chair, Marian regained her equilibrium and could snatch bits of Bossgond’s knowledge, process it, understand it. Comprehension of the language came first, and she smiled faintly. Lladranan culture celebrated the Singer—a prophetess oracle—and the Song, what they called the Divine. It made sense that she “heard” the language in her blood, trickling to her brain, opening new paths.
Too aware of her own memories flowing to Bossgond, Marian let Bossgond’s most personal ones zoom past her. She knew he’d had two long-term lovers, that the relationships hadn’t been totally satisfying. He probably learned all about her mother—and Andrew. Perhaps he could help with Andrew. At least Bossgond now knew how much she loved her brother and why it was imperative for her to return to Earth.
Then Marian “saw” the northern boundary of Lladrana, the fence posts and magical forcefield boundary strung between them. The fence posts blackened and fell, the border gaped. Monsters invaded. Horrible, hideous, evil-looking things that brought nausea, so she pushed the thoughts away.
She experienced worms in the rain. Most died when they hit the ground, some tunneled into the earth. Frinks.
Some people opened mouths to the frinks, were consumed by them inside until they turned into monsters within a human skin. Mockers.
From a colorful whirl of views through the binoculars, Marian picked out Alexa—at a graduation, at a funeral, hiking up a mountain trail at night, walking through a silver arch.
Alexa choosing a baton. Alexa in battle—grisly images…Marian shook her head sharply, no! She didn’t want to see that. Not now, not yet.
A new fence post—Alexa grinning, holding a helmet under her arm.
Marian herself at her work-study job in the Engineering Department. On a date with Jack Wilse. Talking to her mother. Hugging Andrew.
She pulled her thoughts back to the here and now—to the shrouded room around her, the cupboards that held the globes of Amee and Earth she’d seen the night before. The clock showed three hours had passed and seemed to tick with her heartbeat.
Bossgond made a strangled noise. She glanced at him—a gray tinge had crept under his skin. His breath was ragged.
“I can’t bear it,” he mumbled. “Your world is too difficult to contemplate. Too harsh.”
Marian thought that being invaded by terrible monsters was worse than Denver traffic, which she’d been thinking of. But she reached for the linen strips that bound their arms together.
“No!” Bossgond cried, sitting straight up. “This needs a delicate touch.”
She understood him much better now, so she leaned back. As he began to chant over the bindings, her blood slowed and dizziness hit her. He carefully separated their arms. The tubes had dissolved. A hollow sigh of relief escaped him.
After a few more chanting words, his hard fingertip ran up her arm, sealing her wound and leaving cold fire in its wake. Bossgond wrapped one strip along her arm and sang a simple healing tune that made Marian smile. She was feeling sleepier and sleepier. Had Bossgond siphoned her own energy into himself, thinking it was his right as her master? She didn’t like that thought or the dark parade that followed. Maybe he’d been acting all day, and now she was about to become a sacrifice. Bad. Very bad. How could she have been so gullible?
Darkness swooped down on her.
Maps tucked under his arm, Jaquar followed Chalmon up his Tower stairs to his study. The other Sorcerer radiated irritation, probably still upset at Jaquar’s behavior in claiming Exotique Marian the day before. Or perhaps it was that Jaquar had gathered a circle of Sorcerers and Sorceresses to watch the Dark’s nest, and they were reporting to him.
Before Jaquar’s parents died, Chalmon had considered himself the leader of their generation of the Tower Community. Jaquar, like most, had gone his own way and done small tasks for Chalmon as requested, and if they cost little.
That had changed. Jaquar had never wanted to be a leader, barely had the patience to deal with the idiosyncrasies of a group of individuals, but he hungered for vengeance.
When they reached Chalmon’s tidy study, Venetria rose and came forward. Jaquar sensed she’d been with Chalmon since the debacle at the Marshalls’ Castle the day before.
“Salutations, Venetria.” He bowed and kissed her hand. “How did you two get here?”
Chalmon waved a hand as if impatient with the question, any small talk. “I bought a coach and Venetria bespelled it to fly. It will be a welcome addition to my household.”
Venetria frowned. “It’s my coach.”
“I bought it.” Chalmon scowled at his lover.
“But my flight spell is much more costly than the coach itself.”
“Why didn’t you settle this between the two of you before?” asked Jaquar.
Chalmon reddened. Venetria smiled in satisfaction. “Chalmon was in a hurry to get into the coach. All that Power compressed in that pentacle yesterday was so invigorating.”
Venetria heaved a sigh, which raised her chest. She did have beautiful breasts. Almost as beautiful as the Exotique’s, though Jaquar had no business thinking such thoughts.
He strode to the center of the room where a study table and several chairs sat, unrolled one of the large sheets of paper he’d brought with him and placed it on the table. “This is a diagram and map of Plane Eighteen. I’ve found it to be the best for observing the nest. The master and monsters don’t sense us because it is a few levels more spiritual—more good—than what they can achieve.”
“They are too destructive for Eighteen?” Venetria asked. “I don’t do well in any Plane lower than Twenty-four.” She slid Chalmon a glance. “Unless I’m angry at Chalmon.”
Jaquar’s mouth twisted. “I’ve reached upward to Eighty-two, as low as Eleven—which is the Plane the horrors use most often.”
Chalmon grunted. “Is that other roll level Eleven?”
“Yes.” Jaquar moved the first map to one side of the table and set the second down.
As he unrolled it, Chalmon placed a paperweight on each of the four corners and studied the musical notation at the bottom of the chart. His nose wrinkled as if smelling a bad odor.
“Foul,” Chalmon said. He tapped the music and a low, grating hum and clashing notes reverberated through the room. Venetria jumped and put her hands over her ears.
“You probably shouldn’t have done that,” Jaquar said mildly.
Greasy smoke hovered in the air. “You’re right.” Chalmon scowled. “Now they could become aware of me, might have a direct path here. I’ll have to do a Ritual Cleansing.” He glanced at Jaquar. “How do you make such maps without alerting the monsters, the Master, the Dark itself?”
“Very carefully.” He had no intention of revealing his secrets.
For an instant, Chalmon’s face lightened with humor, then he sobered again and nodded to chairs near the fireplace. They were simple and covered in royal blue, Chalmon’s color. He waited until Jaquar and Venetria were seated, then said, “I am not comfortable with your previous plan to train the new Exotique and use her to infiltrate the nest.”
Relief eased Jaquar’s tight muscles. Despite his lust for revenge, he’d had qualm, too, since he met Marian. Her personal Song was so lovely.
Chalmon continued. “I studied the information you sent regarding the recent observations of the Dark’s nest. The Sorcerer who was watching last night said there was a great stirring when Marian was Summoned. The Dark obviously knows she’s arrived. We may not have time for her full training.”
Venetria pursed her lips. “True. I hope Bossgond teaches her rapidly and well.”
Chalmon said, “The Sorceress watching the nest this morning stated there has been increased activity, as if more monsters would soon be released.” He squared his shoulders. “I contacted the others. We—the group of us—agree that we may have to move faster than anticipated.”
Anger stirred inside Jaquar. “Sounds as if you were busy during my trip from my island this evening.”
Eyes steely, Chalmon said, “From the Power I felt surrounding the Exotique, she is strong enough and Exotique enough to penetrate the magical shield keeping the rest of us at bay.”
“I want her trained up to Circlet status first,” Jaquar insisted. “It would be foolish to throw away such a fearsome weapon as Marian without learning all she is capable of.” He stood and paced. “Has it occurred to you that the Master is baiting a trap? And he wants us to do just as we planned—send the new Exotique Marian to her destruction instead of guarding her and using her? She’s Powerful and could be the worst danger to him if she develops into a Circlet, unites us and fights with us and Exotique Alyeka.”
Chalmon shifted his shoulders. “That may well be true, but I’m sure she could hurt the nest, and you saw what one sangvile did. Its damage is exponential. If the Master releases several—”
“We are watching. We will know when the horrors leave the nest maw. We know how to defeat all the monsters we’ve encountered so far, including the sangvile, including the dreeth. I do not want to act in haste!”
Venetria and Chalmon exchanged glances.
“We should definitely spend more time with her and learn her Powers before we solidify our plans,” Venetria said. She grimaced. “I suppose we should visit Bossgond.”
“He’ll probably be having many people dropping by—Circlets of the Tower and Marshalls, too. Nothing will stop Exotique Alyeka from greeting another from her old world.” Jaquar smiled as he recalled the small woman’s excitement the previous day. “And since Alyeka doesn’t fly well, her husband, Bastien, will bring her. As a black-and-white, Bastien has a wide streak of curiosity himself.”
Jaquar chuckled. “Yes, Bossgond’s Tower may become a busy place. Enough to make him cranky. I plan to go see him and Marian myself.”
Venetria and Chalmon watched Jaquar leave. As they stood at the top of the tower, Chalmon’s fingers tightened on hers, his profile went stern. The Song between them was rough and uneven as their thoughts and desires conflicted. As usual.
“I didn’t ask to be jolted out of my complacency and into the knowledge of great danger.”
She jerked her hand from his and turned away from the window. “I’m sorry I burdened you when my aunt died, made you face what the sangvile could do to us,” she said stiffly. “I must go.” She’d wanted to stay, had felt protected and warm here, even though his furnishings were not to her taste. He’d never noticed that, of course. She digressed from the topic he’d introduced, but she didn’t want to think about what plans he might propose.
He grasped her, both hands on her shoulders. “Jaquar is deviating from his original tune in this.”