The Thirteenth Scroll (23 page)

But the old gods and their ways had been part of this land since before time was measured and counted. Those gods and their
powers would rule in Aghamore again—even if it took Aurya her lifetime to see it made so.

After dressing and eating quickly, they left the inn to join the others heading down to the Water-Gates and the opening of
the festivities. Torches wavered in the predawn air, giving a dancing glow to the crowd following the same path walked every
year at this time. Aurya strolled along with them, her hand on Giraldus’s arm and filled with a sense of inner ease. It all
felt so
right
to her this morning; no shadow of doubt was present to darken her thoughts.

The Water-Gates were awash with lights. Huge torches had been lit at each end and in the middle of the high, arched bridge,
and lanterns were hung across the face so that the wonderful carvings could be seen.

Here were carved flowers and trees, and the wildlife that had lived along the banks of the river. It was Yembo of the past,
honored and celebrated by the Yembo of the present. At the very center, three swans were carved in flight, their long graceful
necks extended and their wings caught forever in mid-beat.

The Three Sisters
, Aurya thought with a sudden burst of excitement that raced through her body as if lightning had struck from within.
Wait
, she told herself.
Their beaks are pointing north, the direction you already know you must go—and the prophecy said the Three Sisters would be
looking west… but they are on the west face of the bridge
… Her thoughts were beginning to chase themselves
in unprofitable circles.
Wait
, she finally told herself,
wait and see what the dawn reveals
.

Long ago she had trained herself to outward calm despite whatever she might be feeling. She called upon that training now.
The ways of magic are sometimes subtle
, she reminded herself; she must not miss them because she had no more self-control than the lowest initiate.

Far in the east there was the merest change of light. At that same instant, from either side of the bridge, rose the pure,
soft sound of children’s voices. Walking four abreast, they came. Their song became louder, clearer, as with each footstep
the two groups neared each other.

Their voices rang like tapped crystal, trilled like a summer brook flowing over stones. Off in the east, the light grew in
shades of violet and roseate gold. The crowd, so full of festive noise just a scant moment before, was now stilled in hushed
appreciation.

Aurya, too, was silent, waiting for the revelation she was certain would come. Off in the distance, the sky continued to grow
brighter by the second. The violet gave way to the soft blue of a clear springtime day, and the rose-washed gold turned tawny,
then bright as the sun at last lifted above the horizon.

With her eyes fixed upon the swans, Aurya stared, strained, to see even the smallest nuance of change. She saw…

… nothing.

The children concluded their first song, an ancient hymn of haunting melody sung in praise of Creation, to the appreciative
applause of their audience. They began a second tune, this one sprightly and full of musical movement. It was a familiar folk
tune about blackbirds and thrushes, sheep and fishes, all looking for their mates in the beauty of spring. Soon, everyone
but Aurya was clapping
in time. Many in the crowd began singing along—including Giraldus.
He
was having a wonderful day.

Aurya wanted to scream at everyone to be quiet and let her think. That, of course, she could not do. Instead, she felt a sudden
and undeniable urge to get away. She turned from Giraldus’s side without a word and headed north—away from the people, from
the noise and distractions, and in the direction the swans were pointing.

Pushing through the crowd proved difficult. She felt like a fish swimming upstream, the current dragging her the wrong way.
Gone were the elation and certainty she had known upon awakening. All she had left was her determination.

It had carried her this far in her life—it would carry her the rest of the way she intended to go.
She
would never fail or disappoint herself.

The children had begun a third song by the time Aurya reached the edge of the crowd. She began to search the north end of
the meadow, looking for anything that might fit the clues given in the scroll.

Still she found nothing. Everything here was clipped and pristine, well cared for; nothing was
hidden
or
forgotten
. She pushed aside bushes and peered into shadowed places, as the children continued singing their festal greeting to the
sun.

Aurya was so intent on her search that she did not notice when the children ceased to sing. She ignored the thinning crowds
as she began her second search of the park’s perimeter.

“What are you doing?” Giraldus asked, suddenly at her side. His good humor had turned to impatience when he discovered she
was gone, and now his voice was hard.

“It has to be here, somewhere,” she answered him. “The swans’ necks were pointing to this direction.”

“And on the other side they no doubt pointed the other way.”

“The other side—the sun’s side. But that’s east, not west,” Aurya said, speaking to herself and ignoring his question. “We
have to go to the other side. Come on.”

She started to hurry away, but Giraldus grabbed her arm. “What are you babbling about, woman?” he said. “I’m not going anywhere
until you tell me what you’re doing.”

Aurya swung around to face him, her impatience now matching his own. “Didn’t you see the three swans carved on the bridge?”
she asked him.

“Of course I saw them,” Giraldus replied. “Nice bit of work.”

“Don’t you understand, Giraldus? There were
three
of them.
Three
. The
Three Sisters
, just like the scroll said. They’re what we came here to find, remember? They’re supposed to reveal the next steps we’re
to follow.”

“You know, Aurya, I’ve had enough of this scroll nonsense. Even though you say you know we need to end up in the
north
, in Rathreagh, we’re here—in Yembo, in Lininch.
East
not
north
. I’ve done everything you have asked of me, everything you and your scroll said to do. But this is enough. We’ll cross the
bridge and we’ll search the other side. But if we find nothing, that’s it. After that, we start doing things
my
way.”

Giraldus kept a hold of her arm as he began to march across the field toward the bridge. Aurya could tell that he was angry…
and she was fast becoming angry, too. She knew what he meant by doing things
his
way. He meant to summon his army and storm the capital, to take the throne and the crown by force.

And she knew it would not work… but could she trust her sense of certainty anymore?

Then Aurya remembered her vision on the night she had performed the Summoning of Tambryn’s spirit, the vision of herself and
Giraldus riding into Ballinrigh with an army at their back. If that had been a warning, she would heed it now; she was
not
going to give up on this journey and the reward it promised.

It was then she made a decision that had been whispering in the back of her thoughts for a long time. She would make Giraldus
the King in spite of himself.

A Spell of Obedience will change your mind
, she thought as she and Giraldus neared the bridge.
Tonight, when you’re sleeping—I’ll set it then. The moon is still full and the power of night at its greatest strength. By
tomorrow when you awaken, you’ll have no
choice
but to obey me
.

That decision made, Aurya stopped walking. Her action made Giraldus swing around to face her. She put on her most pleasant
smile as she gently disengaged his fingers from her arm. There were other people on the bridge, and she was not about to be
dragged across like a recalcitrant child.

Instead, still smiling, she stepped closer to Giraldus and slipped her arm through his. Her sudden change brought such a look
of confusion to his face that it made her want to laugh aloud. He still, after all these years together, did not understand
her—would
never
understand her.

And that was how she wanted it to stay.

They found no more from searching the southern side of the river. As Giraldus had threatened, he now proclaimed this journey
at an end. Tomorrow he would send a message to his men, then they would turn back and meet his army en route to Ballinrigh.

Aurya smiled and agreed, knowing that nothing he was
saying would ever happen. She let Giraldus see her disappointment; she acted agreeable and submissive, as if her failure to
find the next signs of the scroll had taken all the will from her.

While she played through this latest round in the eternal male/female contest, letting Giraldus
think
he had won, she was busy reviewing the spell she would cast once the moon was high.

She did not waste her strength on a Sleeping Spell. Instead, she slipped a powder into his wine and kept him drinking. Once
it finally took effect, she had to help him to the bed, where he fell into a stupor before she even had the chance to remove
his boots. Now she was certain he would not awaken while she performed the ritual that would bind his will to hers.

Aurya removed Giraldus’s clothing, then changed her own into a simple shift of palest silver, the color of the moonlight.
Once that was done, from out of her bags she brought a blue-crystal wand, about twelve inches long. It had a groove hollowed
into one of its facets, which she would make use of tonight.

This, and a candle, she put on the table. Then she found Giraldus’s dagger and brought it with her as she sat before the fire
to prepare herself.

Many times during their years together Aurya had been tempted to use this spell. Until now, she had always resisted. A Spell
of Obedience, like spells for love, always seemed to her of a self-defeating nature. To force someone’s compliance, like forcing
their affection through magic, rendered the emotion meaningless.

But too much was at stake here.
After it’s over
, she promised Giraldus’s sleeping form,
after you are High King, I’ll remove the spell. If I’m careful, you’ll never
know it was there. Or if you do, you’ll have reason to thank me for it
.

The moon was finally high enough to shine through the window, beaming silvered light into the room. Aurya moved the table
into the center of that light, then extinguished the lamps and lit the candle. She was ready to begin.

Standing in the moonlight, she lifted her arms up and out, reaching toward the ancient and eternal symbol of the Goddess—the
Goddess whom old Kizzie had served and on whose power Aurya would call this night. It was an old spell, passed from teacher
to student through countless years of women. Aurya would cast it as she had learned it from Kizzie.

“Great Goddess, Mother of All,” she began. “Giver of Life, Bringer of Death; I call upon Your power. Aba, Macha, Morrigan—triple
aspect of the One, hear my call and give me aid.”

Aurya picked up the dagger, passed it three times through the flame as she repeated the sacred names. Then she quickly brought
the heated blade down across the thumb of her left hand. The blood welled. She dripped one red drop onto the flame as the
symbolic blood offering to the Goddess. Then she took up the crystal wand.

This, too, she passed through the flame three times. Then she gathered her own blood onto the crystal and with it drew a pentagram
on the table. When that was finished, she held the wand within the candle and let the flame burn the remaining blood away.

Now it was time for Giraldus’s blood, and this was why she had drugged him so heavily. Using his own dagger, she cut a lock
of his hair and shaved three cuttings from his fingernails. These, she took back to the table. Then, finally, she also cut
the ball of his thumb and collected
the fast-welling blood into the groove of the crystal wand.

Aurya quickly wrapped his thumb in a strip of cloth before any of the blood could stain the bedclothes. Then she returned
to the table, bringing the blood-filled crystal with her.

Into the center of the pentagram she placed Giraldus’s hair and fingernails. The hair, from his head, represented the obedience
of his mind that after tonight she would command; his fingernails were the sign and symbols of his actions. With his blood
and hers mingled, she would bind him to her will with cords of magic stronger than any ropes.

She took the hairs and dipped them in the blood. Then she dragged those along the lines of the symbol she had used her own
blood to create.

“Thy mind to my mind,” she chanted. “Thy mind to my calling. Thy mind at my command. By this blood I bind thee in obedience.”

Aurya dropped the hairs, one by one, onto the candle flame, where they singed and burned in the incense of sacrifice. She
then picked up the fingernails and repeated the process.

“Thy will to my will,” she said this time. “Thy actions be at my calling. Thy will at my command. By this blood I bind thee
to obedience.”

Logic said that the fingernails would not burn so easily as the hair, but as the first one was dropped onto the flame it flared
up as if the fire was hungry for the offering. It consumed the fingernails as if they were of no more substance than a spider’s
web.

Now Aurya reached for the wand and the blood it contained. This she poured into the center of the pentagram.

“Thy blood to my blood; thy life to my life. By the
blood of life, I bind thee at my command. My will shall be thy will; my desires shall be thy desires. My hopes shall be thy
hopes and my goals shall be thy goals until the time that either I, or death, shall release thee. By this blood I bind thee;
only blood can set thee free.”

Once more, Aurya picked up the wand. The blue crystal shimmered in the light of the flames and the moon. This wand was ancient;
the magic set into it centuries ago by a mage more powerful than any the world now knew. Aurya had spent years searching for
it or one of its eleven sisters, all cut from the same blue Mother-stone. When at last she found it, it had taken all her
powers—and all her purse—to persuade the owner to part with it.