Morrigan's Cross
Page 45

Tall cupboards with doors of rippled glass held crystal and pottery in rich jewel tones. Possessions, he thought, of a man of wealth and position, who had an eternity of time to collect them.
Did any of the things mean anything to Cian? With so much, could any single thing matter?
On the larger server were two tall candlestands of silver, and Hoyt wondered if they did—or if they had, at least.
They had been his mother’s.
He lifted one, and had the image of her—clear as lake water—sitting at her wheel and spinning, singing one of the old songs she loved while her foot tapped the time.
She wore a blue gown and veil, and there was ease and youth in her face, a quiet contentment that covered her like soft silk. Her body was heavy with child, he saw that now. No, he corrected, heavy with children. Himself and Cian.
And on the chest beneath her window stood the two candlestands.
“They were a gift from my father on the day of my wedding, and of all the gifts given, I prized them most. One will go to you one day, and one to Cian. And so this gift will be passed down, and the giver remembered whenever the candle is lit.”
He comforted himself that he needed no candle to remember her. But the stand weighed heavy in his hands as he took it up to the tower.
Glenna looked up from the cauldron where she mixed her herbs. “Oh, it’s perfect. And beautiful. What a shame to melt it down.” She left her work to get a closer look. “It’s heavy. And old, I think.”
“Aye, it’s very old.”
She understood then, and felt a little pang in her heart. “Your family’s?”
His face, his voice, were carefully blank. “It was to come to me, and so it has.”
She nearly told him to find something else, something that didn’t mean so much to him. But she swallowed the words. She thought she understood why he had chosen as he had. It had to cost. Magic asked a price.
“The sacrifice you’re making will strengthen the spell. Wait.” She pulled a ring from the middle finger of her right hand. “It was my grandmother’s.”
“There’s no need.”
“Personal sacrifice, yours and mine. We’re asking a great deal. I need some time to write out the spell. Nothing in my books is quite right, so we’ll need to amend.”
When Larkin came to the door they were both deep in books. He glanced around the room and kept to his side of the threshold. “I’m sent to fetch you. The sun’s set, and we’re going into evening training.”
“Tell him we’ll be there when we’re done,” Glenna said. “We’re in the middle of something.”
“I’ll tell him, but I’m thinking he won’t like it.” He pulled the door shut and left them.
“I’ve nearly got it. I’m going to draw out what I think they should look like, then we’ll both visualize. Hoyt?”
“It must be pure,” he said to himself. “Conjured with faith as much as magic.”
She left him to it and began to sketch. Simple, she thought, and with tradition. She glanced over, saw he was sitting, eyes closed. Gathering power, she assumed, and his thoughts.
Such a serious face, and one, she realized, she’d come to trust completely. It seemed she’d known that face forever, just as she knew the sound of his voice, the cadence of it.
Yet the time they’d had was short, just as the time they would have was no more than a handful of grains in the sand of an hourglass.
If they won—no when, when they won—he’d go back to his time, his life, his world. And she to hers. But nothing would ever be the same. And nothing would ever really fill the void he’d leave behind.
“Hoyt.”
His eyes were different when they met hers. Deeper and darker. She pushed the sketch toward him. “Will this do?”
He lifted it, studied. “Yes, but for this.”
He took the pencil from her, added lines on the long base of the Celtic cross she’d drawn.
“What is it?”
“It’s ogham script. Old writing.”
“I know what ogham is. What does it say?”
“It says light.”
She smiled, nodded. “Then it’s perfect. This is the spell. It feels right to me.”
He took that in turn, then looked at her. “Rhymes?”
“It’s how I work. Deal with it. And I want a circle. I’ll feel better with one.”
Because he agreed he rose, to cast it with her. She scribed fresh candles with her bolline, watched him light them.
“We’ll make the fire together.” He held out his hand for hers.
Power winged up her arm, struck the heart of her. And the fire, pure and white, shimmered an inch above the floor. He hefted the cauldron, set it on the flames.
“Silver old and silver bright.” He set the candlestand in the cauldron. “Go to liquid in this light.”
“As we stand in the sorcerer’s tower,” Glenna continued, adding the jasper, the herbs, “we charge this flame to free your power.” She dropped in her grandmother’s ring.
“Magicks from the sky and sea, from air and earth we call to thee. We your servants beg this blessing, shield us in this time of testing. We answer your charge with head, heart and hand to vanquish the darkness from the land. So we call you three times three to shield those who serve you faithfully.
“Let this cross shine light to night.”
As they chanted the last line, three times three, silver smoke rose from the cauldron, and the white flames beneath it grew brighter.
It flooded her, light and smoke and heat, filled her as her voice rose with his. Through it, she saw his eyes, only his eyes locked on hers.
In her heart, in her belly, she felt it heat and grow. Stronger, more potent than anything she’d ever known. It swirled in her as with his free hand, he threw the last of the jasper dust into the cauldron.
“And each cross of silver a shield will be. As we will, so mote it be.”
The room exploded with light, and the force of it shook the walls, the floor. The cauldron tumbled over, spilling liquid silver into the flame.
The force nearly sent Glenna to the ground, but Hoyt’s arms came around her. He spun his body around to shield hers from the sudden spurting flames and roaring wind.
Hoyt saw the door fly open. For an instant, Cian was framed in the doorway, drowned in that impossible light. Then he vanished.