by Joy Nash
The crude symbol eclipsed Gina’s attention. It seemed familiar. Where had she seen it before? She rose to her feet, steadying herself with one hand on the stone wall when her knees threatened to give way.
The crone took a wooden cup from the shelf and filled it from a larger vessel on the floor. “Water, my child.”
Gina regarded her warily. It hardly seemed likely The Wizards recruited their members from nursing homes. “Who are you?”
“I am Zahta.” The woman’s free hand traced a graceful arch, her fingers eloquent. “You are in my home, among my clan. We are the Baha’Na, the People of the Goddess.”
The cadence of the old woman’s speech flowed in soft waves, a very different sound from the speech of the dark-haired man. But again, though the individual words were unfamiliar, the meaning was clear. Was the illusion a residual effect of the drug? The pain behind Gina’s forehead intensified.
“Water,” the old woman repeated. She took a sip, as if to show there was nothing to fear.
Reluctantly, Gina accepted the cup. She couldn’t remember her last drink, and her throat was sore and parched. She gave the clear liquid in the crude vessel a cautious sniff. It seemed pure. She drank, praying it was.
The old woman was watching her closely. “You are fearful, Gina,” she said. “But there is no danger for you here.”
“You know my name. What else do you know?”
“My daughter’s son brought you to me. He hoped I could save you.”
“The man who abducted me is your grandson?” Gina’s fingers slipped on the cup. It fell to the ground, the water splashing dark on the dirt floor.
“You have suffered much, my child.” Zahta’s fingers brushed Gina’s arm.
The sharp throb in Gina’s head abruptly vanished. Gina snatched her arm away. Had the old woman’s touch caused the pain to disappear? What kind of drug had they given her, anyway? She drew a breath, trying to stave off the panic. “What do you want from me?” she asked.
Zahta retrieved the fallen cup and set it aside before answering. “Derrin brought you to me after another wizard attempted to snare your spirit, but I could do nothing to aid you. Only one path to your soul remained. Among my people there is a joining of spirits called the Na’tahar, an intimate bond of a man and woman. Derrin used this bond to enter your mind. Once inside, he used his wizard’s power to destroy the other wizard’s control.”
Grandma was either crazy or on drugs herself. “If your grandson takes me back right now,” Gina said in a terse voice, “I won’t press charges,”
“He cannot. He does not possess the power to open the web.”
“The web?”
“The golden net that binds the edges of the world.”
The shining threads Gina had seen in the woods behind the mansion resembled a net. “What do you mean?”
“You have crossed the web. You are no longer in the world you call home.”
“Is that so? What world am I in, then?”
“My home,” Zahta said simply. “You are welcome here.” She inclined her head. “Yet you have suffered much, and are in need of healing. Come. Permit me to help you.”
The old woman moved to the door. After a brief hesitation, Gina followed.
She ducked under the stone lintel and emerged into the bright midday sun, raising her hand against the sudden glare. Her heartbeat accelerated as she took in the scene before her.
The room in which she’d been imprisoned was a simple stone and thatch hut. It stood near the bank of a stream within a cluster of similar dwellings. Beyond the sparkling water, the land swept into a forested valley, then rose as a sheer cliff. Lofty, white-capped mountains crowded the horizon.
Gina swallowed hard. Where the hell was she?
You are no longer in the world you call home.
Impossible. She must have been unconscious for days, long enough to be transported out west, or to Canada.
But who would set up such an elaborate abduction? And why?
The village—if that’s what it was—appeared to be deserted, with the exception of a teenage girl and a man sitting a short distance away. The man, Gina realized with a start, was her kidnapper, and he was watching her intently. When her gaze locked with his, he nodded and shifted to a crouch. With his palms spread on his thighs, he rose to his feet with slow, masculine grace.
Suddenly, it seemed very hard to breathe.
His face was set in rigid lines, accentuated by the gash on his cheek. Dark hair flowed free, touching his shoulders. The fabric of his black tunic and breeches clung to a tall frame, hard with lean muscle. He regarded her in silence, arms at his sides, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, as if preparing for sudden movement.
His intimate scrutiny touched Gina’s skin, sent sparks down her spine. His eyes were cool, knowing, veiled in gray mist.
He’d been inside her mind.
Gina took a step back, her heart pounding into her throat.
Zahta steadied her with one hand. “Tasa,” she called.
The teenager sprang to her feet. She pressed her palm to her forehead and bowed her head. “Yes, Grandmother?”
“Guide Gina to the Wellspring.”
Gina tore her gaze from her kidnapper. “The Wellspring? What’s that?”
Tasa smiled. “It is not far.”
Some answer. Gina looked back at the dark-haired man. His attention had not wavered, but he made no move toward her. When the girl motioned, Gina followed. Any distance she could put between herself and her captor was at that moment very appealing.
Tasa took a path behind the village, skipping easily up the steep slope. Gina followed more slowly, grasping at saplings and watching for rocks on the trail. She’d lost her shoes somewhere. The smooth dirt felt cool on her feet.
The trail curved into a spray of warm mist. A waterfall, tinged with red, roared over a rocky crescent and spilled into a pool far below. Tasa climbed to the top of the cascade and followed the red river to its source, a fissure in the face of the cliff.
Rough lines chiseled into the rock near the cave’s entrance matched the mark on Zahta’s headdress—two rings, linked, with a spear thrust through the place of their joining. Gina stared at the symbol, then traced the rough lines with her finger. She knew this mark. She was sure of it.
“The Wellspring is the first of the Signs.” Tasa’s voice rippled, blending with the flow of the water.
“Signs?”
“There are seven clans of the Baha’Na, and seven Signs. A talisman, a stone of great power, belongs to each. With it, a wise woman, our Na’lara, reveals the face of the Goddess to her clan.”
“Zahta is your Na’lara, then?”
“Yes. We are the Water Clan. The Wellspring is our Sign. As Zahta’s granddaughter, I will bear the talisman when she passes beyond the veil.”
“The man who brought me here—is he your brother?”
“Derrin is my cousin, but I do not know him. He left the clan many winters past, when I was a small girl. He wishes to speak with you.”
“Oh, he does, does he? What does he want to talk about?”
“I do not know.” The girl gestured toward the cave. “Come inside. I will prepare food and drink for you.”
Gina gazed into the dark, narrow passage. It smelled faintly of moss. God only knew what—or who—was waiting for her in there.
There was no freaking way she wanted to find out. She waited, breath shallow, until Tasa turned her back to enter the cavern.
Then she gathered her shredded skirt and ran.
She tore through the forest as fast as she dared. She stumbled as she plunged downhill, then righted herself just as quickly, ignoring the scrape of rocks and roots on her bare soles. When the path forked, she veered onto the trail she thought led away from the village. A wide stream glittered through the trees, flowing swiftly. Water always led to civilization. If she followed the bank she’d come to a town, a ranger station, or even a campsite, where surely someone woul
d have a cell phone.
A stitch in her side brought her up short. Steadying herself with one hand on an enormous tree trunk, Gina caught her breath and willed herself not to panic. As far as she could tell, the girl hadn’t followed her. She peered to the rear. Nothing. Good.
She turned back to the trail and walked straight into her kidnapper.
His fingers closed on her wrist. “Are you going somewhere, Mistress?” The hard gray glint in his eyes prompted a dose of pure adrenaline to surge through Gina’s veins. She jerked her arms, trying to free herself, but his grip might as well have been an iron manacle.
She used his arm for leverage and slammed her knee straight into his groin. He convulsed, bending double with a strangled curse lodged in his throat.
Gina twisted from his grasp and plunged down the trail.
She’d not gone far before she heard him behind her. She pushed herself harder, trying to ignore the slicing pain in her side and the thin stream of blood oozing from a nasty scratch on her arm. Her long skirt snagged on a branch. Her pursuer’s footsteps pounded on the trail. She tugged at the velvet and heard it rip.
Angry arms closed about her from behind, wrapping around her torso, pinning her arms to her side. She kicked, but to no avail. Her kidnapper hoisted her and slung her face-down over his shoulder with as much ceremony as he might have given a sack of dog food.
Gina pounded his back with her fists. “Let me go!”
“I think not.” He strengthened his grip on her legs and strode back up the trail.
“Who the hell are you? What do you want from me?”
He didn’t bother to answer. Gina renewed her struggle. His palm shifted, covering one buttock, stroking upward with blatant familiarity. Gina went deadly still at that, reluctant to provoke him further.
His long legs made short work of her escape route. He climbed the trail beside the waterfall, hefting her weight as if she were a child. He halted at the entrance to the cave.
Tasa stood watching, her dark eyes wide with shock.
Gina’s captor set her on her feet and stepped back. “Do not try that again.”
She glared at him but made no reply.
Tasa stepped forward, her touch on Gina’s arm hesitant. “We mean you no harm.”
“Like hell you don’t,” Gina muttered. She had little choice but to enter the cave under the watchful eye of her captor. He didn’t follow.
A path of stones bordered the red stream, leading to a roughly circular cavern. To Gina’s great relief, no horde of sex-crazed cultists waited for her. The space appeared deserted. A wide pool filled the center of the grotto, its surface shining red through the blanket of mist on its surface.
“The blood of the Goddess,” Tasa said.
Blood? Gina drew in a sharp breath, then let it out in a long stream. Not blood—a mineral spring with a high iron content. Most likely the glow was caused by reflected sunlight passing through the bottom of the pool.
“It is quite warm,” Tasa said. “And you are welcome to bathe. I will fetch food and clothing while you wash.”
Gina looked down at her ruined dress. The cuts on her feet and arms were starting to sting. “I’d like to, but…” She glanced toward the cave’s entrance.
“Derrin will not enter.”
God, she hoped not. The thought made her stomach clench with fear and another sensation she was loath to define. She walked to the edge of the pool and dipped her fingers into the water. Warm, but not too hot. She pulled off the remnants of the dress and eased into the water.
She bathed as quickly as she could. When she emerged a few minutes later, Tasa was waiting with a simple sheath dress. It was fashioned from a soft animal pelt—the skin of a mountain doe, the girl told her. Strips of hide laced the neckline.
Gina’s own clothes were gone.
“Where’s my underwear?” she asked.
Tasa merely smiled and offered the dress again. Gina sighed and took it. Her bra had been filthy and her panties torn, in any case. She slipped the new garment over her head. The doeskin was cool, but surprisingly light and soft on her bare skin.
A basket contained dried berries and something that looked like old leather and tasted like beef jerky minus the salt. While Gina ate, Tasa produced a wooden comb and began the task of untangling Gina’s hair. She braided it into dozens of thin strands, like her own, and secured each end with a wooden bead. She had just finished when footsteps sounded in the passageway.
Gina tensed. “I thought you said he wouldn’t come.”
Tasa cocked her head. “It is not Derrin. My grandmother approaches.”
Gina rose as Zahta emerged from the cave’s entrance. The crone halted before Gina, placed her palms together and touched her fingers to her forehead.
A warm light wrapped around Gina’s mind. Had the sensation come from the old woman? She took a step back. Impossible.
“Let the Goddess take your fear, my child,” Zahta said.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
The crone smiled. “There are storms in your past. The death of one you held close to your heart. And…” Her eyes widened, then shut.
Gina shifted her weight onto one foot, staring at the old woman with a mixture of fascination and dread. A mind reader? No way. A kook. But even so, something wasn’t quite right about this place. For one thing, the strange illusion that her captors spoke a different language persisted, despite the fact the drug Gina had ingested surely had worn off by now.
A journey. Far from home. Few choices. The old fortuneteller’s words had been eerily prescient. Could Gina have passed into one of the alternate dimensions Mikala had insisted were mathematically possible? No. That was just too far beyond imagining.
“Where is the man who brought me here?”
“Derrin sits by my fire,” Zahta said.
“He has to take me back to New Jersey. Now.”
“He has not that power.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Zahta nodded. “I see that you do not.”
Gina let out a long breath. “All right, then. How long are you planning to keep me here? And why?”
The old woman tilted her head, her bright eyes darting like a bird’s. “Trust in the Goddess, child. She will not allow you to wander astray. Already you have bathed in her blood. You have touched she who is not the water, nor the rock, yet is found in the rush of the stream and the cascade of the falls.”
“Cut the New Age crap. Do you want money? How much?”
“There are seven Signs,” the old woman continued, as if Gina hadn’t spoken. “The Goddess dwells also in Rock and Fire, Wind, Tree and Skyeagle.” She bent and drew a ring in the dust. “And in the Seventh Sign, which has no name. Journey to each and you will find the place you belong.”
The crude circle seemed to glow softly before fading to a mere scratch in the dirt. Gina stared at it, resisting a fierce urge to kneel and trace it with her finger. An emotion stirred in the recesses of her mind, but when she reached for it, it flitted away like the remnant of a dream.
“You are no longer in the world you called home, Gina,” Zahta said softly. “Can you not feel it?”
“Where are these Signs?” The question slipped out almost before Gina realized she’d spoken.
“Hidden deep in the wilderness. You must seek them.”
“How?”
“The path is clear to those who know the Goddess, but you have never dwelt here.” Zahta gave Gina a searching glance. “Derrin has. He will guide you.”
The statement had the air of a challenge. Gina’s gaze narrowed, but she could detect no malice in the crone’s serene expression. Quizzing her was clearly a waste of time. Questioning her grandson might prove more fruitful.
Not to mention more dangerous. But if he’d wanted to kill her, he could have done it already. If she could get clear of the village, there was a chance she could escape him and find help.
She met Zahta’s gaze. “All right. I’ll go to your Signs
. Tell your grandson.”
* * * * *
Derrin stood on an outcropping of rock near a mountain stream and skimmed a flat rock across the water. Seven skips, his mind registered automatically. Curious, how skills gained in childhood never seem to be forgotten. He squinted at the sun, gauging its descent toward the horizon.
He should have questioned the sorceress and been gone by now. Yet here he stood, pitching rocks into the stream. All because Zahta wanted him to remain until the woman consented to see him. His unexplained absence from the Wizards’ Stronghold had surely been noted. Ariek could make Derrin’s excuses for a few days, but after that…
He threw another stone. He could bring the sorceress back to Galena. She would need to stay hidden while he searched for the path to her home, but he had no idea if she would be willing do so. Until she was gone and the web sealed behind her, he could not rest. Balek’s experiments with the web had already sparked plagues of Madness and Blight. Would the sicknesses worsen now that a sorceress had passed through the barrier? And what of Balek’s reasons for summoning the woman? What further ill did the high wizard plan? Derrin could not risk surrendering the woman to Balek. If Derrin was unable to send the woman back to her own world, it was better that he kill her.
That might not be an easy task, he thought, wincing as he touched the gash on his cheekbone. The sorceress was strong and clever, even when her mind had been clouded by the webstone. She’d gashed him with his own knife during the journey from Katrinth. He’d been forced to bind her hands to prevent a second assault.
Once he’d reached the edge of the Northern Wilderness, the horse Ariek had stolen from his father’s stables had been unable to negotiate the steep trail. Derrin had set the beast free and tied the woman’s ankles. He’d hauled her, wild-eyed and struggling, the last miserable steps to his grandmother’s village.