The Banned And The Banished - Witch Fire Part 20

"The journey to A'loa Glen is a long one. And the city is guarded by sorcery. Before I can go there, I will need to retrieve the ward that unlocks the path to the city. I hid it here in the ruins of the old school. Near the-"

Uncle Bol waved the tip of his pipe at Er'ril. "Do not tell me. The fewer who know the better."

A long silence followed these words.

Elena squirmed in her seat. Her mind fought to absorb all she had heard, but most of their words made no sense. Only one thing was clear. Her own fears found voice, and she spoke, cracking the silence among them. "I don't want to be a wit'ch."

Her uncle tried to smile at her in rea.s.surance, but only succeeded in quivering his mustache. The profound sadness in his eyes shocked her. But instead of comforting her, Uncle Bol crossed in front of Er'ril, his back to her. "Earlier you asked for proof of my words." He slipped something from inside his vest. "Do you recognize this, Er'ril?"

Elena could still see Er'ril's face. His mouth dropped open, and words tumbled out. "That's Shorkan's!

Where did you find it?"

Elena could not see what was proffered. She tilted her head, but her uncle's back still blocked her view.

"If you remember," her uncle said, "Shorkan had given it to the boy on the night of the Book's forging.

When you fled with the Book after slaying the child, we retrieved it. The boy still had it clutched in his dead fingers."

"What do you plan to do with it?"

"What I must."

Her uncle suddenly swung around and faced Elena. He held a dagger in his hand; the black blade glinted in the firelight. Tears were in his eyes. "I never wanted to do this, Elena."

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand toward him. A small gasp slipped from Elena's chest. What was he doing? She was too shocked to resist.

"This is an ancient dagger used by the mages to consecrate the Blood Diary during its forging." He dragged the blade's edge across her exposed palm.

Blood welled from the cut before the pain reached her eyes. A sharp cry escaped her throat. She staredin disbelief at the wound.

He pressed the hilt of the dagger into her b.l.o.o.d.y palm. As the blood soaked the knife, the black blade burst forth with a single flash of white light. As the radiance subsided, the dark blade now shone silver in the firelight.

Uncle Bol fell to his knees before her. "Now it's a wit'ch's dagger."

Er'ril sat straight in his chair. His pipe had fallen to the floor from his limp fingers, scattering smoldering tobacco across the pine planking. Though he had sensed the truth in the old man's words, to see it happen before him numbed his mind and limbs. Long ago, he had witnessed other initiates receive their first cuts from the masters of the Order, christening them to their magick. The same blinding light had marked their coming to power.

Elena wasa wit'ch!

He watched the child drop the dagger to her lap and wipe the traces of blood from her hand. No sign of her uncle's cut remained. It had healed without a mark.

Her uncle still knelt beside her. "Forgive me, Elena."

"But I don't want the stupid knife."

"You must take it. You will need it to draw on your magick."

She held up her right hand. "I already told you, it's gone. See, my hand is normal again. The red color faded away."

Er'ril spoke up. He kept his voice small so as not to further upset the child; she seemed close to panic.

"Your Rose has faded as you exhausted your supply of power," he said. "You will need to renew."

"I don't want to!" Tears rolled down her cheek. Her uncle placed his hands on her lap. "I know you're scared, honey. But your aunt Fila is counting on you."

At her aunt's name, her sobs quieted. "What do you mean?" she said between sniffles.

Bol rolled back to his feet. "Come, let me show you something. Aunt Fila left a gift for you."

"She knew about all this wit'ch stuff?"

"Yes, she did, Elena. And she was so proud of how strong you were growing."

She sniffed back the last few tears. "She was?" Her uncle nodded. "Come with me." Bol turned to Er'ril.

"You come, too. This may help you retrieve the ward you hid in the ruins."

Er'ril stood from his chair. Along with Elena, he followed the old man to a nearby case of dusty books.

Bol's fingers ran along the spine of bindings like a lover's caress. A sigh escaped his lips. His fingers settled on a carved stone bookend of a dragon's head. He reached and tilted the bookend. A series of slipping pulleys and shifting stones sounded from behind the bookcase. The entire cabinet swung toward them.

"Stand back," Bol warned. He swung the bookcase open like a door to reveal a stone stairway leading down.

Elena's eyes widened with surprise, her wonder overwhelming her tears.Even Er'ril was intrigued. "Where does this lead?" Bol reached to a hand lantern resting on a sideboard.

He picked it up and adjusted the wick to flame the lantern brighter. "Follow me, and watch your step.

The stone is damp and slippery."

Er'ril waved a hand for Elena to follow her uncle while he went last. The stairway, constructed of crude slabs of hewn rock, appeared much older than the stone of the cottage. Spiderwebs wisped in drapes from the low ceiling. The girl and the stooped man pa.s.sed under the webs, setting them to drifting on currents of disturbed air. Er'ril, taller than the others, kept wiping them from his hair as he managed the slick stairs. He slapped at his neck as he felt the scurry of tiny legs on his nape.

Hearing his slap, Elena looked back at him and eyed him as he rubbed his neck. "Careful. It's bad luck to kill a spider."

"Go on, child." He nudged her forward with a finger. She wasn't the one with spiders in her hair.

Elena listened as she crept down the last of the steps. Her footsteps echoed back from the stones. She crinkled her nose at the smell of stagnant water and mildewed dampness. Reaching the last step, she paused. Uncle Bol stood several steps ahead of her, his lantern held high. The light revealed a wide chamber, its walls sweeping to either side in a crude circle. Twelve pillars of rock, like stone guards, sectioned the walls. Between the pillars, in alcoves, hung ancient mirrored plates, most with green water stains marring their silvery finishes.

Uncle Bol smiled encouragement. "There's nothing to be frightened of here, Elena."

Behind her, Er'ril nudged her forward. As she crossed to her uncle, the mirrors reflected back sparks of lantern light and movement. Their own reflections shifting in the mirrors made Elena jittery. She snuck closer to the swordsman. She kept catching glimpses of motion from the corner of her eye. One black pa.s.sageway led away from this chamber toward other dark mysteries.

"What is this place?" Er'ril asked, bringing to voice Elena's own question.

"We are at the outskirts of the old ruins." Uncle Bol still had his pipe clenched between his teeth. Its glowing tip acted like a pointing finger. He swung in a circle, encompa.s.sing the entire room. "This was the old chamber of worship for the school. Here young initiates-your age, Elena-would come to pray and meditate for guidance from the spirit Chi."

She stared into all the dark shadows. Weren't there supposed to be poisonous snakes around the ruins?

She stepped even closer to the man with the sword. "Am I supposed to pray to Chi?" she said, her voice a whisper. "Here?"

"No, sweetheart, Chi is gone. The spirit that gave you your gift is different."

"How so?" Er'ril asked. He didn't seem the least bothered by the shifting shadows or the possibility of snakes.

Uncle Bol seemed unconcerned, too. He spoke to Er'ril as Elena listened for hissing. "Where Chi was more a male spirit and only communed with men, we believe the spirit that granted both Elena and Sisa'kofa their powers is more the feminine twin of Chi." He waved the lantern to the mirrors. "Like the mirror image of Chi."

"But Chi granted his gifts to many men," Er'ril said. "Why does this spirit only choose this little girl-Elena-to be its instrument?"

"That has been much debated, while the writings of Sisa'kofa ponder that very question. The best answerthe Sisterhood could settle on was that Chi, like all men, can spread his seed far and wide, so he could bring many men into his flock. This other spirit, more like a woman, has only one seed at a time to cherish and nurture. That seed was Sisa'kofa in the past and Elena today."

"So this spirit is weaker than Chi," Er'ril said.

Uncle Bol frowned at Er'ril, the tips of his white mustache drooping down. "It takes both a man and a woman to birth a child. Who is stronger and who is weaker in this union? It is just sides of a coin."

Er'ril shrugged. "Words for dreamers."

"What is this spirit?" Elena asked, becoming slightly intrigued but still watching for snakes. "Where did it come from?"

"Much is still unknown, honey. That's what I hope your aunt Fila may discover."

"But Aunt Fila is dead. How can she help now?"

Uncle Bol placed a hand on her cheek. "Aunt Fila is special. Our lineage, even before Sisa'kofa, has always been blessed with a unique connection to the elemental spirits. Even your own mother, Elena."

"My mother?"

Bol nodded. "You know how she could always tell the s.e.x of an unborn child or when a cow would calf."

"Yes, all the neighbors used to come to her."

"Well, that was her special skill."

"And Aunt Fila had special skills, too?"

"Yes, and her skills were strong. Your aunt Fila could fold and knead the magick of the elementals like the bread in her bakery. She could wield many sorceries."

Tears again appeared in Elena's eyes as she thought of her parents, of her brother, and of Aunt Fila.

"Why did she have to die?"

"Hush, sweetie... don't cry. Let me show you something." Uncle Bol led her to an alcove between two pillars.

Elena followed, noticing that this was the only section of the wall upon which a mirror did not hang. The alcove, lit by the hand lantern, was not constructed of stacked stones like the walls, but was carved from the rock of the hillside. It contained a pedestal supporting a basin of water. As she watched, a small drop of water rolled down the damp rock wall to dribble into the basin.

"What is this?" Er'ril asked behind her. "It was a bowl used for ablutions by the initiates. The hands of many ancient mages used this bowl to wash before meditating."

Elena squeezed forward and had to rise on tiptoe to peer into the water. "What does this have to do with Aunt Fila?"

"This water, seeping from springs deep in the hills, is steeped with elemental powers." Uncle Bol glanced over her head to Er'ril. "I don't think the school's mages, blind to the elemental spirits, even knew what strength flowed through this water. Maybe they somehow sensed it and so intuitively built their chamberof worship here."

"What does it do?" Er'ril asked.

"As water can carve paths in stone, so this water can carve paths between people. Both Aunt Fila and I had amulets that contained drops from this water, and it allowed us to communicate across distances."

Uncle Bol slipped a small jade amulet in the shape of an alchemist's vial from his vest pocket. It hung from a gray twisted cord. He offered it to Elena.

She carefully lifted the amulet into the lantern light. "Thank you. It's beautiful!"

Uncle Bol bent and kissed Elena on her forehead. "It's a gift from Aunt Fila. In fact, the cord is braided with her hair." He reached down and removed a tiny sliver of jade acting like a cork in the vial. "Now go fill it with water," he said, pointing to the basin.

Elena looked at her uncle questioningly, then crossed to the tiny pool and dipped the amulet in. The water's cold stung her fingers. She lifted the vial free, and Uncle Bol pa.s.sed her the jade stopper.

"Cork it snug," he said.

Elena did so, her brows knit tight as she worked the jade sliver in place. "Now what?" she asked.

"With this amulet you can talk to Aunt Fila. You must just hold the amulet tight in your hand and wish it so."

A trickle of fear dripped down her back. She loved her aunt, but... "I can speak to her ghost?"

"Yes. Her body may be gone, but her spirit lives. I, myself, cannot reach her with my amulet any longer.

The elemental power alone is not strong enough to breach the distance to the spirit realm. But Aunt Fila believed you could succeed."

Elena's eyes were focused on the amulet. "How?"

"Cross to one of the mirrors. You need a reflecting surface. Then gaze inside as you hold the amulet firm and speak Fila's name. Try it."

Elena scrunched up her face and stepped to a mirror in a neighboring alcove. She slipped the cord over her head and clutched the amulet in her palm, its sharp edges pinching her skin. Pressing her fist to her chest, she stared into the mirror. Splotches of green water stains marred her reflection, giving her a diseased appearance.

"Think of her and speak her name," Uncle Bol whispered beside her. His voice sounded so hopeful, and sad at the same time, that she could not refuse him. In her mind's eye, she pictured her aunt's stern expression and the way her hair was always pulled back into a tight knot. "Aunt Fila?" she said to the mirror. "Can you hear me?"

With her words, Elena felt the amulet stir, much like a chick shifting in an egg just before hatching. But nothing else happened. She turned to Uncle Bol. "It's not working."

His eyes narrowed, and his shoulders slumped. "Maybe she's too far."

"Or maybe she was wrong," Er'ril said. "We should-"

The bookcase door slammed shut above them, startling Elena. She jumped, and her fist reflexively clamped, piercing her thumb on a sharp edge of the amulet.The lantern rocked in Uncle Bol's hand, casting shadows to and fro. He and Er'ril stood stunned for a frozen heartbeat.

Suddenly a new light burst forth into the room. It came from the mirror in front of Elena. Her eyes, drawn by the light, saw a sight she never expected to see again, her aunt Fila! The old woman was draped in waves of light, and stars winked behind her. The starry view reminded Elena of something she had seen before.

But before Elena could ponder this, Aunt Fila spoke, a panicked look blooming across her aunt's face.

"Run!" She pointed a ghostly hand toward the single dark corridor leading out from the chamber and deeper into die ruins. "Flee! Now! Leave the cottage and escape to the woods!"

With his pillow covering his ears, exhaustion finally consumed Rockingham, and he fell into a fitful slumber. He dreamed he stood on the edge of a cliff above a dark, choppy surf. As he watched the white-tipped waves crash on black rocks below, he somehow knew he dreamed. Clouds and rain blotted the horizon as a storm brewed far out to sea. As is often the case in dreams, the time of day was unclear; the quality of light was such that a change felt imminent. But whether the light was due to wax brighter as in early morning or to wane into darkness, he was unsure. The only thing he knew for certain was that he recognized this place. He had stood here before. He remembered the salt in his nose and the breeze on his face. The Dev'unberry bluff, on the coast of his island home!

A smile appeared on his face. It had been many years since he had returned to the Archipelago. Even this nighttime fantasy was a welcome visit. He soaked the air deep into his chest, and if he squinted... yes, he could just make out the Isle of Maunsk in the distance, nearly swallowed by roiling clouds.