Spiral Path (Night Calls Series Book 3) (11 page)

This worked well enough that by the time I finished the
twenty-seventh coil I still had plenty of light. I was doing better knee bends
as I went by, scribbling lines of ten strokes before I started a new row. The
sun had drifted down to the tops of the trees, hovering over the forest.

Then the labyrinth changed.

Between one step and the next, as I set my foot down for the
twenty-eighth passage, I felt power pull at my boot. It wasn’t frightening, or
even odd. The delicate pull was more like a steady wind pushing just enough
into your face that you’d bend your head a fraction to make sure no gusts
surprised you. So it was with the labyrinth. I put enough effort into walking
that there was no chance of my boot sticking in some manner, tripping me as I
moved.

As I finished the second set of twenty-seven, I felt a
change in the wand and athame. I always transferred the wand over to my right
hand, with the blade, before marking the tick mark in the snow. Then the wand
returned to my left hand as I moved to begin the next circuit. This time, I was
aware of resistance. The wand and athame did not want to be held together, not
even for a moment’s convenience.

I looked closely at the two tools, placing my body between
them and the sinking sun. Not a doubt—there was a pale golden light coming from
the blade of the athame and the tip of the wand.
Hummmm . . . .

Perhaps I would count the last twenty-seven times through
the labyrinth without a tally.

As I walked, daylight grew blue and gray, shadows breeding
under trees and shrubs. The sun had dropped halfway down the side of a huge
spruce tree just to the right of the path’s entrance. Slowly, like snow melting
off a roof near the chimney, the yellow light began to dim. Clouds rippled like
combed gray wool and hid the blue sky beyond. I had passed the fifteen laps
mark when I found myself using the tools like candles, holding them upright and
forward. At first, I could not tell if they grew brighter, or the sky merely
grew darker.

By the eighteenth circuit, I was sure the glow of the wand
and athame had increased. Each time that I walked the spiral, the gleam grew
that much brighter. Finally I started to wonder if it was only the tools, or if
I was blazing like a torch, too. I found myself impatient, moving faster, even
dancing down the curving trail, watching the tools gleam.

The blade was especially interesting, because although the
athame was often associated with fire, the rippled effect in this blade made it
sometimes look like water, or air moving above a bonfire. I held them out from
my body, and tried a spin or two from a country dance. Did more steps charge
the labyrinth faster, or confuse it? If you walked backward, could you drain
the labyrinth of the energy it held?

I slowed again for the last twenty-seventh lap, the
eighty-first walk of the spiral. Both wand and blade now blazed like the
moon—no, like tiny stars in my hand, each like a shooting star falling to
earth. As I took the last steps around the holly bushes, stopping by the
remains of the tally, I turned to face the labyrinth. Holding the tools to
either side, I bowed back toward the ash tree and said: “I thank you for the
lesson! And I thank you for the strength you shared with me.”

As I straightened, I noticed a flicker on the path before
me. Peeking farther down to the right, I saw the same thing at the entrance of
the spiral. The path glowed. Not a reflection of a hidden moon, or even my
tools. Something in the path made it faintly glow white. A clear light, not the
murky glow rotting vegetation could have.

Behind me, I heard the door to the cabin open. “Allie! Have
you finished?” Marta called.

“
Coming,
Marta!” The scent of venison and pumpkin pie traveled on the breeze, and I
surely did not want to miss the meal waiting for me inside. I hurried around
the long cabin, waving the stars in my hands as I tromped through the snow. I
must have been a sight as I stumbled back on the shoveled path, but Marta
simply returned my smile and opened the door wider.

o0o

“
You
must see that an unexpected draw on either labyrinth could cause problems,” Cousin
Esme said gently, her dark eyes very serious. “If major spells were being cast
at that moment, those both within and without the circle could be injured.”

Or killed
,
I thought but did not
volunteer. “Yes, ma’am.” Marta had made it very clear over supper that what I’d
done could have injured me severely. She had proceeded to treat me to tales of
some of the horrible “back blasts” she’d seen caused by spells gone awry. She
personally knew practitioners and other magic-users who had been scarred or
lost limbs when a spell exploded.

Now I was back at the Livingston estate, standing in Esme’s
private room on the north end of the main building. I was ready for her to take
a few strips of flesh off me. I just hoped they wouldn’t be real strips of
flesh.

“
You
had no idea what you were seeing, nor could Miss Rutledge have foreseen that
you could see through the cloaking spell. For that reason, I will not punish
you for passing through a portal. Later on—in a week or two, perhaps—I will
have Miss Rutledge show you some of the tricks of the maze. You may then study
the maze and labyrinths and give your class your impression of them.” Looking
over at Margaret, who stood pale and wan beside me, Esme added, “She needs to
be tested immediately. First thing Monday morning—I don’t want to chance
waiting any longer.”

“
Yes,
Professor Livingston,” Margaret said, relief in her voice.

“
Have
you eaten?” Esme asked me.

“
Yes,
ma’am,” I replied.

“
Then
you may occupy yourself with the other students in the great room, or your own
room. The two candles in your bedroom should be sufficient for either sewing or
reading; you may move them both to one table, if needed, but do not move the
tables or chest. They are placed to prevent draperies or bed curtains from
catching fire.”

“
Yes,
ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” This time I gave her a little dip of a curtsy, like
the one the maid had given me. Esme didn’t smile, so I didn’t think the gesture
was out of place. “May I . . . see more of the farm? I
understand you have succession houses, as well as several thoroughbreds?”

Esme momentarily looked thoughtful, and then said, “You will
stay on the grounds of the estate. You will not go into the maze. You will only
enter a labyrinth if Miss Rutledge accompanies you. You are not required to
have an escort to see the home farm, but if you go deep into the barns, dress
in your farm work clothing. I trust my field and barn workers with your safety,
but they have been known to give new household staff and visitors magical tests
of sorts. Be prepared. Mr. Gardener should be told when you are on the
property. Do you agree to this?”

“
Yes,
ma’am,” I said, trying not to smile. I could have been left in my room for a
month, except for classes and The Tree. Being allowed to walk the grounds would
be wonderful!

“
Take
her back to her room, Miss Rutledge, so she may store her coat and boots . . .
and snowshoes.” This time, there was amusement in her voice. “I trust you to
keep track of Miss Sorensson. And I bid you both good night.”

“
Yes,
Professor Livingston,” Margaret said, tugging lightly on the back of my coat. “Good
evening, ma’am.” She turned to leave, and didn’t let go of my coat until I had
also turned toward the door.

Once we were in the hall, I was dying to speak, but I waited
until we climbed the narrow stairs and reached my room. When the door to my
bedroom was closed, I turned and said, “Miss Rutledge, I am so sorry I
frightened you. I should have asked you who painted the clever pictures in the
maze. In the future I will be careful to ask about anything unfamiliar before I
touch it.”

Margaret took a deep breath, and said: “I accept your
apology, Miss Sorensson. The maze and labyrinths have been spelled to keep
those who are untrained, or have no magic, from accidentally tumbling through
to another place. Because I knew of the spell, and had heard you came here
especially to learn ritual magic, well . . . . ” She
paused, and touched a candlewick into life. When she looked back at me, I saw pink
sweep from the corners of her mouth to her ears. “It never occurred to me that
you might see through the cloaking spell. I apologize for my carelessness. I
will work diligently to keep you safe as you learn the path of higher magics.”

“
Thank
you,” I said, not sure which part of her speech I should reply to, but glad she
wasn’t angry with me. “I hope you ate something this afternoon, since I imagine
supper is past.” I pulled off my sheepskin coat and hung it on its hanger from
a hook on the outside of the wardrobe, the better to let the leather dry. I
decided not to say anything about the wand and knife . . . ;and then I found the long
pockets on either side of the coat, under the arms.

I stood there, considering. I had not made those pockets. I
doubted my mother made them.

Did Marta? . . .
 
The night before I came here? . . .

Now I wanted to look inside all the dresses to see if Marta
had also made a place for my wand. But I’d wait until I was alone. I liked what
I knew of Miss Rutledge—but I did not yet trust her.

Looking around, I finally noticed that the last piece of
furniture was a long desk with two chairs. My room was a small space, but
everything a girl needed—heavens, two girls!—could be stored here.

“
I
never eat supper on Saturday,” Margaret said, shaking her head so her curls
bounced. “The student meals leave much to be desired. But kitchen duty
thoroughly teaches a lesson in humility.” She smiled at this, and then
continued: “On Saturday and Sunday, my friends and I like to gather in
Professor Livingston’s work room when she is done with it for the day. One of
us reads while the others catch up on mending or needlework. Your timing is
impeccable; we start reading
Robinson
Crusoe
tonight. Would you like to join us?”

Even if I’d been tired, I would not have turned down her
offer. I had no idea how long I would be there, and I did not want to be an
outsider looking in on the life of the house and school. “Thank you, I would
like that. I have several dresses to hem. Would that be appropriate work?”

“
Of
course.”

I opened the wardrobe to get either the pale indigo cotton
gown or the natural linen dress that needed regular hemming. I didn’t want to
work on silk rolling until I knew my audience was friendly. My time spent in
Hudson-on-the-Bend showed me that there were people out there who not only
liked mischief—they liked hurting people, in word or deed. And a woman’s tongue
is one of her few weapons. Some women become masters at it, for good or for
ill. I didn’t need anyone being disagreeable tonight.

I hope to tread lightly on this world, and leave no harm
behind me. It may not be possible, but I can try.

“
What
a lovely color of blue!” Margaret said, and her voice had both warmed and gone
bright.

“
Thank
you,” I replied. “My cousin is very clever with her hands and dye pot. She left
the hem and embroidery to me.”

Margaret stared, and then blinked, a smile shadowing the
corners of her mouth. “I am very impressed, because it looks as if a skilled modiste
in London created it!” Her face grew thoughtful, and she added: “You might not
mention that she made it. Some people are so high in the instep, they would
think badly of you for wearing homemade clothes. But I have seen things that
cost more pounds than we can imagine, and they look horrible when worn.”

I checked, and my box of needles and pins was on the shelf
above the dresses. I peeked in the box. Yes, Marta had included the thread for
the dresses. And my stork scissors! Plus a woven rope basket knotted to make an
attractive carrier for the box. Momma and Marta both had one. I wondered if
Shaw’s mother had made them—she had once lived near the sea, where woven
furniture was common.

No time like the present to show my skill. I pulled out the
natural linen dress, its bodice panel an inset of embroidery in a rose brown
thread. It was a basic Celtic weave I had made as a trial. The pins gleamed at
the hem, and I blessed Marta for saving me so much time.
I will need dresses here in a hurry
, I thought. I could not wear my
gold gown forever.

“
You
mean we could pretend that I am rich, or eccentric?” I asked, as I pulled off
my big sheepskin boots and put on the boots Marta had given me. “Perhaps too
many will think of me as the poor country cousin, if they know the truth?”

“
Sometimes
it is very valuable to not let people know everything about you,” Margaret said
seriously.

Truth.

It told me something else as well. Margaret was a lovely,
decorative, even gracious young woman, but there was also depth to her. And
kindness—she could have kept me at arm’s length, but had not done so. That was
a wonder in itself. But it suggested that, unlike the Hudson compound, this
school and farm might be a friendlier place to live and to learn.

“
Let
us try eccentricity,” I said, my syllables measured out in a row to keep me
from cramming them together. “It will save time.” I didn’t plan to explain my
words.

Margaret got a glimpse of the bodice while I was pulling on
my new shawl. “Did your cousin do this? It is wonderful! Embroidery is
respected,” she went on. “Your cousin could make good money at this, if she
hadn’t already set out her shingle!”