Shaman's Crossing
Page 151

This last she said in a very soft, uncertain voice. I capitulated to her feelings. “I’m sorry, Epiny. I’d believe you if I could. But all my logic and reason tell me that these ‘summonings’ are simply not real. I’m sorry.”
“Are you, Nevare? Truly?” She straightened slightly, a flower refreshed by a gentle rain.
I smiled at her. “Truly, Epiny. I’d believe you if I could.”
She grinned in response and jumped to her feet. “Then I’ll make an offer to you. Let’s just turn down the lamp wicks, extinguish all but two candles, and sit around it, holding hands, in a circle. Perhaps you are right and nothing at all will happen. But if things do start to happen, you can tell me ‘stop’ and I’ll stop it. Now what could be the harm in that?”
She had acted as she spoke. By the time she finished, she had darkened the room except for two fat yellow candles burning on what had been our game table. Their wicks were short and the flames guttered shallowly in the fragrant wax. Epiny sat down in the dimness, folding her legs under her skirt. She extended one hand to Spink. For the first time, I noticed how slender and graceful her fingers were. He took her hand without hesitation. With her free hand, she patted a cushion next to her and extended her hand in invitation to me. I sighed, recognizing both that it was inevitable and that, deep down, my own curiosity was urging me on.
I settled on the cushion beside her. There was a mildly uncomfortable moment as Spink took my hand. Epiny’s waiting hand hovered in the air between us. I reached for it.
Suddenly I again felt that distortion of my senses. The room was closed and suffocating, the scent from the yellow candles so foreign that I could scarcely breathe. And the girl reaching for my hand had eyes deeper than any forest pond and fingers that could sink roots into me before I could draw a breath. Something deep inside me forbade this contact; it was dangerous to touch hands with a spirit seeker, and unclean besides.
“Take my hand, Nevare!” Epiny spoke impatiently, as if from a great distance. In my dream, I reached for her fingers, but it was like pushing my hand through congealed jelly. The very air resisted the motion, and when Epiny reached her eager hand toward mine, I saw her encounter the same barrier.
“It’s like ectoplasm, but invisible!” she exclaimed. Her voice was triumphant with curiosity, not fear. She continued to push her pale white fingers toward me like seeking roots that could burrow into my heart.
“I…I feel something,” Spink said. I heard his embarrassment at admitting it. I knew, as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud, that he had thought this “seance” all a sham, but an excellent excuse to hold Epiny’s hand in his. He had not bargained on whatever it was that was happening. It frightened him but a part of me noticed that he had not released Epiny’s hand.
“Stop!” I suddenly commanded them. My voice came out cracked like an old woman’s. “Stop, you little witch thing! By root, I bind you!”
My hand tried to do something it did not know how to do. I was shocked, shocked at my words, shocked at how my fingers danced frantically in the air between Epiny and me. I watched my hand, powerless to stop it. Epiny stared at me and Speck’s eyes were big as saucers. Then Epiny suddenly leaned forward and blew out both candles.
We were plunged into darkness. At least, my mortal eyes were. My “other” eyes, the ones that saw Epiny as foreign and strange, suddenly looked out at the dense forest in front of me. For an instant I smelled rich humus, even felt the tendrils that bound me to the tree at my back. Then someone yelped, a cry blended from surprise, fury, and, yes, a touch of fear.
The “other” left me. Suddenly I was sitting on a cushion in the dark. A tiny spark still gripped the end of one candle’s wick. It illuminated nothing, but gave me a place to fix my eyes. I heard the scratch of a sulfur match and smelled its familiar stink. I saw Epiny’s hand in the small circle of light the match made. She relit the two candles and looked from me to Spink and back again. She looked shaken, but her words were arch. “Well. As you see. It’s all people sitting in a circle in the dark, holding hands and playing at bogey-frights on one another. Still, it can be amusing, all the same.” A small smile came to her pale face. “I think you can stop holding Spink’s hand now. If you wish.”
I became aware of the bruising grips we had on each other. We dropped hands. I sheepishly massaged my crushed fingers.
“Are you all right?” Spink asked Epiny gently.
She was pale. By the candlelight, her eyes looked hollow. “I’m tired,” she said. “Tired as I’ve never been before. Guide Porilet, the queen’s medium, is often exhausted after a session. I thought it was just because she was old. Now I understand better what she feels.” Dismissing herself, she turned to me. “Do you recall what I said to you that morning, when you were departing for the Academy? I told you that you seemed to have two auras. You do. But only one belongs to you. There is something in you, Nevare. Something strong. Something very old.”