Sorceress of Faith. Robin D. Owens

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СКАЧАТЬ 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

      Bossgond’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.

      Bossgond shoved open the door and they walked out into a small area paved with large gray flagstones, then into springy green grass. The wind whisked their garments around them, tugged at Marian’s hair. He set a hand on her head and said, “Alam,” and her hair settled around her head. Neat trick, but she rather missed the fingers of the breeze caressing her scalp.

      The sunlight was yellow, clouds wispy white against a sky not quite as blue as a Colorado spring sky. Marian shifted her shoulders as she saw forested hills rolling to the horizon. She was used to a view of the Flatirons and Rocky Mountains. She was accustomed to a campus full of buildings, professors and students, not a lonely island tower with one brilliant Sorcerer.

      Bossgond pulled on her hand and they circled the great tower, over bony rock, slippery moss and sweetly scented grass, until they were almost halfway around. He stilled, closed his eyes, cocked his head, then opened his lids and nodded once. “No one watches.”

      That was good to know—another trick Marian would like to learn. A person couldn’t depend on atavistic itching between the shoulder blades. Bossgond squatted, gestured to her to do the same, then indicated the top of a stone at the bottom of the tower wall that looked well buried. He licked СКАЧАТЬ