A Shadow Bright and Burning (8 page)

It struck me as odd that most sorcerer women belonged solely to antiquity, as if the glory of female magic were some crumbling myth to be debated by scholars.

“Now, no more talk,” Agrippa said. “It's time for the lesson.” He bid me to remain where I was, at the center of the star. They formed a triangle around me. “Sorcerers are strongest in numbers, working best in groups of three. We're forming this triangle and allowing you to stay in the center so that you don't have to work as hard in the beginning.” Agrippa took out his stave. “You haven't named yours by any chance, have you?” He looked pleased when I nodded. “Excellent. Do as I do and say its name.” He brought his stave to the floor, crouched down, and whispered, “Tiberius.”

I copied him and whispered, “Porridge.” Magnus snorted in pleasure. The blue light crept back into the carvings.

“You call power when you do that.” Agrippa noticed my timid handling of the stave. “Do you understand its purpose?”

“Er, it's a magical piece of wood?” I realized that my book knowledge would take me only so far in this course.

He smiled. “In concert halls, a conductor takes his baton to command the music. It's the same principle here. Your stave directs the elements of the earth as a baton directs instruments.” He circled me and continued. “You're at somewhat of a disadvantage. There are six required maneuvers for commendation, all of them enormously tricky. Four demonstrate your mastery of the elements, one shows warding proficiency, and one highlights a specific skill. The young gentlemen have been training since they arrived in my home two years ago. We'll have to work hard to have you ready by late June.” Sorcerers were always commended on Midsummer Eve, so that gave us nine weeks. Not much time at all. “George, if you would please demonstrate water?”

Blackwood went to a small table, on which sat objects to help with the training. He picked up a bowl of water, brought it over, and set it down in front of me.

“Allow me, Master,” Magnus said, sliding past Blackwood.

“George is more skilled at water play, Julian.”

“But Howel should get an idea of sorcerer form, and I'm the best example of that.” He winked at me. I pretended not to notice. He really was a shameless flirt.

Magnus readied himself. With a whispered word, he swung his stave like a sword. The water before him began to spin, rising into the air from its bowl. He turned and, with a sweep of his arm, brought the water to circle around him.

With one decisive whip of his stave, Magnus raised his arms, and the water flew up over his head, re-forming into a flurry of snow. He struck into the air, and the snow grew into a storm that chilled the room with its power. With another fast movement, Magnus morphed the snow into jagged-looking shards of ice. He sent them flying but stopped them before any of us came to harm. Finally, he summoned the ice back and melted it into a threatening black cloud. He punctured the cloud, and the water rained down into the silver bowl. Not a drop was spilled.

When he'd finished, Magnus slammed the end of his stave to the floor. His breathing was heavy, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He looked enormously pleased with himself.

“What do you think?” Agrippa asked.

I could feel the raw energy buzzing over my skin. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. “I'll have to do that?” I swallowed.

“First you must learn to channel the element,” Agrippa said. He picked up the bowl and emptied it in front of me. The water grew into a perfect round circle, stopping inches from the toes of my slippers.

“What should I do?” I breathed deeply and prepared.

“Try to get it into the air, in an orb,” Agrippa said. “With your stave activated, take it in hand and touch the carved symbol for water.”

I did as he asked, pressing my fingers against the triangle. It glowed briefly.

“Now,” Agrippa said, “touch your stave to the floor, your left knee bent. Yes, your left knee specifically. Bring the stave up slowly. Clear your mind.”

“How do I shape the water if I can't think about it?”

The sorcerers' reactions were interesting. They looked as if I'd said something both amusing and grotesque. “You don't shape it so much as you let it be shaped through you. Sorcerers ask permission; they don't take control.” Sensing I'd made a colossal blunder, I blushed. “Again, bring the stave up. Feel it in your marrow, the water floating up from the floor.”

I felt like I was only standing there, moving my arm in a silly way. Every time an image entered my head, I quashed it.

The water didn't move, not even a ripple.

“Try again.” Agrippa frowned. My stomach gave a painful lurch. I did as he asked. After three more tries, I huffed in frustration.

“I'm sorry. Shouldn't I be able?” How hard could this be, with three sorcerers aiding me? How incompetent was I? I searched Agrippa's face for the smallest signs of disappointment.

Agrippa didn't respond.

“You've enough power to make something happen, Miss Howel,” Blackwood said. “That it doesn't is mystifying.”

“Don't scare her, Blacky,” Magnus said.

“Enough,” Agrippa snapped. “Miss Howel, you mustn't worry.”

“Should it be this hard?”

He clearly debated with himself for a moment. “No, I don't believe it should.”

What kind of prophetic savior can't even complete the easiest task?

“You mustn't worry. Keeping a clear mind isn't easy, especially for someone who's never trained as a sorcerer before. I'll give you some breathing exercises to help control your thoughts. Now. Try again,” Agrippa said. He crossed his arms and watched. I did as he'd asked.

My anxiety rendered my mind blank, just like he wanted. But whenever I touched Porridge to the water, nothing happened. Two hours ago, I'd created a wind current. Why was it so difficult now?

My powers, whatever they were, seemed to work only when I was actively thinking. But that was
wrong.

Suppose the queen would not commend me? Suppose I was a failure? They would put me on the street for certain, and Rook would go with me. No. He wouldn't lose his security because of me.

“Miss Howel, stop. You'll hurt yourself.” There it was, that tinge of disappointment in his voice. The water would not move.

I thought of Gwen, beautiful Gwen in her beautiful room. Had she felt like this? That if she didn't please him, she would die a little inside? Or had she always been secure in his love, as a daughter should be? I felt like a changeling, a peevish, whining, solemn creature stealing beautiful Gwen's place and lingering in Agrippa's house, to feed off him and give nothing in return.

There was no trace of a smile on Agrippa's face. Beside him, Blackwood watched with interest. Frustration sparked something inside me. Bright light appeared at the edges of my vision.

Magnus said, “Well, perhaps the Ancients aren't fond of crossing puddles.”

A great sweep of flame covered me, not blue this time, but orange and blood-red at the heart. Agrippa and the boys threw up wards to protect themselves as the fire reflected in the walls and ceiling. As quickly as it had appeared, the fire died.

“Why did I do that?” I put a hand over my chest; my heart was pounding.

“I've no idea,” Agrippa said.

I had been so frustrated, so furious. Instinctively, I decided not to mention this to the others. They'd responded to my question about control in such an odd way; perhaps it would only cause trouble. “What's wrong with me?” I asked.

“Nothing's wrong,” Agrippa said. “It's odd, of course. Usually, when supported by three others, when in a triangle…But this is helping no one.” He scratched his head and sighed. “Perhaps we've begun a bit too soon and fast. Miss Howel, why don't you rest this afternoon? We'll speak more at dinner.”

I did not want to rest. I wanted to fight on until I'd conquered the lesson, but I sensed Agrippa needed time to think. To reflect on my failure.

“Of course,” I said, praying that no one heard my voice waver. I left, pretending that I didn't feel how heavy their gazes were on me.

T
HERE WAS NO TALK OF THE
training at dinner, but afterward the butler asked me to follow him to the library on Agrippa's orders. Feeling ill, I walked down the corridor to two large oak doors. Inside, the room took my breath away.

The shelves rose high above my head, with a ladder that stretched to the uppermost volumes. Huge bay windows looked out onto the garden. Several green velvet armchairs clustered before the hearth. The firelight flickered on the walls and the carpet, with the occasional snap of wood the only noise. I padded into the room and admired the shelves bursting with books and the portraits hung on the walls. I recognized Agrippa's image, but examined the others more closely. Some had been painted recently, judging by the style of clothing, and some dated back hundreds of years.

One particular image drew my attention: the painting of a great house on an emerald lawn, fringed on all sides by a dark wood. The house glowed in the sunlight. I couldn't tell if the dark, foreboding woods lent the place its air of grandeur and beauty or if the house's splendor caused the woods to appear more threatening by contrast. Something about it stirred my imagination, like a scene from a fairy tale. I felt in some way that I'd been there before.

“Do you like it?” Agrippa said, startling me. He stood behind me, smiling at my curiosity.

“It's exquisite. Are these all books on magic?” I glanced around.

“No. Sorcery doesn't require much literary knowledge. Only scholars or magicians write anything. But my father was a great reader, and so am I. I've the most extensive collection of magical theory and history in London, I'm proud to say.”

The thought of devouring centuries of sorcerer history excited me. “I should love to read one or two, if I may?”

“We'll set up a little desk for you by the fire. I'll have my personal librarian make recommendations.” That was generosity itself. I wanted to hug him, but of course refrained. He motioned for me to follow. On either side of the great bay windows hung a tapestry, and Agrippa bid me to stand before the one on the left. “This is a special creation. It was fashioned by the Speakers in the Dombrey Priory.” I'd heard of it. Dombrey—
d'ombre,
French for “of shadow”—was one of the great jewels of English sorcery. But I hadn't known how the Speakers communicated until now.

“They're weavers?”

“The Speakers drink the juice of the Etheria flower, a night-blooming plant that increases psychic ability. It leaves them in too much of a haze to have a proper conversation, but they see their visions and weave them.”

I took in the details. A great white hand reached into the sky from a tangle of black trees. Tongues of fire bloomed from the tips of the five fingers. In the center of the palm, two lions flanked a shield: Agrippa's own seal.

“They created this sixteen years ago,” Agrippa said, reaching out and stroking the fabric with two fingertips. “So many of the tapestries the Speakers make seem confusing, and no one had a clue what this one meant. The words, especially, seemed like nonsense.”

“Words?” I looked closer, and, woven along the tapestry's edges, I could make out:

A girl-child of sorcerer stock rises from the ashes of a life.

You shall glimpse her when Shadow burns in the Fog above a bright city.

You shall know her when Poison drowns beneath the dark Waters of the cliffs.

You shall obey her when Sorrow falls unto the fierce army of the Blooded Man.

She will burn in the heart of a black forest; her fire will light the path.

She is two, the girl and the woman, and one must destroy the other.

For only then may three become one, and triumph reign in England.

I wasn't too keen on being told I must destroy one part of myself, but seeing Agrippa's obvious pride, I chose not to mention that. “Even after the Ancients attacked, no one thought of it,” Agrippa said. “But six years ago, on an inspection of the priory, they found the tapestry again. ‘Shadow' and ‘fog' are obviously an allusion to Korozoth. ‘Poison beneath dark water' has to mean Nemneris, the Water Spider. ‘Sorrow falls unto the army of the Blooded Man'—that
must
mean R'hlem. The tapestry seemed to identify the Ancients, and to give us the key to their demise.”

“I can't possibly best all the Ancients by myself.”

He laughed. “No, we wouldn't expect that. It seems obvious, though, that a girl-child, a sorcerer, one presumably with some aptitude for fire, is needed.”

I looked to the other tapestry on the right side of the window. “Is that from the Speakers as well?”

“No, an Agrippa family heirloom.”

This tapestry displayed a hunt for a white stag, with medieval ladies in pointed hats and long-sleeved gowns watching as sorcerers burst into the fray, wielding staves. One fallen sorcerer touched the lips of a young boy who knelt by his side.

I pointed at them. “What's he doing?”

“It's a way to share power. Magnus did it yesterday, when he marked you with his blood. He gave you the temporary ability to use his stave, as this man is allowing his human servant to wield magic for a time. Sorcerers in battle would often do that if they were too weak to continue.”

The young boy's forehead bore the image of a star, presumably drawn in blood. So that was what Magnus had painted on my head. Extraordinary. “Can you teach me how to do something like that?”

“I can and will teach you everything,” Agrippa said, leading me out of the library. “When I've finished, you'll be commended, and all will be well.”

“Then you don't doubt?” I asked. I couldn't bear to look at him. “After my failure this morning?”