Sorceress of Faith (9 page)

Bossgond
opened the door, wearing a short tunic that showed his bony knees, a large
yellow bird embroidered on the front. The garment was cut so full that it hung
on his slight frame. He stood aside and Marian entered.

His
space looked much like hers—windows letting in spring sunlight, shelves all
around the room, a desk, bathroom closet and a partition hiding the bedroom.
But it was as warm as a summer’s day—and the warmth felt more natural than the
central heating she was used to at home. Perhaps it was the humidity, or the
scents the air carried—fading spring blossoms and the start of summer.

The
word
oeuf
meant omelette—a mild cheese omelette along with croissants
and hot chocolate with whipped cream. They ate at a table near his fireplace.
The fire flickered rainbow flames and Bossgond let her watch them, examine the
room and eat in peace.

When
they finished, with a wave of his hand the dirty dishes disappeared. If she
were on Earth she could have marketed that for a fortune—but where did the
dishes go, and would they return? If they returned, would they be the
same
dishes, but clean? How clean would they be? Would bacteria still live—

Bossgond
chuckled. “I see many questions in your eyes,” he said, enunciating each word.

Marian
nodded and he nodded back. Apparently that was the same, too, nodding as
agreement.

He
rose slowly and his joints popped. She frowned. He could make the dishes
disappear but had trouble rising? With motions and two or three attempts at
rephrasing the question, she made herself clear.

“I
have great Power,” he said, rubbing his fingers together in a gesture like the
one that meant “money” back home. “And my will and the Power make magical tasks
easy, but my body is old and physical tasks are not easy.”

Marian
wanted to know how old he was, but it was rude in her culture to ask and she
didn’t know the rules of this society. She just looked concerned and nodded
again.

He
pointed to the center of the room where three thick oriental-looking rugs were
layered. Huge pillows lay atop them along with several small tables that held
objects: odd bottles—and were those wands?—and a couple of knives.

Marian
hoped the knives were used ritually and practically, like in Wicca, and not for
bloodletting and sacrifice. From the corner of her eye she studied Bossgond.
She could take him in a physical fight, but if he used magic she was sure she
could be bound and gutted in the blink of an eye. She shuddered.

The
old man chuckled again and went to lower himself to the rugs. He sat
cross-legged, palms up on his knees and sent her a quizzical glance.

She
squared her shoulders. There was nothing she could do this minute except scream
and fight for her life if he meant her harm. So she sank down across from him.
To her amazement, her gown needed no adjusting: it flowed out of her way when
she sat.

“First
we’ll determine how strong your Power is and whether you will be a good
apprentice for me,” he said, lifting his arms shoulder height, hands angled up
as if pressing against an invisible wall. “Do as I do.”

Marian
mimicked him, putting her hands up. There was enough space between them that
they had a few inches between their hands and didn’t touch.

Bossgond
hummed, and invisible pressure against her palms snapped Marian’s hands back to
her shoulders. He smiled, but kept the pressure steady.

Magical
arm wrestling? Marian narrowed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath. She felt her
own will, and something else—Power?—surge through her body, tingle through her
hands, leave the hollow of her palms to push against his, be stopped against a
barrier.

She
concentrated, found a pool of energy within herself, drew it up and sent it out
in a ragged stream against his Power. His hands trembled. Marian set her teeth,
visualized a river of force inside her, welling up from the deep pool, turning
into a torrent pouring from her hands to crash against Bossgond’s wall. His
hands snapped back to his shoulders.

Looking
surprised, he frowned, then pushed back at her. She kept the Power steady
against the strong force of his for what seemed an eternity that drained her
and started her panting—perhaps only a minute. Then she slumped back against
the pillow. Bossgond’s Power followed her, taking her breath, then vanished.

“Extraordinaire,”
he said.

She
heard his voice around buzzing in her ears. Gentle, inexorable fingers clamped
around her wrists and brought her upright again. Her lungs pumped and the dress
seemed to soak up her sweat and release a floral scent. Huh. Wriggling her legs
and bottom, shifting her shoulders, she stared at the man from under lowered
lashes.

He
was inscrutable. Like a certain little green, pointy-eared Master of the Force.

Her
own personal taskmaster. Great. She knew now that she hadn’t given the green
guy’s students the sympathy they had deserved.

“Next
test,” Bossgond said, raising his hands, palms vertical again.

Marian
didn’t think she could twitch a finger, but managed to tilt her hands up from
her wrists.

“To
see how well we will do as Circlet and Apprentice,” Bossgond said.

Marian
suppressed a grimace. She knew the word “apprentice.” It made her feel like she
was ten again—maybe younger, just starting elementary school—though, she
was
a beginner at magic.

She
didn’t even have the basic socialization of any child brought up in this
culture—what constituted rules of magic?

But
Alexa seemed to have managed a position of high status, and in a relatively
short a time, if Marian’s recollection of the coat Alexa had worn in the vision
was right. It was last winter’s jacket, so she would have purchased it no
earlier than the fall….

A
sting against her palms brought her back to find her teacher frowning at her
from under silver eyebrows. Her cheeks flamed. She’d let her attention wander!
Oh yes, just like a kindergartner. Heat flushed her neck, too. She’d
disappointed a prof—not good. She prided herself on being an exceptional
student.

So
she dipped her head in apology.
“Excusez moi.”

Bossgond
nodded solemnly. “Attencion,” he said.

She
nodded again, kept her gaze fastened on his face, her mind on what would come
next. Her stomach tightened. She hated pop quizzes. How could you get a perfect
score without practice?

“Follow
me,” Bossgond said. He moved his hands far apart, cocked his head.

Intent
on him, she moved her hands apart, too. Then he began gesturing, doing odd
things with his hands, arms, face.

Marian
mirrored him, watching. Finally, he returned to his original position.

“Now
you move and I will follow,” he said.

This
was the strangest activity Marian had ever done with a teacher. Tentatively she
set her hands together as if in prayer. He did the same. A little bolder, she
tilted her head, grinned. He did the same. So they continued, Marian leading,
until he said, “Fini.”

When
her eyes met his, he said, “Now we move together, but neither of us leads.”

That
sounded very strange. So she watched him and when he moved his hands a little
she followed, but leaned to one side, and he did so, too. It was…balance. More
than that, it was a connection, knowing how they should move together, and in
her mind she began to hear a stream of musical notes weaving into a melody. A
couple of minutes later, they brought their hands together, palm to palm, and a
huge flare of energy burst from her, dazzling her with its lightning
brightness, its orchestral chord thundering in her ears, her mind.

She
spun free. Suddenly she was looking down on her body, hand-to-hand with
Bossgond, in a round tower room. Then she was in the room above them, where she
saw the star pentagram that had brought her. She rose above the tower to see a
large island, the green coast of an unfamiliar land, then drifted even higher
until she saw how the world curved.

Free.

Terrified.
There was nothing to hold her here—no bond with this planet, this land. She
still couldn’t feel any link to Earth or Andrew, and wherever that corridor was
that she’d entered Lladrana from, it didn’t seem to be a physical place she
could find.

Marian
floated, unable to control her magic that had pushed her from her body. The
Power was so strong she was unable to move her spirit-self even a smidgeon.

A
slight breeze could blow her away.

6

B
ossgond’s strong
hands squeezed hers. “Come back!” His resonant voice trembled through her
wavery self and she plummeted into her body. She clung to his hands, stared at
his homely face with her physical eyes. Her body trembled.

“You
have returned,” Bossgond said. “Good.” He separated his fingers from hers one
by one and stood up stiffly. “I will get you hareco—a drink to help you
settle.”

Leaning
back on the huge, firm pillow that braced her, Marian hoped it wasn’t some
pitiful herbal tea. Good black tea would be nice, or—

She
smelled it. Coffee! And she murmured a prayer of thanks. Bossgond handed her a
mug and she inhaled the fragrance. Hot, dark coffee. She drank greedily, while
he sipped from a matching mug. The pottery had a big yellow bird emblazoned on
it, but she was too shaken to ask about the icon.

“Your
first lesson will be in grounding.” He frowned, and the small black streak in
his golden hair seemed to darken, or perhaps the rest glowed.

Marian
pressed her lips together. She understood what he said well enough, and she
wasn’t that much of a kindergartner that she didn’t know what “grounding”
was—making sure you were solid in your body before doing magic.

Keeping
her voice even, she set aside her mug and said, “This will be hard. I do not
have a link—” she hooked her two index fingers together “—to Amee. My link to
Exotique Terre is broken.” Her chin wobbled at the thought. She grabbed her mug
and sipped again—something she could understand, coffee.

Bossgond
patted her shoulder awkwardly and took his place again. “From my observations,
it seems as if Exotique Terre has little magic,” Bossgond said, as she drained
the last, lovely gulp from her mug.

Exotique
Terre was what he’d called the globe of Earth the night before. Marian didn’t
know what to say, so she shrugged.

“A
Power like yours would not have been so stifled, so bound until it struggled to
get free, here on Amee.” The old man’s tone was laced with disapproval of her
previous world. “You are far beyond the age of the standard Apprentice.” He
snorted. “But perhaps it is good that you are an adult. I have little patience.”

He’d
been fine with her so far, but she sensed she was a novelty to him.

The
meaning of his words sank in. “From your observations? You can see into my
world?”

“Indeed,”
he said, and waved to something that looked like an enormous set of binoculars
on a stand, aimed at a series of mirrors that reflected infinitely. She
couldn’t figure out how the device worked, didn’t know if she dared to ask to
see her old world.

She
yearned to know that Andrew was all right.

Bossgond
came and took the empty mug from her, offered his hand to help her up. As she
took it, the song between them uncurled again. He nodded.

“We
have a small bond, which will grow. It is good.”

After
she was on her feet, he released her. “Come, we must remedy your lack of a link
with Amee as soon as possible.” He held out his hand and a walking stick flew
into it.

Marian
gulped.

Nodding
to the table holding the wooden wands, he said, “Choose a walking stick.”

His
words made her uneasy, but she walked to the table and picked up each in turn.
The dark red one felt the best, as if it were an extension of her arm. She
repressed the urge to wave it and say “abracadabra” or “kalamazam.” Instead she
handed it to Bossgond.

He
grinned in satisfaction and said, “Staff!”

The
wand grew into a walking stick as high as her head—looking like a rod or wand
from a tarot deck.

Bossgond
handed it to her, and when she grasped it this time, a low note sounded and the
thing vibrated. Small twigs appeared, then sprouted greenery, then ivy twined
up the staff, spreading silver and gold leaves. She stared at it open-mouthed,
and again her memory was prodded—by the vision Bossgond had shown her in his
crystal ball when they’d first met. She’d had a staff just like this. No wonder
he smiled—either he’d foreseen this, or he had deduced her Power correctly.
What else wasn’t he telling her?

Many
things, she thought. The old sorcerer wasn’t revealing anything he didn’t want
her to know, and he probably thought she knew more than she did. Her ignorance
would impede them both.

He
took her hand and led her to the stairs, and they wound their way down the
tower to arched, double wooden doors. Marian watched intently as he slid the
bar on the door to the side and into iron brackets attached to the stone wall.
She’d be getting more than magic lessons, more than the sociology of a new
culture—she’d learn more about architecture, too. So much to learn! It excited
her.