Tsai’dona watched him warily, as if she feared he’d conjure up magic without warning her.
He’d promised her several times over the last few days that he’d give her time to evacuate. He was tired of reassuring her.
“What’s wrong, kid?” Lorel repeated. “It’s just a piece of rock that them priests carved up. It don’t look like a claw at all.”
“Doesn’t it?” He pointed to the hilt, and slid his finger along the flat of the two-foot-long blade. “The terminal phalanx. Compact horn, with sole horn below. See the difference in texture between the three? Tsai’dona’s right. It came from a living creature. A dragon. A captured, caged, murdered dragon.”
“Phalanx?” She frowned and studied the talon. “I don’t see no army.”
“They must have drugged it somehow.” Perhaps they convinced the poor creature that they worshipped it, but as soon as it was off guard – Lightning struck! They drugged it and eventually killed it.
“Besides, we ain’t talking about horns. We’re talking about claws.”
“It was a thundering powerful dragon, if it was the ghost that helped us escape. It probably died of rage or shame or… Or else they tortured it to death to make its ghost stronger. That’s why the cruel deaths of the captives kept it chained. Every time they murdered someone, the ghost was forced to relive its own death.”
“How can a dead beastie relive anything?” Lorel asked reasonably. “What in the Weaver’s chamberpot are you babbling about?”
He sighed and pointed the talon at her. “Don’t worry about it. Come on, help me set up for the ceremony.”
“I hear you, kid.” She picked up the black hoof and tucked it inside her shirt.
Viper shuddered and bit his tongue. How could she bear to touch the stallion’s remains without flinching? He cringed every time he thought about the poor horse’s death.
Tsai’dona eased the sword-long claw out of his hand.
“Place Nightshade’s hoof on the east side of the eastern pyre.” He was running on instinct here, but the configuration felt right. “Put the claw on the north side of the north fire.”
The girls hurried into position.
He hobbled to the westernmost pile and laid the shark’s tooth on the sand facing the ocean. “Now bring out the weapons.”
Lorel glanced at Tsai’dona, but jumped up to the driver’s bench and slid under the door. Seconds later, the green-stained, naked seahorn appeared on the platform. She must have removed the leather straps holding it together. It didn’t appear to be uncoiling. What a relief.
Tsai’dona grabbed the instrument and turned to him.
“Put it next to the shark’s tooth.” If needed, he’d move it later.
The broadsword slid under the door. Tsai’dona caught its hilt before it slid off the driver’s bench.
“Put it next to Nightshade’s hoof.” The carvings of mountains and runes of strength still pleased him. He’d done a good job on that sword.
The flute appeared next. “That one goes on the northernmost side.” The carved, blue-inked dragons stood out in startling contrast to the white bone. He hoped he hadn’t gotten carried away with his embellishments.
Lorel slipped under the door and handed Tsai’dona the scimitar.
“Put it on the south side.” The runes of agility showed clearly, but he worried about his carvings of fire. They seemed too static. Again, it was too late to fret about it. The ceremony must go on.
The whole show must go on, even if he didn’t know what the deathwind he was doing. He turned to the girls. “I’m going to start the magic now. You both should get out of range. I don’t know exactly what will happen.” Didn’t have a clue, actually, but he couldn’t tell them so.
Tsai’dona’s face turned pale, and she backed to the far side of the wagon.
Lorel sighed and followed her, but leaned on one corner, where she could see everything.
Curiosity would kill his turybird someday. Tsai’dona was wiser. Or so he thought, until she peeked around the corner, too.
He hated having witnesses, especially when he didn’t know what to do. Frederick’s magicians’ books said half of any ceremony relied on confidence. In that case, all he could do was fake it. Even if it meant summoning hostile ghosts. And mage fire.
Both spells were in the grimoire. He’d memorized them, but right now he was too nervous to be sure he’d get them right. He pulled the little book out of his pocket and opened it to the most powerful ghost-summoning spell.
The instructions appalled him in their complexity. And this after he’d memorized them, or thought he had. How could he follow through?
The Kyridon slithered under the door and coiled on the driver’s bench. “The hatchling must not hesitate.”
Frederick materialized on the driver’s platform. “Ignore this worm. Take all the time you need. Try chanting the spell.”
He’d worked out some chants, but every one of them sounded silly now. Still, he had to try something. His chants covered all of the instructions. And he remembered all the words.
He’d start with the weapon of earth. With any luck, Nightshade would answer his call. He was pretty sure the horse didn’t hate him.
He took a deep breath – and nearly coughed his lungs inside out.
Lorel stepped toward him. “You need help, kid?”
“Stay back.” When he could get his hands off his burning chest, he waved her away. “Don’t become part of the spell.”
She backed away hastily and joined Tsai’dona behind the wagon.
Now he really did need to start the magic, before he completely lost his nerve. He sucked in a careful lungful of air and turned to face the east.
“Earth child! Earth child, come to us. Aid us. Earth child, in the name of the quiet plains, in the name of the quaking lands, in the name of roaring volcanoes, I summon you. Earth child, become a weapon to save our world.”
The ground thundered and shook worse than on Alignment day. In the distance, a volcano spewed a cloud of black smoke.
A wave crashed up the shore, but it stopped short of the western pile of wood. It didn’t fall short of the wagon.
Their home slid forward a foot. Both girls dashed uphill, staying just ahead of the froth. When the water retreated, the wagon slid several feet toward the ocean.
The earthquake subsided into a low, rhythmic murmur. Ra tha, ra than. Quiet at first, but louder and louder. Ka ta, ka tak. Ka ta, ka tak.
“Hoof beats,” Lorel whispered.
Viper nodded, his gaze riveted on the eastern mountains. A writhing black shadow approached with unearthly speed. Galloping legs stretched out of the shadow, followed by a flagged tail, a long neck with a flowing mane, and a noble head topped by peaked ears.
The phantom was huge. Nightshade must have seen himself as far larger than the roans. He glance at Lorel. “Do you see it?”
“I see him, kid.”
“Move back until you’re not in its path,” he whispered.
She glared at him, but nodded and stepped back two paces. Tsai’dona dragged her back several more.
The horse-shaped shadow hesitated as it neared the camp.
“Mage fire is essential.” The Kyridon writhed on the bench, nearly falling off. “The hatchling must ignite mage fire.”
At the same time as invoking a spirit? He couldn’t do both. He was barely holding onto the summoning spell.
Nightshade’s ghost wasn’t coming closer. It was waiting for something. For fire?
Calling mage fire might kill him. Calling fire might trigger a talisman spell and summon RedAdder. Being enslaved to a ghost was far worse than dying.
Too much was at stake to back out now.
Trouble was, he still had only a vague idea of how to invoke mage fire. The instructions in the grimoire didn’t make sense, and the hand motions described were ridiculous. But they were workable, and he’d worked out a hokey chant that covered the basics.
First, the grimoire said unless t
he spell caster was a wizard, he needed an outside power source. Praise the Thunderer, power was all around him. He hustled to the nearest Hreshith skeleton, scooped a fin bone out of the sand, and hobbled back to the east-facing pile of wood.
Spinning his arms in the required corkscrews and angles, he chanted, “Flames of magic, flames of truth. Ignite the fuel. Obey this youth.”
He pointed the bone at the woodpile.
Power roared around him. The fin bone burst into ash.
The pyre blazed higher than the tallest volcano. Dazzling colors laced the flames, enveloped them, and towered far above them.
The bonfire’s aura blazed stronger and starker than the fire.
How amazing. He’d never seen fire with an aura before. But he was letting himself get distracted. Concentrate, sorcery’s child.
“Nightshade, become the Weapon of the Earth!”
The shadow neighed, a bellow of earth splitting during a quake, the thunder of buildings crashing to the ground. It pulled into itself, and leapt into the pyre.
The fire darkened, swallowed the light. Black flames danced high in the air before spreading to the broadsword. Its carvings and runes lit up like torches blazing in the blackest midnight. They quivered and writhed for several heartbeats…
And their fire spread into his body.
Agony burst through him. His lungs charred. His skin blistered away. His bones shuddered into ash.
***
When Nightshade’s ghost dove into the fire, Lorel swallowed hard and backed away. Her sweet, strong lad was just a magic spell now. At least he’d live inside the broadsword, not something silly like the flute.
She let Tsai tug her to the far side of the wagon.
A saucer-sized blue starfish was clomped onto one wheel. “How’d that get there?”
Tsai shrugged. “With that last wave, I guess. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
It was kinda pretty, now that she looked at it. Most of it was bright, deep blue, but the edges were yellow as a dandelion flower. The best thing about it was the three rows of spines that jutted out of the yellow edging. This was one warrior starfish.
“We can’t let it stay there.” Tsai shook her head and glanced around the camp. “Bog swallow it, we gave Viper all the wood.”
“So what? It ain’t cold.” What was she fussing about, anyway? Not wood. Something else must be bothering her. But if they stuck to practical stuff, the girl would calm down. She always did. “If another wave comes up, it’ll just drown the fire.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Tsai pointed at the starfish. “The rotted thing is gnawing on the spoke. And I don’t know how to fix that. Not easily, anyway.”
“A starfish is chewing on wood? You’re kidding me.” Lorel strolled closer and inspected the wheel. Deep scraped spots below the beastie’s arms marred the spoke’s smooth surface. “Blood in the Weave. Why d’you want wood? We can’t burn it off. The whole wagon would go up.”
“I need a pry stick.” Tsai pointed at the sea star’s spiny edges. “I don’t want stickers in my fingers. And I don’t want fish goo on my sword.”
“Can’t blame you there. Weird how fish guts stains steel.” Lorel drew her bahtdor-bone short sword. “Nothing messes with my swords. I think the kid magicked them to stay clean.”
She eased the tip of her blade under one starfish arm. The fraying thing stuck tight to the wood. No matter how she pried at it, it never came loose.
Tsai shook her head. “I think you’ll have to chop it off.”
“Weaver’s chamberpot. I didn’t want to kill it.” There’d been enough death lately, with Nightshade gone. But it couldn’t stay eating through the wheel.
Careful to miss the wood, she slashed the starfish in half. Sorta in half. Two arms fell to the ground, still stuck together. Three more clung to the wheel. She sliced that half into three pieces. All of them dropped into the sand. That finished off the starfish problem.
The kid shouted something about a hunter.
Blood in the Weave. Was the kid under attack while she’d been messing around with harmless sea stars?
***
Blue-black flames collapsed in on themselves.
Air whistled into his chest. Pain eased into memory.
Nightshade’s hoof melted, collapsed into black soil, and seeped into the sand.
The broadsword gleamed as if it were made of gold-engraved black granite. Runes and mountains glimmered up its length, but so did a pattern of hoofprints. Hoofprints he hadn’t carved.
The pyre smoldered into cinders.
Viper shuddered again, wiped sweat out of his eyes, and peered down his body. Everything was still attached. No burns on his hands. No singed marks on his clothes. And his lungs felt clear.
He sucked in smoke. His cough had vanished. This was the best healing magic he’d ever seen. And he’d rather not go through it again.
Unfortunately, there were three more weapons to awaken.
He limped to the northern pile of wood.
This summons would be harder. The dragon’s ghost had thousands of reasons to hate people. Would it remember he’d set it free? Or would it kill him without a thought?
“The ensuing enchantment must commence immediately.” The Kyridon slithered close to the coals of the first pyre, but stayed out of the center of the diamond of woodpiles. “Each summons must be constructed as swiftly as is achievable.”
Viper nodded to the serpent and turned to the east.
“Air lord! Aid us. In the name of the winds, in the name of gentle breezes, in the name of freezing blizzards, I summon you. Air lord, become a weapon to save our world.”
Dark storm clouds gathered. Artic wind blustered against his face. He waited patiently, forcing his mind to focus on the summons. He was painfully aware of the power within the advancing entity. He could taste the magic, could smell its fury.
Icy wind raged into the camp. The ancient power was upon them.
Were the girls safe? He could only hope so. He couldn’t see either of them.
A wedge of mist broke away from the cloudbank, extended wings, and glided against the wind. A distorted, shadowy head formed on its serpentine neck.
Did the blurred head mean it wasn’t clear about what it thought about him? That it wasn’t sure how to react to his summons?
Or did it mean the spirit was completely insane?
The dragon’s ghost plummeted toward him.
Time to light the pyre.
Draconic eyes brightened like sustained lightning. Eyes that glared at him as the ghost plunging closer and closer.
But he was missing something. He’d forgotten to grab a Hreshith bone. How could he power the mage fire without drowning in ambient magic? No time to think about it, the dragon was headed right at him.
He pointed at the pile of wood. “Flames of magic, flames of truth. Ignite the fuel. Obey this youth.”
Power roared into him. A single Hreshith bone, half-hidden in the pile of wood, shimmered into ash.
The pyre exploded into flame.
That was more luck than he deserved. But he wasn’t finished yet. The ghost could still decide to leave. Or to destroy him. He had to seal the spirit to the flute.
Blast, he needed its name. It wouldn’t listen to him unless he spoke its name.
Frederick whispered. “She was Nahalarinka.”
How did he know? Did ghosts talk to each other? Was Frederick a stronger magician than he claimed?
Was the ghost telling the truth, or playing another joke? How could he guess?
Frederick had helped him before. He had to trust the man. There was no time left to worry about it.
“Nahalarinka, become the Weapon of the Air!”
The brunt of the wind whipped around the pyre, sending sparks whizzing higher and higher into the air, around the camp, across the sand. They outlined the flute before disappearing into a weak ray of sunlight.
The dragon’s claw smoked and crumbled into sand.
&nb
sp; The flute glowed like an alabaster lantern lit from the inside. Indigo dragons and white clouds spiraled around its length, moving under their own power. Three cobalt-blue, inch-long claws sprouted out of each end.
Viper shuddered. That was taking the weapon business far too literally. Hitting someone with the flute would do serious damage.
The fire roared savagely, settled into a normal blaze, and collapsed into cinders.
Exhaustion slid over him. But he was only half done.
He lurched to the Hreshith skeleton, grabbed another fin bone, and staggered to the western pile of wood.
“Ocean’s warrior! Aid us. In the name of the shifting currents, in the name of the silent depths, in the name of the madding waves, I summon you. Ocean’s warrior, become a weapon to save our world.”
The sun hid behind the dragon’s clouds. A light drizzle began to fall.
Thunderer, please don’t let it rain for real until he’d finished all the summons.
A towering wave formed at the western horizon and sped shoreward.
He pointed the bone at the driftwood pile. “Ignite the fuel.”
The pyre blazed into life.
It suddenly occurred to him he’d been chanting in Zedisti, not in Old Tongue. The magic shouldn’t have worked. Obviously it did. How he wished he could consult Trevor. Maybe Frederick would know why he’d succeeded. He’d ask the magician after the ceremony was completed.
If he ever got finished. He still had to complete this summons before the wave arrived.
What was the shark’s name? A creature that lived underwater couldn’t speak in sounds he’d understand. How could he name it?
What did he know about sharks? Only that anything with teeth like that must eat a lot. Must hunt constantly. Must be perpetually hungry.
The blue-gray spirit rose above the wave and glared at him. Thirty feel long, and bigger around than both the roans together, it looked like it could eat anything. Everything.
Its little eyes glared at him. Its mouth gaped open, displaying enormous jaws filled with three rows of triangular teeth. Way too many teeth.
Serpent's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 3) Page 35