Freedom (The Sorcerers' Scourge Book 4)

by Michael Arches

Then, as soon as we passed the Presidio heading south, the heavens opened up and drenched us. That was Mother Nature’s way of reminding me she could turn on me at any time. It continued to rain hard as we ran past the aquarium and along the waterfront trail in Pacific Grove.

  Luckily, this run was much shorter than in the morning. There were only seven of us running, and I came in last, soaked like I’d fallen into the ocean again. Somebody always has to be last, but it wasn’t going to be me for long.

  Philippe stayed back to hang with me, and he didn’t puff as much at the end. I appreciated the support. He was a keeper.

  Because I wasn’t sure how the whole three faces of Moira thing would work, after I caught my breath, I asked Ian.

  “Your exercise in this form won’t directly help your fighting self, but running makes you emotionally tougher. That’ll help all three of you.”

  It wasn’t the answer I’d hoped for, but it made sense. The Real Me needed to run inside the inn. Luckily, a great gym was available inside, so I could work out there. But there went what little free time I had left.

  We headed to dinner, and like before, Philippe and I went our separate ways. When Christina spotted me, she squealed and wrapped her arms around me. “Your face is prettier!”

  I didn’t think Maureen had changed me much, not the Real Me, but apparently so.

  I was famished, not surprising after such an active day, so I went back for seconds on the roast beef. As I was filling my plate, one of the women who I’d seen hanging around Philippe a lot came up to me.

  “You wasted your time making yourself pretty for him,” she said. “He’s just temporarily infatuated. That’ll end soon, and he’ll come to his senses.”

  I had no idea whether Philippe jumped from one woman to another, but I hoped not. To hide my worry, I laughed at her.

  Her brow furrowed. “He’s a very intelligent man, and the way I hear it, you didn’t even go to high school. He’ll figure out how shallow you are in no time.”

  I gritted my teeth to avoid saying something I’d regret later. I’d never thought of myself as pretty, so her comment about my looks didn’t matter. But I wasn’t stupid. My mother had homeschooled all three of us girls because that was better than sending me to a school filled with sorcerers. True, I hadn’t gotten the chance to go to college because I was forced into the gladiator’s ring. On the plus side, I had learned a useful trade and was making money at it—a ton of money.

  “I’ve been gnawing on his big ol’ boner every chance I get, and I haven’t seen your name carved into it yet. Should I look harder?”

  She stormed off, so I called my second mom to see if I’d really screwed up this time.

  Katie laughed when I told her the story, and that was all the answer I needed. The woman was a gift from the gods.

  Later that night, when Philippe and I were alone together, I told him what that woman had said. Not because she’d insulted me, but because she’d insulted him.

  “So, as you may have guessed, she and I had a relationship months ago. I ended it because there’s a cold selfishness in her I found was most unattractive. She has a master’s degree in education, but the maturity of a fifth grader. Pay her no mind.”

  -o-o-o-

  Sunday, January 24th

  AFTER OUR COMMUNAL run in the morning, I met with Ian in one of the training rooms to begin learning Holar magic. I’d read the book several times, it wasn’t long, and I hoped I already understood the basics.

  Nevertheless, Ian immediately surprised me. “You’ll have to learn to chant the spells. It turns out you need to use specific rhythm and tonality.”

  What the hell? “You can’t be serious. You sing to fight?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “We didn’t use to, that’s for damned sure, but Gill asked me to work with a several super-smart professors. They’ve revealed some of Holar’s long buried secrets. One of them is that his magic works best when you chant in a specific way. Like this.”

  He hummed a tune a couple of times so I could get used to the pattern. “These scholars have spent hundreds of hours now trying various patterns to figure out what works best. That series of notes I just hummed is their best guess as to what Holar wanted.”

  Ian sounded crazy, but he was my Prince Charming. After five minutes of humming, he added words. “Holarthon elbo, protège.”

  We practice that a half dozen times before I said, “It sounds French.”

  “It is French. The language that Holar used some eight thousand years ago, originated in Central Europe, and nobody knows how to pronounce the few texts we have. Only a few people in the world even understand the written language. Those scholars I told you about are trying to find the best modern language to use with Holar’s magic, and so far, French works better than any other modern language. Maybe it’s because French has a lyrical quality, at least it does when my wife speaks it.”

  The protège spell he’d taught me created a ward, and I’d already knew how to do that with Dunarsh magic. It didn’t take me long to get the knack of making a protective barrier the Holar way.

  “Okay,” Ian said, “so far, that spell requires calm concentration. You maintain a strong mental focus. That’s key to most Celtic magic, and it’s particularly important with wards.

  “I’m with you, so far.”

  “Good,” Ian said, “now let’s shift gears. We use most of Holar’s magic to fight, and the attack spells are fueled with anger.”

  Nothing odd about that. “So are Dunarsh fighting spells. I’ve got lots of experience in building up my anger and ripping my opponent a new asshole.”

  Ian snickered. “I’m sure you do. You wouldn’t have such an impressive win-loss record otherwise. But it’s worth remembering at the beginning of the fight that it’s usually best to go in cool. Focus and concentration also helps other advanced magic we’ll talk about later.”

  I normally meditated before every fight, and that did help me create impressive barriers against attack spells. “Yes, my prince, sir.”

  “Are you mocking me, minion?”

  Actually, I was beginning to admire the hell out of him, but male witches still made me nervous. “No, sir! Absolutely not, your worshipfulness, sir.”

  “Good, where were we? Ah, yes, anger. So, the trick is, at least for me, keeping part of my mind calm while the rest gets pissed off.”

  “I’m well aware of the problem.”

  “According to two of my best mentors, the best approach is to compartmentalize your thoughts. You want to keep most of your mind cool and rational. That’s the part of your brain where you want to spend most of your time. But I keep a special place sealed off most of the time. My anger can bounce off the walls in there as much as it wants.”

  I was still on the same page with him. “I’ve built up a lot of anger over the years—huge raging bonfires. I keep it locked away deep inside. But if I try to use it to fight, I lose control completely. Once, years ago, I went berserk, almost killed another gladiator. Since then, I’ve avoided feeling that fury. Too dangerous.”

  He nodded. “I should’ve realized that. You hide it well, but there’s a bomb waiting inside you. I once got in trouble myself with uncontrolled rage. It almost killed me.”

  “Like I said, I’m aware of the problem. What’s your solution?”

  “You train to develop control. I’ll help you.”

  We sat cross-legged on the mats, facing each other. He didn’t even twitch one muscle. The only reason I know he was still alive was he blinked every few minutes. I felt like I was sitting in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

  That didn’t help much in controlling my hatred of sorcerers. Every time I thought about what they’d done to me, Mom, and my sisters, my control began to slip. There was a fireproof vault inside my mind, but every time I opened the door just a crack, it threatened to explode. Too much pressure behind that door.

  He stayed as still as the dead, but I ne
eded more help. “How am I supposed to use that anger constructively?”

  “Just like this. Meditation will improve your control. You should be meditating at least one hour a day. Nothing is more important.”

  “I’m still not seeing the light,” I said, trying to keep my frustration out of my voice.

  “It’s a long journey. Lastly today, let’s talk about two more spells, the two that you will probably use more than any others.”

  Together, we chanted, “Holarthon, elbo assomme,” over and over. It was Holar’s version of a stunning spell.

  I tried it out on Ian several times, but his ward was tougher than any I’d experienced before. I wondered how long it was going to take me to create stuns stronger than the Dunarsh version.

  Finally, he showed me their lightning spell, “Holarthon, elbo choque.”

  The rhythmic pattern for this one was different, and it took me a minute to learn. After I got it down, though, I produced a couple of blue lightning bolts that crashed nicely against Ian’s ward. The smell of ozone filled the room.

  “That’s a good place to stop,” he said. “If at all possible, I always like to end a training session on a positive note.”

  “That’s funny,” I said. “Anything good that happens to me is a reminder that big trouble is waiting right around the corner.”

  -o-o-o-

  AFTER ALL THAT mental exertion, I spent two hours in the gym running on a treadmill and lifting weights. Real Me needed to get stronger, both to take on sorcerers and Frank. Damned if I was going to let him beat me senseless again.

  When I showed up for lunch, Ian said, “I’ve flown someone in from Colorado to meet you. She creates amazing staffs.”

  I wasn’t so sure I needed one, I’d always fought without a weapon, but he was the boss. “Couldn’t she just mail it to us?”

  He shook his head. “The weapon has to be created for you personally. Meet us in my office at two, and bring your photograph of your mom and sisters.”

  Chapter 20

  Rí benn Ian O’Rourke’s Office, Seabreeze Inn, Monterey, California

  I SHOWED UP on time, and Ian introduced me to a short, stout woman with gray hair named Lucinda Ricci. She who wore a red flannel shirt and jeans. I sat across from her and Ian on sofas in his office’s conversation area.

  “I’ve told Lucinda all about you,” he said, “even mentioning your current nemesis, Don Eichmann.”

  Lucinda pointed at a photo of the bastard on Ian’s coffee table. “It’s best to understand your enemies. To the maximum extent possible, it’ll strengthen you for the battle to come. The first step is to infuse the wood in your staff with your spirit. We’ll also add connections to your family. Did you bring the photograph Ian told me about?”

  I took it out of my purse and showed it to her. “But I can’t let it out of my sight. It’s that precious to me.”

  “Of course. No need to take any chances with it.” She removed a sketch pad from her briefcase, and within a couple of minutes, she’d drawn Mom and my sisters perfectly—not only their faces but also their bodies.

  “You have an amazing talent,” I said.

  She beamed at me. “Thank you. I design furniture and make wooden sculptures. It helps me to see exactly what I want to make.”

  “Lucinda also needs some of your blood,” Ian said. “She’ll mix it into a magic potion and coat your staff with it.”

  I stuck out a hand, and she pricked my index finger with a needle. Then she squeezed out several drops into a large vial containing a dark brown liquid.

  “This is my secret sauce,” she said. “Do you prefer a dark brown weapon or black?”

  “Does it matter?” I asked.

  “The color is purely an esthetic choice,” she said. “Some witches don’t like black because it suggests dark magic. But I can feel your Dunarsh aura, so I don’t imagine you’re queasy about the dark side.”

  “It’s not the magic, but the magician.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “So few witches understand that point. What color would you prefer?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Brown is fine.”

  Lucinda walked over to one wall and grabbed three wooden poles leaning against it. She brought them toward me and motioned for me to stand. “I’ve brought stock made from elm, oak, and yew. All make excellent weapons for magical warriors. Again, it’s a personal preference.”

  I held each pole, one at a time. All were heavy and stiff. The only real difference seemed to be their color. The yew was darkest, but when I lifted the pole, my hand tingled. I glanced at Lucinda.

  She smiled. “Easy choice, isn’t it?”

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “That’s the dark side calling you,” Ian said. “Witch’s wood has long been linked with sorcery.”

  “An old wives’ tale,” Lucinda said. “Yew is a powerful symbol of death. All parts of the tree are poisonous. It’s also a symbol of reincarnation, though. An excellent choice for a woman reborn, like you. It was also the first choice of old English archers.”

  Ian obviously didn’t agree with my choice, but I was feeling contrary. “I’ll try the yew, Lucinda. I’m sure you know more about this issue than a wheat farmer.”

  Ian shrugged. “Have it your way.”

  Lucinda beamed. “I’ll get to work on it first thing tomorrow, and it should be ready within a few days. Good hunting.”

  Later that evening, I talked to Katie about my day. After I promised to send her photos of the three versions of me, she said, “I know Lucinda well. Ian did you a great favor by bringing her to Monterey. I’m sure your new yew staff will be amazing.”

  That reassured me. Ian was worried for nothing.

  -o-o-o-

  Wednesday, February 10th

  OVER THE NEXT two weeks, I settled into a new routine. My days were filled with training, and my nights were filled with Philippe. As a warrior, life couldn’t get much better. All I needed to be complete was to bring Mom and my sisters out of the darkness.

  Ian did his best to teach me, and I learned Holar magic quickly, but one part of his teaching wouldn’t jell. He explained many times how he’d gained so much power from nature, but, I couldn’t feel the connection he’d developed with Mother Nature.

  He wouldn’t let the thing go. Early on a Wednesday, the members of the Garda and dozens of kids visited a park filled with ancient redwoods in Henry Cowell State Park near Santa Cruz.

  I warned Ian that taking me was a mistake, but he’s stubborn. The day started with a light drizzle, very typical of February along the coast, but as soon as we arrived at the park, a torrential downpour started.

  We’d brought raingear, and we toughed it out for a half-hour. By then the kids were in open revolt.

  Ian said, “Actually, this will work out fine. The bus can take them home, and we can stay longer. It’s not that cold. Gracie can bring a van in a few hours, and now we have the park to ourselves. It’s perfect.”

  I looked at the other members of the Garda, and they grimaced, but we were all disciples. Ian’s word was law.

  We walked for hours in the deluge, and I tried to make the best of it. I worked hard to sense what he’d told me about, but it was no use. Mother Nature wasn’t going to give me the lousiest little ounce of power.

  -o-o-o-

  Seabreeze Inn, Monterey, California

  THE DAY WASN’T a complete bust. Late that afternoon, my new staff arrived by overnight mail. The first thing I noticed in opening the long, thin box was how light my weapon was. The yew pole I’d held was heavy, but Lucinda’s magic must’ve made the staff light so it would be easier to swing. It was dark brown, an inch in diameter at the top and thinner below.

  To test it, I smacked the side of my left leg with it. Even though I hadn’t swung hard, the blow really stung. Perfect.

  Then I examined my weapon more carefully. Mom’s face was carefully carved into the wood
. Right below her, my sisters stared back at me, too. That was comforting.

  Lucinda had also carved a rocky seascape and a redwood tree, but I doubted that would do any good. Then she’d added Ian’s smiling face and Philippe’s. Down below, Lucinda had added in one row the faces of all the sorcerers I’d beaten since gaining my freedom. I swung it through the air with one hand, and it made a satisfying swooshing sound.

  At dinner, I showed it off at Ian’s table, then took it to Philippe. Everybody took turns holding it, and several commented on how heavy it was. Lucinda had enchanted it somehow to make it easier for only me to use. That was a nice touch.

  I had no experience with weapons because gladiators didn’t use them. So, I asked Philippe, “Do you know how to use one of these?”

  He shook his head. “Erbater witches don’t use weapons. We tend to focus on relationships, and hitting our friends tends to annoy them.”

  Erbater was his Celtic guild, and Katie’s. I was the opposite to the two of them that way, but I preferred to think of our powers as complimentary.

  Ian said, “Don’t worry. You and I will get together right after dinner to practice with our staffs. You’ll pick things up fast, I’m sure.”

  I wasn’t nearly as confident. It usually took me a long time to develop new skills, but at least now I could begin that process.

  -o-o-o-

  AFTER AN HOUR of steady work with my prince in one of the training rooms, I began to get the hang of swinging the staff. The beauty of it was that it strengthened my attack spells—super-charged them. It also extended my reach in a fight. How have I managed to do without this?

  “You’re off to a good start,” Ian said. “Now you’ll need to learn how to hide your weapon.”

  I thought I knew what he had in mind. “Holar’s shrinking spell?”

  “Yep. I didn’t know that one until I studied his book.”

  “I read the words,” I said, “but I don’t know how to pronounce them.”

  “Holarthon, elbo rétrécit,” he chanted. My staff shrunk by half, and I pronounced the spell a few more times to make the weapon small enough to stick in my back pocket without it hanging out.