Sorceress of Faith

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.