Sorceress Awakening

by Lisa Blackwood

  “They’re planning to set up their own dictatorship. Lovely.”

  “Yes, I fear that is so. However, I have more immediate concerns,” Gregory rumbled as he looked at her anew. She was coping with her new situation remarkably well. It was time to test her magic to see if he could detect any taint upon it. “Your hamadryad—your tree,” he explained, when he saw the look of confusion on her face, “was wounded during the attack, and I didn’t have the strength to heal both the tree and you. I placed a weaving over the injuries to protect against further damage, but the wounds need tending. I would appreciate it if one of the dryads would guide you in learning a dryad’s magic.” He pointedly focused on Sable. “I can supply strength and my blood if needed, but the actual act of healing isn’t one of my greater skills.”

  “I would be honored.” Sable bowed, and then straightening, she glided up next to Lillian. “Come, little sister. I will direct you in the use of a dryad’s power.”

  Lillian glanced back at him questioningly, but Sable tugged on her arm and dragged her in the direction of the back door. He tracked the pleasant sway of his lady’s hips as she descended the stairs. Alone now, shadows curled around his body, hiding him as he summoned his gargoyle form. When he had his familiar shape back, he dropped to all fours and followed the lingering scent of dryad.

  *

  Hot, humid air hinted at the chance of an evening thundershower. Gregory hoped for one. Perhaps it would wash away some of the stink. He wrinkled his muzzle in distaste. The mixed odors of slaughter, old death, and burnt flesh hung over the grove. If they managed to awaken Lillian’s dryad magic, it might help purify the grove. Her natural dryad magic wasn’t linked to her powers as the Sorceress, so it should be safe for Lillian to summon it without triggering any trap left by the Lady of Battles. He hoped.

  Shadows cast by the maze’s west wall stretched across the glade as the sun eased closer to the horizon. A slash of white glowed among the darkness. As it came closer, the pale shape glided between the slender trunks of the trees, weaving and bucking in his joyous frenzy. Had the unicorn kept his antics up all day? Probably.

  Gregory had eaten rabbits with more intelligence.

  The stallion bolted straight toward Gregory. He wished the unicorn’s natural power wasn’t to see past deception. Dirt and bits of grass bombarded him as the unicorn skidded to a halt within arm’s reach. Gregory’s displeasure increased when the unicorn pranced over to Lillian with his neck arched and tail sailing like a banner in the wind. The unicorn bobbed his head and rubbed his muzzle against the dryad. Lillian laughed and stroked the unicorn’s nose, and then moved up to scratch the base of his spiral horn.

  Gregory directed his thoughts at the stallion. “Have you forgotten it was a woman who tempted you into taking human form and caused your … predicament?”

  “I have not forgotten.” The unicorn rolled an eye in Gregory’s direction. “But she’s very pretty and she smells delicious.”

  “And you look and smell like food, too.” Gregory warned.

  “Predators are all the same, but you’re worse than most. Do you even know what a sense of humor is?”

  “No.”

  The unicorn inched away from Lillian.

  Content, Gregory returned his attention to Sable. She and Lillian had come to a stop at the base of the hamadryad. Sable began the first lesson, unaware of what went on between gargoyle and unicorn.

  “Feel your tree,” Sable was saying, “her life force humming under your hands. She is the source of your power and your strength. From her you draw life. Without her there is only death.”

  Lillian glanced back at him and then beyond the arch of his wing to the remains of the shattered stone circle. She paled. But a moment later, she straightened her shoulders and placed her hands on her tree in a decisive move.

  Pride swelled in his heart. His lady was strong. The Sorceress always had been—but this lifetime he had worried she would not be strong enough. For once he was happy to be proven wrong.

  Lillian leaned forward until her forehead rested on the rough bark of the tree, scant inches beneath the lower of the two long slashes. The blue lattice of his weaving still glowed in the shade cast by the upper canopy.

  “Even though she doesn’t know the first thing about being a dryad, she has the nicest hamadryad I’ve ever seen.” Kayla appeared at Gregory’s shoulder, standing so close she might as well have leaned against him.

  Taking a step in Lillian’s direction didn’t get his point across and Kayla shadowed his move, coming alongside him again. Gregory cleared his throat. “My lady has many skills.”

  “The way you say ‘lady’ makes it sound intimate, yet she isn’t your lover, is she? Don’t try to lie to me; I’ve seen how she looks at you, and it isn’t lover-like.”

  “We’ve known each other a very long time. I use it as a mark of respect. I don’t suppose you know anything about that.”

  Kayla had been studying the redwood, but snapped her head in his direction. “I’ve insulted you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or perhaps ‘upset’ is a better word.” She leaned forward, eager as a hound to the hunt. “She might not desire you, but you desire her, don’t you?”

  Gregory squashed the urge to groan. Once again, he’d revealed more than he wanted. There was no point lying to her. Perhaps she’d leave him alone if she thought he had already made his choice of mate. “Yes, what gargoyle would not?” He hoped she’d believe the simple truth and deem there was nothing else to it.

  She studied him an instant more and then turned back to watch what was unraveling at Lillian’s tree.

  “Do you feel it?” Sable asked her student.

  Lillian nodded her head. “Yes, it’s … it’s so much, such strength. Why did I not know of this before?”

  “I’d ask your gargoyle that question, were I you. Perhaps because you didn’t know your true nature, you had no idea this was even possible, so didn’t try.” Sable gestured at the hamadryad. “Now direct some of the power you feel into the redwood. Visualize the wounds. Imagine all signs of dirt and disease pushed from those wounds. Good. Now envision the wound knitting together, the edges closing, the bark intact once again.” Sable patted Lillian on the shoulder. “Excellent, young one. It comes so naturally to you. It will not be long until you are truly a dryad in all ways—what are you doing?”

  The startled edge to Sable’s tone jolted Gregory into action. Power raised the hair at the back of his neck and tingled in his lungs as he drew another hasty breath. This was not a dryad’s weaving. This was energy drawn from the Magic Realm—an act of power as the Sorceress, not just a dryad. He rushed to Lillian’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. When she turned to him with power bright in her eyes, he knew how dangerous the situation had grown while he’d been distracted by Kayla’s probing. Power bled from Lillian. It bubbled up from the Magic Realm, flowing across the land like a spring-fed brook, Lillian its headwater. The current caught at his wings, tugging at them.

  “My lady, you have healed your hamadryad and using more magic now might be too taxing.” He spun another web of half-truths, not caring if she figured out later she had been lied to. The Magic Realm was bad enough, but if he didn’t stop this now, she might switch and draw power directly from the Spirit Realm.

  “I don’t feel tired at all. This is wonderful … I can feel the evil shriveling and dying all around the meadow. It’s magnificent. Look,” she said as she pointed toward where the stone circle lay shattered. Magic shimmered along her arms, barely visible, like heat waves in the desert. “I can fix it and make it stronger, watch.”

  Sable took one look at Lillian’s arms and took several steps back. With shock replacing her normally serene expression, the older dryad’s gaze followed where Lillian pointed. Gregory held his breath.

  Fragments of stone rose up from the grass as Lillian returned the shattered stones back to their proper places. Stone pillars formed out of the rubble. Not a stone ring or piece of gravel was out of
place or showed even a hint of damage where her magic touched. Power continued building. She’d said she could make it stronger. No doubt she could, but not with the supplies she had at her call here. She needed additional materials and better-quality stone if she wanted to create a more powerful ward.

  Small tremors under his feet warned him he needed to stop this now. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, subtly absorbing the power she’d summoned before it could cause an unbalance in the natural world. “Enough. Listen to me. You’re not yet ready for this.”

  “But I’m doing it. Look, it’s wonderful.”

  “You don’t have what you need to make the circle stronger—if you try to force extra power into those stones, the circle will erupt like it did when the Riven attacked you.”

  “I can control this. I know I can.”

  He shook her. “Do you want to be responsible for the deaths of Sable and Kayla?”

  His meaning must have penetrated her power-drugged mind. She froze, and then paled. “I wouldn’t harm you or the others. I’d stop before the stones became stressed.”

  “How would you know when they reached that point?”

  “I …” Her shoulders hunched and the vast flow of magic dwindled. “You’re right. What am I doing?”

  He held her until the trickle of power died away. Magic strained under his skin, filling him to the point of pain. A neigh from behind him had never been so welcome. A moment later, the unicorn started siphoning power. When the magic was a more manageable presence, Gregory looked over his shoulder and inclined his head in thanks. The unicorn echoed the motion, and then with a spray of grass and clumps of mud, the stallion bounded off into the shadows of the grove.

  “I’m sorry.” Lillian’s voice broke. She swallowed and tried again. “That was stupid, so stupid. But it felt natural, so right. Forgive me. I’ll always listen in the future.”

  Gregory snorted with humor. “You’re forgiven. Though, I doubt you’ll obey that last oath. You’ve never been very good at listening.”

  She didn’t rise to his baiting. Her thoughts were too guilt ridden, and he worried for her. If he released the block he’d put on her memories, all the knowledge and skills she’d learned in her past lives would return, and she could wield her magic safely. But the memory of what the Lady of Battles had done would return as well. Gregory couldn’t risk it. He wanted his Sorceress restored in a way that ate at his resolve, but it would have to wait for now. The healing of her hamadryad hadn’t confirmed anything. While he hadn’t detected any evil tainting her magic, she’d acted in a dangerous manner and that was something the Sorceress would never do. But Lillian had no memories of being the Sorceress. Instead, she’d reacted like a child with a new toy. Her loss of control could have been an accident due to inexperience. Or it could have been the Lady of Battles’ influence.

  There was only one way to know for sure. Once Lillian trusted him absolutely, he would risk the deep merging that would allow him to learn what had been done to her. By the grace of the Divine Ones, he would be able to reverse the damage and go home.

  Lillian tugged on his hand. “If we’re done here, I’d like to go help Gran with dinner.”

  “Go. I’ll be along after I’ve had a word with the unicorn. I’m appointing him guardian of the maze. I’ll only be a few moments.”

  “Sure,” Lillian whispered, like she barely heeded his words.

  After she had gone, he sat, troubled by his thoughts.

  Chapter 10

  After an awkward dinner, where Gregory was the only participant with an appetite, Lillian hung back to question her grandmother.

  “So?” Lillian asked, as she deposited another pile of plates on the counter.

  Gran looked up from loading the dishwasher and gave her a questioning look.

  “No one has told me where we’re going tonight. By the way everyone bolted after supper to go get ready, I assume this isn’t the usual trip to the neighbors for coffee and cards.”

  “No, not exactly,” Gran said. A smile crossed her lips and faded a moment later. “The magical community has many different celebrations. While most are private and solitary, once each month we must come together to raise magic, reaffirm the bonds of kinship, and to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. Tonight is the Wild Hunt. Even the threat of attack will not stop the Hunt, for without the Hunt all magic shall wither and die.”

  “I’ve heard the legends.” Lillian tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, then smoothed it in place. It was a telltale nervous gesture she’d been trying to ditch for years. Oh, well. She didn’t care if Gran knew she was edgy tonight. “The Hunt; isn’t it supposed to be dangerous? And by that I mean evil. I thought people were the chosen prey.”

  Gran released a long drawn-out sigh. “In this age, the Hunt is no more evil than one of those swords hanging over the mantle. It’s a tool. One we use to raise and gather magic so we may survive. A tool can be used for good or evil. That depends on the heart of the wielder.” Gran resumed loading the dishwasher. “And yes, in centuries past, the Hunt was dangerous. It was used to hunt down sacrifices or to kill oathbreakers. Some of our rulers had an unnatural streak of cruelty deep in their hearts. During those earlier times, humans with the misfortune to run into the Wild Hunt didn’t survive to report the encounter. Later, when we were ruled by more just rulers, we would take the human’s memories but leave them alive. Upon occasion, a fae would find a mortal interesting and return with the human.”

  “You mean abduct the poor person, right?”

  Gran cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  “And you want me to go with you on this Wild Hunt?”

  “Lillian, I don’t want to put you in undue danger, but the Hunt is needed for everyone’s survival. I won’t leave you behind after what happened yesterday. Just stay close to me this evening and all will be well. I’m more concerned about how your gargoyle will react to the rest of the Clan and the Coven. Now you should go get ready. The dryads have constructed something for you to wear.” Gran patted Lillian’s shoulder, and then walked away.

  *

  With her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Lillian sat on the bed and fiddled with the belt of her terry robe, which covered the new forest-green bra and panties. Her eyebrow had wedged itself in her hairline a while ago. There wasn’t much else she could say or do except wait for the other three women to finish with the gown.

  She had never before seen a garment made from moss, fluffy Maidenhair ferns, and large sweeping fans of Bracket ferns. The gown’s individual parts were held together by a fine webbing of magic. There was a first time for everything. Of late, she was witnessing new “firsts” every other hour.

  The headboard creaked as the bed shifted under her. Her brows scrunched together. Unless there had been a minor earthquake, the room held one occupant too many.

  “Out,” Lillian ordered.

  The three dryads paused in their work and looked up at her like she’d sprouted horns. Well, horns were part of the problem. Twisting to look behind, she scanned the empty bed and frowned. “Nice try, but I’m not indulging you in a free peepshow. Out now, or I’ll braid some pretty flowers into your mane.”

  A snort and more shaking of the bed marked Gregory’s position. Unfortunately, it came too late. A warm damp tongue washed across her face. A moment later the invisible gargoyle jumped down, landing with a thump. He materialized next to where the dryads worked. Butting his nose into the pile of greenery, he pushed their hands away from their work and sniffed every petal and leaf. Presumably happy with his findings, he padded from the room, the tip of his tail flicking gently. The dryads watched him go. The youngest released a sigh, her expression bordering on enraptured.

  Oh please. Lillian rolled her eyes. She was still wiping gargoyle kisses off her cheek when the others brought the dress over to her. The skirt, woven of moss so soft and refined it looked like lace, fell to the floor in graceful folds. Over the green lace was a sheer skirt of interwoven ferns
. When they gestured for her to try it on, she eyed it with suspicion. Magic gave the greenery a lushness the natural plants lacked, and the entire gown gleamed with a faint shimmer, as if silver dusted the fabric. With a sigh, Lillian shimmied into the hip-hugging skirt and marveled at the silky comfort. Slits ran up both sides for ease of movement.

  A form-fitting green blouse made from the tiny leaves of meadow rue and the flowing Bracket fern blended with the moss lace, creating the prettiest gown she’d ever seen. It might be beautiful, but it didn’t seem practical.

  “If I remember correctly, this didn’t work out so well for Cinderella.”

  The dryads blinked at her.

  Lillian sighed. “Magic made this. If I’m left with only my undies at midnight, I’m not going to be happy.”

  “But Gregory might,” Kayla said with a smirk.

  Lillian flashed the other woman a twist of her lips, more fang than smile. But she let the dryads fix her hair with cream ribbons and white flowers. Around Lillian’s neck, Sable fastened a necklace of silver and what looked like tiny drops of dew. Matching earrings completed the look.

  “You are a striking creature,” Sable said, circling Lillian to better view her work. “No wonder the gargoyle hovers near you like a lost lover.”

  Lillian decided to let the silence speak for her. It was better than trying to come up with a reply to that loaded comment.

  Sable smoothed her fingers along Lillian’s hair and tucked the last stubborn strands in place. “Thank you for allowing us to attire you in our way. There are so few of us left, we must preserve as many rituals as we can.”

  “Sure,” Lillian mumbled, her thoughts elsewhere. At first, the gargoyle hadn’t done anything to make her think his emotions went beyond the relationship of long-standing ward and protector. She laughed at her own reasoning—a day and a half wasn’t anywhere near enough time to become acquainted with another person’s dreams and longings. But even then, she swore she’d detected a recent change in the gargoyle. There was now something in his manner toward her: a gentleness which was sometimes accompanied by a lingering touch that hinted at a deep, unacknowledged yearning. What would she do if there was truth to Sable’s comment and Gregory did see her as more than his ward?