Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1) (37 page)

"Are you all right?" I asked. "You look a little, I don't know, harassed."

"I hope so." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I've just been having a bit of a tussle with a new magickal tool I bought. Come inside."

Nicholas opened the front door of Ravenscroft's. I stopped in surprise. It looked like a tornado had come through the store. The pretty green banker's lamp on the front desk lay on the floor in pieces. Beyond, books were strewn on the floor. In the middle of the mayhem lay a three-sided iron dagger, nearly ten inches long. The handle had three grim demonic faces on it, contorted in a variety of snarls and leers.

I walked over to take a closer look.

"Don't touch it!"

As Nicholas strode over to take my arm, the dagger rose into the air and hung suspended for a moment. The nearest face on the handle appeared to be watching him.

"Don't – you – dare," he said to the dagger. It remained, throat-high, in a momentary standoff, before sinking slowly back to the rug.

"What is this thing?" I asked, kneeling several feet away.

"It's a Tibetan ceremonial dagger called a Phurba," Nicholas said, "a tantric magickal dart. I just got it today. We were getting to know one another."

"What are you planning on using it for? I wouldn't rely on any tool that appears to want to stab you in the throat as much as this thing does."

Nicholas ran his hands through his hair again, another nervous gesture I had come to recognize in this man who so rarely revealed he was bothered by anything.

"I planned to use it to sever your binding to Nuin. Severing bonds is one of the most effective uses of the tool." He shot me a pointed look, "along with capturing demons. Remember, the book said the entity is only susceptible to magickal weapons." He sagged into a chair, clearly frustrated. "But over time, the Phurba tends to develop a will of its own. It must become familiar with the personal power of the user, and agree to work cooperatively." He scowled at the dagger. "This one is
not
cooperating."

"Did it come with instructions?"

"It was made in the eighth century, Samantha."

"Hmmm." I stood and walked carefully to the dagger, sitting down cross-legged beside it, studying the angry faces on the handle.

Then I picked it up. Nicholas raised his hands in alarm and the dagger jittered in my hand. I twirled it gently between my palms and it quieted.

It was surprisingly heavy. I cradled it in both hands. "What's it made of?"

"Meteoric iron." He answered without taking his eyes off the blade, again pointing in his direction.

So that's why it's so heavy
. "How would you know if it has agreed to cooperate?"

"It appears to have accepted you. I wonder why?" Ravenscroft eased behind the chair next to Nicholas, his movements slow and deliberate. "The blade itself is morally neutral to start with. The affinity for either good or evil comes about as the result of the user's state of mind and intent. If it accepts you, you then ground it in a pot of soil or rice, depending on what your planned use is for the tool."

"I would think soil," I mused, turning the Phurba in my hand. It vibrated slightly, like an animal twitching as it sleeps.

"I agree." Nicholas gestured behind his head to a clay pot sitting on the demolished bookshelf. "But I never got that far."

I carried the Phurba over to the pot. Pushing the blade into the soil up to the hilt, I smiled. "Okay, I think we're good to go."

Nicholas stared at the hilt sticking out of the pot, and then turned his gaze to me. "You amaze me, Sam." The astonishment was evident in his voice. "You really do."

"Now and then," I replied softly. "Now and then."

Chapter 54: Spirit Ways

Sinclair packed and tied his bedroll and added some wood to the fire. He could feel the Dark One coming, had felt its ominous presence for several days now.

He knew this being had been good once, long, long ago, in the days when the land was more alive and rocks and trees spoke freely to men. But Man's spirit had decayed, and the Dark One became angry, a mirror of Man's bitterness. Now the Dark One had no heart but ice, a heart of death and destruction.

Sinclair was deeply offended that sacred land was to be the site for the conflict, but he wasn't surprised. The Underworld creatures were drawn to spiritual energy, and this site had steeped in centuries of ancestral spirits. Their blood, their bones, and their tears, had nourished this land. So no, he wasn't surprised. He did think it foolish, however, for the enemy to encroach on his turf, the land he knew so well. He loved it, and it supported him in return.

As
wicasa wakan,
a shaman, his role had always been to keep his People safe. Now that he could see how the prophecy would unfold, he had an added human to protect. He must ensure the newest member revealed in the prophecy—the Caller he had been watching for, waiting for—had all the powers possible on her side. This evil ice, it can be captured in rock, the shaman thought.
Wakan Tanka,
Mother Earth protects herself.

He added sweet-grass and sage to the fire, purified his body, and spoke words of prayer. When he was cleansed, Sinclair sang his request to the rocks he had collected, one for each direction, plus one for the sky, and five more for the grandfathers of earth, water, lightning, thunder and wind. He wanted a full-fledged storm; one that would eat the moon, so the Dark Priest's ceremony would not be lent the power of the moonlight.

He cut another bundle of limbs from the creosote bush. He used twenty each day, leaving the leathery leaves on the branches near the tips.

At sunrise and sunset, he stirred the sacred water in his gourd, envisioning a storm cell forming in its center. He dipped the fragrant creosote branches in the water and flung the droplets in all four directions, asking the winds to follow on the heels of the rain. At midnight, he dripped hot sap on the rocks, beseeching lightning strikes quick and strong.

Last night he had seen the demon struggling to come through. He had traveled alone to look into the thing's face. Its malevolent eagerness and greed weighed heavily on his soul. Its power was building; he could feel the pressure through the ground under his feet.

Someone on this side, above earth, was aiding it, lending it power. Soon it would be strong enough to rise and walk on its own.

At least he'd been forewarned. His father, his father before him, and every descendant since Wakanda, had all prepared each other for the possibility of the demon's return.

But not now, not if he could help it. Its heart is formed of ice, death and destruction
,
he thought.
But I will ask Grandmother Earth to capture it, capture it in her arms of rock.

To stop it, he would offer it something better than its planned vessel. He would offer it something it couldn't resist.

It took four full days' work to call in the weather.
Taku Skanskan,
master of chaos, and his sons, the
Wani
of the four winds, had to be approached with respect and deference. They were billions of years older than man and did not accept commands from any mortal.

But they listening to him and were considering his request. The pale moon last night had rings around it, a favorable sign.

He uncrossed his legs and stood. His muscles had stiffened and his aged body protested. He brought more wood to the fire, knelt and blew on the embers, watching the glowing red center expand. When he threw on a handful of twigs, an orange flame danced. Only then did he add the logs. The fire would have to last all night, and tomorrow night as well.

Then he would take his bird shape. And wait.

Chapter 55: Ties That Bind

Nicholas sent me upstairs for a pre-ritual bath while he finished his circle preparations in the library.

When I finished, I came down and sat the Phurba pot in the center in the center of the circle. Nicholas closed the circle with salt and then dedicated and sealed it with his athame, turning slowly in place three times and speaking the incantations in a sure voice.

Despite my nervousness, I had to admire his skill. The man cast a hell of a circle. I could feel—no,
see
—the faint dome of white energy around us.

He rubbed his palms together briskly. "All right. I'm going to be in the circle with you, and I'm going to tell you what to do, but you must be the one to do everything." He gave me a long and serious look. "I won't be able to help you much once we start."

I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. "I can do this. I
will
do this."

"Good girl." He gave me a brief hard hug and kissed me on the forehead. "I'm going to put shielding around you for this. If anything gets loose from you, you'll be protected until I can banish it from the circle. If we do the visualization together, it will be stronger."

I nodded.

"When you've visualized shielding before, what did you use?"

I smiled and wrinkled my nose at him. "Don't laugh. I use the slimy, dripping covering, like the Harry Potter invisibility spell."

"It's a great image." Nicholas nodded. "Easy to work with." He set his hand on my shoulders briefly and then extended both hands with palms crossed a few inches above my head. "Guardians of the Watchtowers of the four elements, confer upon this woman your protection and hold her safe from the principals of darkness. So mote it be."

A glow appeared below his crossed palms. As he drew his hands apart, the glow stretched between them and descended to encircle my head, slowly covering my shoulders and arms.

I shivered as he worked, feeling the cold protective layer sliding down my body. It thinned as it dripped, until there was but a faint glimmer clinging to my fingertips. Finally, Nicholas gave his fingers a slight flip, as if flinging off water from the tips, and the shield separated from him and molded to my body.

"Just relax and let it form to you, while I do mine."

When he was finished, Nicholas held out the pot containing the Phurba dagger. I pulled it out of its soil bed and cradled it in my lap.

"Remember, I'll only be able to give you instruction. Are you sure you're up to it?"

I sat up straighter and turned to face him. "I'm positive. I am beyond ready to get this creep away from me."

"When they come, you'll know it," he said.

"They? You think there are more than one?"

"I know there are, I was at the binding ceremony," he answered grimly. "But it's the leader's essence you'll sense."

I stirred and rolled my neck, trying to loosen the tension.

Nicholas recognized my discomfort. "Listen to me carefully. Once we begin, you must keep your mind open. You're going to want to draw inward, to protect yourself, because there may be pain.
Don't do it.
You must keep your
mind open
so you can see the psychic binding and cut it."

He took my hand. Mine was clammy; his felt dry and cool. "Let's look around first, so you'll know exactly what to do."

I swallowed and gave a tight little nod.

Still holding my hand, Nicholas began his slow instruction. "Close your eyes and empty your mind, just as we've practiced."

I closed my eyes, letting all thoughts drift away, listening only to his voice.

"Look around. Do you see some kind of line or rope, maybe a strand of light, leading off in the direction you feel you're being called from?"

Keeping my mind blank and open, I swept my psychic gaze in a circle. At the corner of my closed eye, a strand of pulsing red light trailed away from my body and across the circle out of sight. "I see it," I whispered.

"Good," Nicholas replied, just as softly. "Now let the vision go and come back to me."

"Wait." I continued looking around in my mind.

"There's a cord to you too."

"Leave that one." His voice sounded strained. "Open your eyes. Now you know your target. Use the blade of the dagger to cut the cord. And
don't move
," he said fiercely. "No matter what happens, don't leave this circle. If you're tempted to run,
don't
! Whatever is attached to you will try to frighten you into bolting from your protection, because it can't see you unless you run."

"Don't move. No matter what, don't move," I repeated like an obliging parrot.

Nicholas squeezed my hand a last time and released it, then calmly closed his eyes. I re-crossed my legs and put my hands on my knees, letting myself sink into the familiar lotus position. The incense and the candle light relaxed me and I dropped deeper into nothingness.

Without warning, a cold breeze swept across the circle. It snuffed out the candles and the room went black. My armpits dampened as I picked up the Phurba and held it at the ready. I no longer smelled incense, but the metallic, copper-penny scent of fresh blood. In my mind's eye, I saw Nuin's strand stretch taut. They were hunting in the darkness, trying to find me. Hot. Hungry. Malicious. I squeezed my eyes tighter and repeated my mantra:
Don't move, don't move.
Their anger closed around me, pressing, probing. The air in the room felt like an oven. I longed to stand up, yank open the door and run into the cold winter air outside. My legs twitched with the wanting, but I gripped the dagger and willed my mind to stay open, to watch the cord binding me to this Hell, and wait for the right time to strike.

In the background, Nicholas chanted in a rhythmic voice, "A-tah, mal-kuth," to raise the energy around us. His rhythm increased, and I opened my mouth to pop my ears and release the building pressure. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I held the Phurba at arm's length until Nicholas whispered urgently, "Now!" I brought the dagger down in a slashing motion, felt it make contact with the cord. The point of contact exploded with an unearthly violet flame, splattering glowing droplets onto my hand and arm. The liquid pooled and reformed and twined itself around my forearm. I screamed.

Nicholas leapt to my side, grabbing my arm before I could pull it back.

"It's not
there
, Samantha. It's in your mind. Fight it in your mind."

I squeezed my eyes shut and looked inward until I could see my arm, covered in the flaming liquid. I stabbed into the flames with the Phurba. "You are not THERE!" With a hiss, the phantom flame evaporated, leaving the faint odor of ozone.