Stone of Tears (42 page)

Even though she wished Jedidiah was home, and safe, she was glad to have him with her. She knew there was nothing he could do to help, but it still felt good to have him to confide in. Her husband. She smiled at the thought. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to him. She would protect him with her life, if she had to.

The ground pitched into a descent. Through gaps in the trees, she could see they were going down into a deep bowl in the earth. The edge was steep and they had to move slowly so as not to send any rocks tumbling through the woods. One started to slide as her foot touched it, and she quickly used a handful of air to stop it, and then push it firmly into the ground. She sighed in relief.

Jedidiah followed her, a silent, comforting shadow. Her tension relaxed a little when they passed from the loose rock, back into denser woods where the ground was mossy and silent to step on.

The faint sound of chanting drifted to them through the thick woods, carried on heavy, fetid air. Low, rhythmic, guttural tones of words she couldn’t understand resonated in her chest. Even without understanding the words, she felt revulsion at them, as if they made the air reek.

Jedidiah gripped her upper arm, dragging her to a halt. He put his mouth close to her ear. “Margaret, please,” he whispered, “let’s go back now, before it’s too late. I’m afraid.”

“Jedidiah!” she growled as she reached up and snatched him by the collar. “This is important! I am a Sister of the Light. You are a wizard. What do you think I have been training you for? To stand on a street down in the market and perform tricks! To have people throw coins at you? We serve the Creator. He has given us everything we have so we may use it to help others. Others are in danger. We must help. You are a wizard. Act like one!”

She could just see his wide eyes in the faint light. He sagged slightly as the tension went out of his muscles. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Forgive me. I will do what I must, I promise.”

Her anger cooled. “I am afraid, too. Touch your Han, keep a firm grip on it, but not too tight. Hold it so you can release it in an instant, as I have taught you. If anything happens, don’t hold back. Don’t be afraid of how much you might hurt them. If you do need your power, anything less than all of it will not be enough. If you keep your head, you are strong enough to defend yourself. You can do it, Jedidiah. Have faith in what I have taught you, what all the Sisters have taught you. Have faith in the Creator, in what He has given you. You have it for a reason, we all do. This may be the reason. Tonight may be what you have been called for.”

He nodded again and she turned back to the glowing footprints, following them into the thick forest. They wandered through the trees toward the center of the bowl, toward where the chanting was coming from. The closer they got, the more the voices made her skin prickle. The voices were Sisters. She thought she recognized some of them.

Dear Creator,
she prayed,
give me the strength to do what I must to help you. Give Jedidiah strength, too. Help us serve you, to help others.

Little flickers of light came through the leaves. They crept closer. The trees around her were huge. The two of them glided from one trunk to another, no longer following the footprints. They could see glimpses now of something through openings in the underbrush. Slowly, they tiptoed forward across the open forest floor beneath large spreading spruce trees. The needles were soft and quiet to walk on. Shoulder to shoulder, they slid behind low, heavy brush at the edge of woods. It was as close as they could go. Beyond lay a flat, round, open area.

At least a hundred candles were set on the ground in a ring, like a fence, or boundary, as if holding back the dark forest. Inside the candles was a circle drawn on the ground. It looked to be made of white sand that sparkled with little points of prismatic light. It looked like the descriptions of sorcerer’s sand she had heard, although she had never actually seen any. It stood out clearly in the candle light, and the light of the moon overhead.

Symbols were drawn with the same white sand. They were inside the circle, points of them touching the outer boundary of the circle at irregular intervals. Margaret had never seen the symbols before, but she knew some of the elements of them from an old book. They spoke to the underworld.

About halfway in from the outer white line and candles, eleven sisters sat in a circle. Margaret stared harder, trying to see in the dim, flickering light. It looked as if each had a hood over her head, with holes cut for the eyes. They chanted in unison. Shadows from the Sisters extended inward to a point in the center.

In the center lay a woman, naked, except for a hood like the others. She lay on her back, her hands crossed over her breasts, her legs pressed together.

Twelve. With the one in the center, that made twelve. She searched the circle of Sisters again. Even with the candles, it was still dark, and the candles were to the Sisters’ backs.

Her eyes stopped on a form on the opposite side of the circle. Her breath caught in her throat. That form was larger than the rest. It was hunched, its head lowered, and without a hood. It sat at a convergence of lines in the symbols.

It was not a Sister. With a start, she saw the faint orange glow. The statue with the quillion was resting in its lap.

She and Jedidiah crouched, frozen, watching the circle of Sisters as they chanted. After a time, one of them, to the side of the hunched form, stood. The chanting stopped. She spoke short, sharp words in a language Margaret didn’t know. At points in the speech, her hand shot into the air, flinging sparkling dust over the naked woman in the center. The dust ignited, bathing the hooded Sisters with brief, harsh light. At the flash, they all answered with odd, rhyming words. She and Jedidiah exchanged looks, her own confused, frightened feelings reflected in his eyes.

The standing Sister flung both hands up, calling out a list of strange words. She went to the naked woman, stood at her head, and threw up her arms again. The sparkling dust caught fire once more. This time, the orange glow from the quillion brightened.

The head of the hunched form slowly rose. Margaret made a silent gasp when she saw the face of the beast. Its fanged mouth opened with a low growl. The Sister drew a delicately wrought silver scepter from her cloak, and gave it sharp shakes as she chanted again, sprinkling water over the prone woman.

Something was happening to the quillion. It brightened, and then dimmed. The dark eyes of the beast watched the naked woman. Margaret stared, wide-eyed. Her heart pounded so hard it felt as if it would tear a hole in her chest.

As the quillion faded, the beast’s eyes began to glow orange. The same color orange as the quillion. As the quillion dimmed, the glow in the beast’s eyes intensified, until the little statue was dark, and the thing’s eyes shined bright.

Two more Sisters stood. They moved to each side of the first.

The first knelt. Her hooded head lowered, looking down to the naked woman. “It is time, if you are sure. You know what must be done; the same as has been done to us. You are the last to be offered the gift. Do you wish to accept it?”

“Yes! I am entitled. It is mine. I want it.”

Margaret thought she knew both voices, but she wasn’t sure because the hoods muffled their words.

“Then it shall be yours, Sister.” The other two knelt beside her as she pulled a cloth from her cloak, twisting it between her fists. “You must pass this test of pain to gain the gift. We cannot touch you with our magic while it is being done, but we will help you as best we can.”

“I will do anything. It is mine. Let it be done.”

The naked woman spread her arms. The sisters to each side leaned with all their weight on her wrists.

The Sister at her head held the twisted cloth over the hooded face. “Open your mouth, and bite down on this.” She put the cloth between the woman’s teeth. “Now, open your legs. You must keep them open. If you try to close them, it will be a rejection of what you are being offered, and you will lose the chance. Forever.”

The naked woman stared fixedly up at nothing. She panted with fear, her breast heaving. Slowly, she spread her legs.

The beast stirred, giving a low grunt.

Margaret put a hand on Jedidiah’s forearm, her fingers digging into him.

The beast sniffed the air. As it slowly unfolded itself, Margaret saw that it was larger than it had looked when it was all hunched over. It was powerfully built, looking mostly like a man. Flickers of candle light reflected off sweat slicked, knotted muscles of its arms and chest. Downy hair started at the narrow hips, growing coarser further down the legs, until at the ankles, where it was the longest, thickest. But the head was something other than a man. It was a horror of anger and fangs.

A long, thin tongue flicked out, tasting the air. The eyes glowed orange in the dim light, orange with the power of the gift it had absorbed from the quillion.

As it stretched out on its hands and knees toward the naked woman, Margaret almost gasped aloud; she recognized the beast. She had seen a drawing of it in an old book. The same book in which she had seen drawings of some parts of the spells before her. She wanted to scream.

It was a namble. One of the Nameless One’s minions.

Oh dear Creator,
she prayed fervently,
please protect us.

Growling in a low rumble, its powerful muscles flexing, its haunted eyes glowing orange, the namble edged like a huge cat toward the woman on the ground. Head low, it crawled between her legs. In a state of ragged fear, the woman still stared up at nothing.

The namble sniffed at her crotch. Its long tongue flicked out, running over her. She flinched, making a small jerk of a sound against the cloth in her teeth, but she kept her legs open. Her eyes did not move. She did not look at the namble. The Sisters in the circle began a soft chant. The namble licked her again, slower, grunting this time as it did so. She squealed against the rag. Beads of sweat shimmered on her flesh. She kept her legs wide apart.

Rising up on its knees, the beast gave a throaty roar to the black sky. Its, pointed, barbed, erect phallus stood out, plainly silhouetted against the candles beyond. Muscles bulged in knotted cords along its arms and shoulders as the namble bent forward, putting a fist to each side of the woman. Its tongue licked out around her throat as it gave a vibrating rumble of a growl, and then it lowered itself, covering her with its massive form.

Its hips hunched forward. The woman’s eyes winced shut as she screamed against the cloth in her teeth. The namble gave a quick, powerful thrust and her eyes snapped open in a panic of pain. Even with the cloth clenched in her teeth, her screams could be heard over the chanting each time the beast knocked the wind from her, adding more force to the shrieks.

Margaret had to force herself to take a breath as she watched. She hated these women; they had given themselves over to something unspeakably evil. Still, they were her Sisters, and she could hardly bear to watch one being hurt. She realized she was shaking. She clenched the gold flower at her neck in one fist, and Jedidiah’s arm with her other as tears streamed down her face.

The beast thrashed at the Sister on the ground as the three Sisters held her. Her muffled screams of torment ripped at Margaret’s heart.

The Sister holding the cloth finally spoke. “If you want the gift, you must encourage him to give it to you. He will not surrender it unless you overcome his control—unless you take it from him. You must win it from him. Do you understand?”

Crying, her eyes shut tight, the woman nodded.

The Sister pulled the cloth away. “Then he is yours now. Take the gift, if you will.”

The other two released her arms and the three of them returned to their places in the circle, taking up the chanting with the others. The woman let out a wail that turned Margaret’s blood to ice. It made her ears hurt.

The woman flung her arms and legs around the namble, clutching herself to it, moving with it, moving with the chanting. Her screams died away as she panted with the effort.

Margaret could watch no longer. She closed her eyes and swallowed back a wail of her own that tried to force itself from her throat. But even with her eyes closed, it was no better. She could still hear it.
Please, dear Creator,
she begged in her mind,
let it end. Please let it end.

And then, with a husky grunt, it did. Margaret opened her eyes to see the namble still, its back hunched. It shuddered, and then slowly went limp. The woman struggled to breathe under its weight.

With strength that seemed impossible, she at last pushed the namble off her. Chest heaving, it rolled to its hands and knees and slunk back to its place in the circle, folding itself into a dark bundle. The chanting had stopped. The woman lay on the ground for a time, panting, recovering. She was covered with a glistening sheen of sweat that reflected the yellow light of the candle flames.

Taking one, last, deep breath, the woman came smoothly to her feet. A dark stain of blood ran down her legs. With a calm awareness that sent a chill up Margaret’s spine and caught her breath short, the woman turned to face her, pulling off her hood.

The menacing orange glow in her eyes faded, and they returned to the pale blue with dark violet flecks that Margaret knew so well.

“Sister Margaret.” Her tone was as mocking as the smile on her thin lips. “Did you enjoy watching? I thought you might.”

Wide-eyed, Margaret rose slowly to her feet. Across the circle the Sister who had held the cloth also rose, and pulled off her hood. “Margaret dear, how nice of you to show such interest in our little group. I didn’t know you were that stupid. Did you think I let you see the quillion in my office by accident? That I wasn’t aware someone was interested? I had to know who was skulking about, looking into things that were none of their concern. I let you see it. I wasn’t sure though, until you followed us.” Her smile froze Margaret’s breathing. “Think we are fools? I saw the pool of Han you cast for us to step in. I obliged you. Such a shame. For you.”