The idea of a blood tribute did not bother him. Nor did he fear the blooding knife. Over the summers as a scout, he’d participated in many odd ceremonies with the tribes that lived in Ivaneth’s remote territories. He’d mingled blood, removed fingernails, and let himself be tattooed all in pursuit of peace with the isolated peoples of the forests and mountains.
This time it felt different. Euriel gave him sound reasons for following her plan, but he simply didn’t trust her. The powerful and charismatic Lady had Wren totally under her sway. He knew the savant’s self-serving interests. Could he expect anything less from her Mother?
An overturned cart with a missing wheel blocked the path, and he pushed it aside. More debris littered the central yard; churns, grinders, and potter’s wheels all disassembled and scavenged for unknown uses in the town’s defense. He glanced back to Sarai. She and her sister walked on either side of their Mother conversing rapidly in Elvish.
Apparently, the Queen understood the ritual that Dame Kergatha wished to perform, but wouldn’t elaborate. Why? Did she fear Euriel? Her reticence added to everyone being incapacitated by the battle, made him feel an even greater need for caution. Right now, Dame Kergatha was stronger than anyone, and could capitalize on their weakness.
Bannor walked to the well, stopping by a bucket of water sitting on the brick rail. He ran his hand along one of the rough wooden posts that supported the windlass and rain shed. Taking the ladle from its hook, he dipped some water from the bucket, and sipped. The coolness soothed his parched throat. He dipped another and offered it to Sarai. She accepted the bailer and took a long drink. He then offered some to the others.
While the Queen and Janai shared their water, he studied Dame Kergatha. The woman watched in silence. No hint showed in either her face or body what she might be thinking.
Her gaze met his, and she raised an eyebrow. His dilemma was he didn’t want to offend Euriel, but he couldn’t blindly trust her either.
Euriel walked toward him unfastening the catches on the plate armor she wore. She removed her gauntlets, and put them under her arm. “You look like a man full of doubts,” she said, her indigo eyes fixed on his.
He felt naked to that stare. It made his skin itch. “I’m a man who’s learned the price of not being cautious.”
“Understandable,” Euriel said. “But—we have no time to debate this. Either you trust me, or we all face what comes over that wall together.” She pointed. “We know for certain what happens then.”
Kalindinai came forward and gripped his arm. The Queen’s touch struck him like lightning because she’d never touched him in any way suggesting intimacy. Her violet eyes were wide. “It will be all right.”
Stunned, he glanced to see what if any indication he might get from Wren. The savant had busied herself with helping her mother take off the armor. The dame wore a silk blouse underneath the metal, and the cloth did not appear even dampened from her exertions.
Is that woman even human? When she said she was the daughter of Idun, did she really mean it? Idun was the source of immortality of Ukko, Odin, and the other Vanirian and Aesirian gods that ruled Asgard and its realms. It would explain her longevity—and her incredible vitality.
Apparently, Wren felt his gaze. “Yes?”
“What’s your part in this, Wren? Why are you so quiet?”
She sniffed. “Maybe I’ve run out of words.” She nudged her mother. “Perhaps she says enough for both of us.”
The dame gave Wren a look from the corner of her eye. “Perhaps I talk too much.” She put an arm around her daughter and roughly pulled her close. “But, I know when action is called for. Bannor—decide.”
His stomach tightened. Laramis told him to have faith. With the townsfolk at stake, did he really have a choice? For everyone’s sake, he hoped Laramis was right. “I’ll do it.” He took a breath. “Let’s start.”
Sarai squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile.
Euriel looked at Sarai. “Your turn.”
His mate stared at the well. She drew a breath and her cheeks puffed out as she let it out through pursed lips. She gestured for everyone to step back. When they did, she made two sweeping gestures. The bricks of the well melted and the cobble stones of the square writhed and bubbled. The wooden structure of the windlass tumbled into the morass of stone which spread out and thrust upward to form the square dais Dame Kergatha had requested.
Once Sarai finished, her hands trembled and her shoulders slumped. Bannor saw her knees starting to buckle, and he and the Queen caught her.
“Sarai?”
“Oh. Lords—” she winced, and put a hand to her head. “Aie.” He lowered her carefully to a sitting position. She patted his arm. “Tired.”
Kalindinai crouched next to her daughter. “All right?”
Sarai nodded.
She rose and looked at Euriel. “Third demesne circle?”
“Yes,” the Dame answered. “Hurry,” she gazed at the crimson moon in the sky. “I feel them massing. Hecate is near. When she arrives, they will attack.”
“Another avatar?” Bannor asked.
Euriel pinned him with an icy stare. “The time for minions is over.” She pointed to the rift. “It is Hecate herself I feel. She is coming.”
“What?” Bannor blurted.
Even Wren looked stunned. Euriel halted the flurry of questions with a raised hand. “Draw the circle right, Kalindinai. Unless you want to be Hecate’s first snack when she devours this world’s souls. I must prepare now.”
She turned.
“Wait!” Bannor said. “But what exactly do we do?”
Euriel frowned. “You bleed. She draws. The rest may as well pray. Once the incantation starts, all your parts will be clear.” She put a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Dear, they’re bringing the children now. Clear the square, sit them near the dais. Make sure it’s known that it’s vital that all the children be close. Any not here may get injured. Except you five, anyone over fifteen, I want on the wall.”
Wren nodded.
Euriel strode off. The savant watched her until she disappeared into the darkness. Bannor saw a strange look in the woman’s eyes. He wasn’t sure how to read it. Did he see reverence or fear?
She turned back to them. “Janai, please help with the children.” She pointed to the crowd being led by a dozen worried-looking women.
Janai nodded and turned to Kalindinai. “Do you need me, Mother?”
Kalindinai made a shooing gesture. “I’ll manage.” The Queen locked eyes with him. He saw in her ageless face exactly how exhausted she must be. She gripped his shoulders. “To get through this, we must work together. Understand?”
He nodded.
“Sarai,” she said. “Give me your knife.”
***
As the townswomen assisted Wren and Janai in situating the children around the dais, Kalindinai used the knife to scratch an outline of the inner and outer circles and the runes which filled the spaces between. The woman worked steadily as children continued to trickle into the square. Bannor watched, his chest growing tighter with each new mark.
Kalindinai rose from her knees, mopped the perspiration from her brow and sighed. She came and stood by Bannor. “Your blood must become fire. With that heat, we will carve the stone.” She took his wrist and led him to the dais. “I must use you like a quill. Your blood must create an unbroken path. We must move in unison to accomplish that. If you resist and we break the line, we won’t have time to try again.”
“I’m ready.” At least he hoped he was; his heart pounded like it did before a battle.
“This will be exactly like dancing. I’ll lead, and you follow.”
“I never learned to dance,” he said.
Kalindinai drew a breath. “Let us hope you are a natural then. We must keep time; our feet cannot disturb the lines. As the magic nears completion you’ll get resistance. You may feel like leaning into it—don’t. Let me pull you with me.”
Around
him, he felt the attention of dozens of children. They would watch him bleed in the name of life, shedding his blood in order to help save the world. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last thing they saw.
“Now,” she said. “I’ll do the catalyzing ritual. It will do two things, keep the wound open and kindle your blood.”
He turned to Sarai. His mate gazed at him intently. She mouthed the words, ‘I love you’. He sensed then that she would have gladly taken his place.
He turned back as Kalindinai began her incantation. Her eyes glazed over, and she silently enunciated words. She moved Sarai’s knife rhythmically, cutting a path in the air that reminded him of the patterns of elemental fire. In his Nola sight, threads of magic twined around the Queen, the knife, and the dais.
The cadence of the Queen’s spell quickened and her words grew audible; the slashes of the knife became wider and more violent. Bannor flinched as she sang a final piercing note and stomped on the cobblestones. Her eyes glowed crimson, and Sarai’s knife gleamed with a white light.
His mouth abruptly dry, he swallowed. He tried to keep his breathing level as she approached. She took his arm and pulled him onto the dais, stepping up inside the complex circle of runes and positioning him so his feet bracketed the biggest symbol on the circle.
“We begin and end at the cardinal point,” she said in a chant. “Power joined full circle, commingled in blood, fire, and stone. In ritual honored, in magic gathered, let this knife lay open this man’s offering so his bounty may be shared by all.”
Bannor’s body hummed as she raised the knife. She lifted his right hand and turned it palm up. He braced as she cut deep, drawing the glowing blade from his wrist up to his middle finger. Bannor gritted his teeth as she pinched his fingers together to form a cup.
Blood bubbled out of the slice, the crimson liquid glowing and translucent.
“Ignore the blood, ignore the pain,” she said in a strained voice. “Think only of me, the pattern and the rhythm.” She placed the knife in her belt and gripped his hand in both of hers. By lacing her fingers she formed a second seal, leaving a small space for blood to escape.
She tilted his hand down. Trickles of crimson crawled down his fingers into her cupped hands, and out onto the stone dais. The droplets hit with a sound like meat on hot grill, flaring and sparking like flash powder. As the burning subsided, it left a deep red groove.
Bannor felt a sharp pain as if a peel of flesh were being pared off his heart. The hurt continued as Kalindinai squeezed and manipulated their joined hands to trace the sketched pattern on the dais.
She hummed, her body swaying to some unheard melody, her hands guiding his in fluid curves, leaving a burning track on the stone between them. What he saw in his Nola sight surprised him so much he nearly tripped. In the grooved stone lay a pristine, newly created thread. This was a brand new force, not a recasting of ancient patterns or a weaving of nature’s ever-present traceries. This thread, this essence, was unique. The filament differed in another way—it was alive. It twitched and pulsed as they expanded the pattern. He then realized the pain he was experiencing was his essence feeding the growing life at their feet.
Together, he and Kalindinai were creating something alive. A living construct of magic, the potential of which he could only guess at.
The task grew difficult as Kalindinai started etching lines that traced the curve of the circle and returned, dipping in and out. To keep up required him to anticipate her needs, shifting his balance and looking ahead in the pattern, timing each breath, step, and motion with hers. The pain in his chest grew, and sweat beaded on his brow. His shoulders soon ached from the tension of their synchronized movements.
The Queen’s skin glistened, and her cheeks grew red from exertion. The woman’s brow furrowed in concentration, her breathing sometimes coming in gasps.
Two thirds of the way through, Bannor’s legs felt like lead; he needed to force his arms to work. His muscles started to knot. His view of the stone grew blurry, and only the pattern memory of his Nola kept him from making a critical error. The Queen forged ahead with a rigid determination, letting out breaths like a competitor at a lifting contest.
Bannor felt his heart slowing. The Nola twisted in his mind tightening like a fist. He grew weaker with each droplet that slipped through his fingers and onto the smoking dais. The complex thread they created, strained at its moorings in the stone, each pull like a sharp tugging in his chest. He glanced ahead. Perhaps a pace separated them from the cardinal point, but both of them were exhausted from their trials.
He staggered through a step, their joined hands shuddering as he fell behind Kalindinai’s lead and hurried to catch up. The Queen’s arms tensed and she grunted, struggling to control the motion. Droplets spattered right and left of the guidelines.
“Steady,” she snapped. “Stay with me!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flash. Wind gusted through the square. Through his Nola he saw the shock before he felt it. All around them, elemental force lines wobbled and quivered as if something had grabbed reality and given it a shake. In his head, the already knotted up Garmtur convulsed, making his limbs go icy numb.
He fought to stay with Kalindinai, but his arms and legs wouldn’t respond.
“Move!”
“I can’t,” he gritted.
“It’s time,” he heard Euriel say behind him. “She’s here.”
In his mind, he heard the menacing laughter of the dark goddess echoing on the wind.
* * *
Coven magic? Now, who would ever think community cooperation would become so unpopular…
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’
Chapter Sixty-Eight
« ^ »
Hecate had come.
Bannor stood frozen, his hands linked with Queen Kalindinai’s. They stood in the heart of the besieged village on the rock dais raised by Sarai’s stone magic. A circle of the third demesne Euriel had called it. Bannor knew it better as a ring of blood magic; a ring of his blood. After laboriously tracing the majority of the pattern, only a pace separated them from completing the magic circle that would tap the power of his Garmtur. The winds shrieked and turned biting cold. The stars dimmed, and he heard the unified gasp of the villagers. In his mind, he heard the Moon Goddess’ manic laughter. His Nola senses, now keen, echoed disturbances in the natural balance as pain. His body felt ripped inside as Hecate forced through the giant rift that rose from the plain to the South. His bones seemed to burn as her venomous presence spread across land.
Hecate was coming for him. A wave of death devouring everything in its path. She wanted the Garmtur, and would annihilate this world to get it. If they didn’t defeat her, he’d become a shell, his mind burned away and his body hollowed out so Hecate’s essence could occupy it.
Sarai and everyone he loved would die. The Moon Goddess would possess the Garmtur Shak’Nola and the cosmos would be only a whim away from her control.
A sharp pain in his shin snapped his focus. Kalindinai drew back to kick again. “Bannor—move!” The Queen’s perspiring face looked pale and strained.
“I can’t,” he wheezed, head hanging from the fatigue. The upheaval in the environment made him ill. His limbs felt like lead. He’d given up so much blood. At his feet, the drops from his sliced palm hissed as they struck the dais. Curls of smoke rose and were snatched away by the wind.
“Yes, you can, Bannor,” Kalindinai said. “I have faith.”
Bannor met the Queen’s eyes. The statement shocked him, much the way her touching him in the square had. She always stayed so aloof—like a figurine of brass. She rarely did more than order him around.
His gaze went from Kalindinai to the circle’s cardinal point. The crazy zigzag rush started there, pouring out his life to save innocent lives. The circle. His life seemed made of circles, cycles of need and betrayal, cycles of solitude and withdrawal. He always wound up turned around. He had spent his youth striving for
the approval of a father who only recognized his dallying firstborn brother. When Rammal died in the war, Father renounced Bannor, blaming him for his death.
How the circle turned. He went from desperately needing his Father’s love to losing all respect for him.
His becoming a border woodsman for the Baron formed a circle, too. Ostracized by his family, he took the reclusive duty in order to be alone with his anger. Ten summers later, he met Sarai and never wanted to be solitary again.
Alpha and Omega. Since his Nola manifested, his life’s cycles only grew more frequent and pronounced. He left Blackwater with no acknowledged kin, chasing after his only love, Sarai. Days later, he found himself a brother to savants and petitioning to be part of a royal family. After trying so hard to escape Hecate, he’d turned to face her. He had begun as a victim of the dark powers, now, he must be a savior.
“Come on!” Kalindinai gritted. The Queen’s violet eyes were wide-frightened. Her hands clamped on his. “Hecate’s almost here!”
Complete the circle. Make a mark that lasts for all time. Join blood with blood. The Garmtur buzzed, bombarding him with impressions of collapsing natural balances. Hecate’s being on Titaan threatened not only them, but disrupted the prime forces that made life possible. Even if they closed the rift, her presence alone might kill the land and make it barren.
Gritting his teeth, he focused and unlocked his aching arms so Kalindinai could lead him.
“Help me! I’m too tired to drag you!” Her arms shivered as she changed direction. The trickles of fiery blood weaved dangerously. One break in the line and circle was ruined.
As they pivoted, he saw Laramis and Irodee in the square helping Wren and Janai calm the children around the dais. His eyes locked with Sarai’s. He felt her love and support.
Looking toward the rift, Euriel stepped into the circle. Her indigo eyes glistened as if she’d been crying. “Fight,” she urged. “Don’t let Rammal down again. You want Sarai to die? Want to be a husk like Meliandri lying on that hill up there? You are the Garmtur. Flesh in nothing. Overcome!”
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