Song foretold that only a Summoning has acceptable odds of success in beating back the horrors and saving Lladrana. We must try despite personal danger,” she pointed out once again in their interminable discussion, wishing her more patient husband were here for this final preritual check of the spelldesign and equipment.
“I don’t like the idea of draining ourselves completely or setting our lives in the hands of a stranger,” Reynardus said.
Of course he didn’t. A Summoning would be conducted by all the Marshalls, and guided by her husband and herself—out of Reynardus’s control. The results too would be out of his control.
Reynardus tromped over to the white marble, blessing-carved fireplace that heated the room. He held his hands to the warmth and shot her a glance. “We are gifted with six opportunities to Summon Exotiques in the next two years. Why not wait?” he grumbled.
Thealia stiffened. Because they were desperate. Because it was their only hope. Because something needed to be done now! She’d argued so time and again. Thealia unclenched her teeth and managed a casual lift of her shoulders. “If you insist we wait, the rest of us will expect you to pay the price of such a gamble. We will want your Chevaliers dispersed to our lands to fight any slayers and renders that infiltrate our estates while we wait for your approval. Will you hazard your own domain until the next time for Summoning?”
He strode around the pentacle, his piercing gaze tracing the shining line of quicksilver. Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.
No, he didn’t like anything out of his control. Or anyone. His treatment of his grown sons had demonstrated that to all of Lladrana. He’d tried to control them with money and with Power, to form their lives as he pleased—and had driven them both away.
He might not be able to bend the Summoned Exotique to his will either. Exotiques were notoriously strange and as unpredictable as they were powerful. Thealia cheered a little.
“We Summon an Exotique female, correct?” He rubbed his hands.
“So the Spring Song advised.” Thealia suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. He obviously thought women were more easily intimidated than men. She pursed her lips. He never should have married a spineless girl of the Chiladee family. Thealia had said so at the time. “Yes, a woman,” she said.
“Hrrumph. Hopefully someone who won’t want to return to their own world, like the last one did a century ago. Wasted effort.”
Thealia tapped her foot under her gown, counting beats until she could reply calmly. “Our chants and chimes and the gong will echo through her past to compel her. The pattern has been approved by we who rule, the Marshalls of the Castle.”
She paused for emphasis. “All the other communities in our society have agreed with this course—the Sorcerers and Sorceresses of the Tower, the City-and Townmasters, the Knights and Chevaliers of the Field, the Seamasters. Even the Cloister—the Friends of the Singer and the Song who guide us spiritually—advise this action.
“A fighting woman of the greatest magical power will answer our Call and be Summoned to Lladrana to take her place as a Marshall. She will stay and help us triumph against the Dark.”
“And not a female demon. There will be Testing?”
Thealia smiled coldly. “You made that a prerequisite of your cooperation, didn’t you?” And won that point. Her loss still stung. She would have much preferred to have communicated their needs and the rewards honestly to the Exotique. “Yes, Reynardus, she will be Tested thrice as soon as she appears. The pool is ready.” Thealia gestured to a large, square ritual bathing pool on the other side of the round chamber, beneath the lower points of the pentacle. “The next day she will undergo the Choosing ritual. Once she is Paired with a Lladranan by a blood-bond, we are sure she will stay.”
She watched as he spun on his heel and a spur scored the stone wall. He examined the chamber with one comprehensive glance. He’d seen and evaluated every detail of their preparations in that brief scan—part of his Power.
“Everything seems in order. I’ll take my place in the ritual tonight.” Without another word he exited the Temple.
She’d thought so all along, but she was glad to see him go.
The tinkling of time-chimes reminded her of the hour. She let her shoulders slump. The moment had come to prepare herself for the great ritual of Summoning, and the Testing afterward. She gazed wistfully at the blue velvet pads atop the low stone bench that half-circled the room, the pillows and rugs on the floor. She wanted to sit and close her eyes and steep her soul in the comforting, powerfully magical atmosphere. But the Marshalls would need every particle of that calm magic to Summon the one who would help them save Lladrana from the Dark.
Thealia closed, locked and bespelled the door behind her. She walked to a pointed arch of the cloister window that opened into the wet-slicked pavement and verdant grass courtyard, and forced herself to look at the pummeling rain.
As each drop clinked against the stone, a tiny scaled worm wriggled from it. Most of the worms sizzled to death in a puff of greasy stench when they reached lush grass. The few remaining burrowed into the earth, purpose and effect still unknown.
Thealia shuddered. She hated rain.
Colorado mountains, early spring
Alexa Fitzwalter slogged through the knee-deep snow, every step difficult. She’d thought she had survived the worst of her grief over the death of her best friend, a friend who was more like a sister, but here she was, doing something completely crazy. Following a dream, a song that compelled her to trek through the mountains at night. Dangerous and mad. She couldn’t explain her actions rationally, so it must be another aspect of mourning.
Yet she trudged on, knowing that although she couldn’t escape the hurt inside her, she could leave Denver and all her problems behind for the moment.
Such sad thoughts on such a cold, perfect night. The soft feathery snowflakes were as heartbreaking as the sharp, pristine air she drew into her lungs. A night that spoke of mystery and life and challenge, if you dared to take it, shape it, live it.
Just that easily the image of her friend Sophie was back in Alexa’s thoughts—Sophie who had been the sister and only family Alexa had ever had. Sophie laughing and dancing through the snow-crystal laden air, whisking sparkles of ice around her in a shimmering aura.
Sophie had been bold and vibrant; Alexa deep and brooding. But they’d both been risk-takers. Who else would be crazy enough to start up a law firm right out of school, trusting themselves and each other to make it work; knowing that they were both alone in the world with no family and no family money to cushion the start of a business? They had only themselves and their friendship to depend upon. But it had been enough.
Then Sophie died in a car accident.
Alexa’s face chilled as tears froze on her skin. No use wiping them away since others would follow.
She stopped and adjusted her fanny pack, panting through her mouth, sending puffs of white vapor into the air. The cold made the inside of her nose crackle. She squinted up the hill—no sign of a track, but she’d hiked this area often enough to know where she was going. Odd that she was drawn to this point, never a favorite.
It was just one more crazy thing, part and parcel of the dreams and the auditory hallucinations. Alexa had been hearing things that weren’t there, that no one else heard. Not instructions from God—she was no Joan of Arc—but a stream of rising and falling vocal music. Ripples of a chime that brought rainbow colors to her mind. And the gong. The gong haunted her.
It had sounded first, then the chime, then the chants. They had alternated and mixed. First the gong had been muffled as if echoing from a great distance. Then the sound had sharpened, become insistent, reverberating in her dreams until she woke. Awake, the memory of it would ring through her, shattering her thoughts all day.
Finally the sound in her mind had forced her into her car and led her here.
Obviously she wasn’t