The Thirteenth Scroll (14 page)

Or could she be reading it all wrong? As Giraldus had said, it did not make sense to travel this far out of their way.

Aurya unrolled the scroll and laid it out on the same table as the map. Using her finger to follow the words, she read them
aloud, pronouncing each one carefully.

They were to cross the “
heart of the flower”
to the “
farthest high paths
.” She was certain that meant Urlar; the eight outer provinces encircled the capital province like the petals of a flower
and they were heading toward the mountain passes. But then came several phrases that made no sense, beginning with and containing
several of the ubiquitous references to “Prophecy’s Hand.”

“
… Prophecy’s Hand shall point the way, and the Three Sisters shall be found. The Three Sisters looking west face not the path
but mark the hidden. So shall Prophecy’s Hand again reveal; the forgotten shall be remembered. The unspoken must be heard
and with Prophecy’s Hand unite
.

“
Find then the water that runs between the tall hollows.…”

Here, Aurya once more felt she understood what Tambryn meant. She sat back and closed her tired eyes.
Prophecy’s Hand
—it was always Prophecy’s Hand that confused her. If only she could find some clue to tell her what, or who, it was, perhaps
then the rest of this passage—and all the other oblique places within the scroll—might become clear.

And, perhaps, she told herself, she would not understand until she actually arrived where she was meant to go and saw the
things about which Tambryn had written. Either way, they were going to Yembo.

Aurya got up and paced the room. She had ordered a flagon of wine sent up with their meal earlier. Now she stopped and poured
some for herself. The feeling that there was something she had failed to see or do nagged at her.

Aurya drained the cup, grimacing at its inferior quality, and poured herself another. This room, while not elegant, did boast
the comfort of its own hearth, with chairs set before it. She added more wood to the brightly burning flames and centered
one chair before the hearth. She would use the fire as a focus while she attempted a Far-Seeing over time and distance. She
hoped her magic would reveal what she was missing and show the future of their travels.

She took one more sip of the wine then put the cup aside. She would need it later. What she was attempting took both strength
and courage. Once she entered the tangled skein of lives and times, she might lose the single line that was herself and become
endlessly trapped in the etherworld. But with everything they planned depending on this journey, Aurya was willing to face
the danger.

Aurya closed her eyes; she had never let fear keep her from what she wanted. She took a deep breath, slowly to the count of
four, held it… exhaled just as slowly, and held that as well. She did this three times. Then, with the fourth breath, she
felt herself enter her quiet place within, the place where the external world stilled as if it stopped between seconds, and
where magic reigned.

Aurya opened her eyes. The fire before her still burned, but its crackle and dance had been slowed, silenced. She
stared into the flames, seeing but not seeing, letting her eyes focus both within and beyond. Soundlessly, she began to chant,
her lips forming the words only her mind spoke.

Magda, Queen of Darkness and Light; Mother of Time, enfold me.

Anu, Weaver of What Is to Be, take my hand; show me the path I must follow.

Teslaigh, Reiba, first to bring light to the mortal world, I call on ye for aid;

Guide me in my quest and lift the veil from my inner eyes.

Let my eyes become as Your eyes; lift the darkness that shadows the future.

In Your wisdom and Your power, show me all that I must do;

Then will I vow myself Your servant eternally, body and spirit
.

Aurya did not have long to wait before she felt the first stirring of those presences on whom she had called. They were ancient
forces, gods and goddesses served by the Kings, sages, and sorcerers who had once been mighty in this land—before the Church
had come to convert the people and banish the old ways.

When Giraldus is King
, she promised herself—promised the ones
she
still served—
it will be as it was before
.

Aurya felt the shift within herself that told her the magic was building. She whispered the names of power once again:
Magda… Anu… Teslaigh… Reiba
… She felt first emptied then filled again. Before her eyes, the fire grew dark. Then slowly… slowly… a spark of light
began at its center. It expanded, became a bright tunnel down which her awareness flew.

In her peripheral vision, distorted images formed and passed dizzyingly. Seen and not seen; stretched beyond recognition.
Spinning. Sliding. Twirling. Aurya’s stomach lurched dangerously close to emptying itself. Still the images sped by.

Then, by the force and strength of her will alone, she finally managed to focus on the path ahead. She wanted to shut her
eyes, too, but she dared not. Down the tunnel she sped, riding on light and thought, on will and breath.

The light exploded, shooting outward like shards of splintered glass. Each piece was a new destination, a possibility of fate
discarded. Aurya was not interested in possibilities; there was only one outcome she wanted to see.

She was still chanting the names of the old ones under her breath, still calling on the ancient gods to help her. Now, as
the sensation of rushing forward began to abate, her words slowed. Though her lips moved, no sound passed them.

Slowly, new images began to form within the window in the flames. They were hazy at first, indistinct like a painting viewed
from afar. With each passing second they became clearer until at last she recognized the figures.

But not the setting. She saw herself and Giraldus in a place of stone and of treasure, where gold and gems mingled with granite
and limestone to form walls that looked unhewn. It was a place of both wildness and beauty, each strangely augmenting the
other.

She had the feeling that she and Giraldus were not alone, but she could not make out who, or what, surrounded them. The people
or creatures were indistinct splotches of darkness amid the surrounding light. And they were closing in.…

The vision stopped. Abruptly, she was back in her chair, staring at the flames. But the spell was not broken. Before she had
time to do more than draw a breath, the sensation of fleeing forward began again. This time she was prepared; this time her
stomach did not twist and turn.

Again she saw herself and Giraldus. As the vision cleared, she saw they were on horseback. Behind them rode a force of arms,
though how many she could not see. They were approaching the great cathedral in Ballinrigh. The bells of the cathedral were
clamoring wildly; she could feel the ringing like the pounding of her heart.

What does it mean?
her heart asked the powers she had called upon. But no answer came, leaving Aurya to draw her own conclusions. Were they
coming to the cathedral in triumph? she wondered. Were they there to claim the crown—or to attack?

Still no answer came—and the vision disappeared.

This time the spell also snapped, breaking like a frayed thread. To Aurya, it came like a physical blow. Her head jerked back
as if someone had slapped her. Lights exploded behind her eyes, and, for a brief moment, her mind reeled.

Then it was over, the sensations gone, and she was left panting in her chair.

Aurya was thirsty, as she had known she would be. She picked up her wine cup and drained it, no longer caring if the wine
was good or bad. Then she rose and began to pace the room, glad that no one was there to witness her agitation. She was dissatisfied
with the revelations her spell had wrought. More than that, she was angry. She had called on the old gods, honored their power—why
had they chosen to show her such obscure and meaningless moments?

“
The Great Ones guard their secrets
,” she remembered old Kizzie telling her, “
and they do not give them up easily. What they reveal will be of their choosing, not yours. You must learn to look deeply
into the heart of each vision and understand what they are telling you. Such meanings are not always easily understood. Patience,
child—always remember patience
.”

But try as she might, Aurya could not find any answers in these visions. And, although she often lectured Giraldus on the
need for patience, just as Kizzie had once lectured her, that virtue was eluding her right now. She needed to know.
Now
.

Aurya stopped pacing. She refilled her wine cup a third time, emptying the pitcher. With a deep breath, she forced the thoughts
of the future from her mind and turned instead to the past, to Tambryn and his scroll, and to the one other thing she might
try in order to find her answers—if she dared.

This conjuring would be far more difficult. The future, especially the near and personal future such as she had just viewed,
was a thread of time still bright with use. With the gift and the proper training, it was easily found and followed. At any
fair there were gypsy women who claimed to see the future and would tell you, for a price of course, what lay ahead. It was
a role she had played herself in order to meet Giraldus. She, therefore, understood better than most that the majority of
these “gypsies” were fakes, performers who based their “predictions” on the experienced understanding of human desires rather
than true magic. But Aurya also knew that there were, occasionally, true seers among them whose visions of the future could
not be dismissed.

But to go back into the past, either to let one’s spirit walk among the long-dead or to call the spirit of one of
them forward—that took true magic. Aurya only dared it because need demanded no less. To visit the past, especially a past
six centuries distant—to find that one silver thread amid the tangled weavings of existences already spent and follow it back
to its source—that was a profound magic Aurya had never tried.

If something went wrong, her spirit could become trapped in the past, unable to find its way back to the present life. Or,
if her spell was not precise, her skill not equal to or greater than the spirit she now thought to Summon, what awaited would
be worse than death or oblivion. Her body, her will, her powers, could be overpowered by what she had conjured and compelled
to do its bidding here. Her body would live on as before, but without a consciousness or mind to call its own.

Taking a sip of her wine, Aurya went back to sit before the fire. She closed her eyes and concentrated, going through the
spell she would use to be certain she remembered it all. When at last she felt ready she went to the door and opened it, listening.
Finally, she heard Giraldus’s voice, one among many, raised in an old drinking song. She smiled; when Giraldus reached this
stage, it could be safely assumed he would be hours yet in his cups.

Satisfied, she closed the door and locked it. She could not risk interruption. Then she went to the table and cleared it,
rolling up both the map and the scroll. The map she put aside; the scroll she kept with her to use as a guide. She then turned
the chair away from the fire and pulled it up to the table. Finally, she found a single candle in its holder by the bed, brought
it to the table, and lit it.

When the candle was burning brightly, Aurya extinguished both the lamps in the room. All was ready for her to begin.

She took a seat in the chair at the table. Closing her eyes, she again began her slow breathing to center herself and call
forth her magic. Once she felt that inner door open, she opened her eyes and focused on the candle. Without moving her sight
from the tiny flickering flame, she reached to her belt and drew out her small dagger. She passed it through the candle flame,
keeping her breath slow and steady as she softly began to chant in the old tongue.

“Tan ac dur, tan ac dur…

*

“Fire and steel, fire and steel;

Power to burn, power to kill;

I summon thee, I gather thee;

All power unto myself…”

*

She said the words three times, once with each pass of the blade through the flame. The candle was a small fire, its flame
symbolic, but touched by the magic she was summoning, its heat was magnified far beyond its size. Aurya felt herself start
to sweat as the dagger blade began to glow.

The third rotation completed, she drew another deep breath… then laid the hot blade to the palm of her left hand and sliced
quickly and cleanly.

Burning pain seared through her as her flesh separated and blood began to flow. Moving quickly, she used her own blood to
draw a circle on the center of the table. Inside the circle, she drew a pentagram, each point of the five-pointed star touching
the outer circle. At the center of the star she drew another circle; its center became an inward-closing spiral. Aurya then
lifted the candle from
its holder, dropped some hot wax onto the very center of that spiral, and placed the candle there.

She held her hand above the candle so that her blood dripped onto the flame. She had no fear of it extinguishing—inside the
circle, only magic could put out that fire. As the smell of burning blood began to swirl about her, Aurya began her incantation.

“
Middyr
,” she called to the ancient god of the underworld. “I give Thee blood to pay the passage from Thy dark world. Blood and fire
to feed Thee. Let Thou one specter pass and come again into this world. Guided by this flame, which blood has consecrated
to Thy service, I call forth Tambryn to stand before me, held within this circle of blood.”

Aurya took the scroll and laid it across the pentagram inside the circle.

“To the words his hands created, I summon Tambryn’s spirit. By this circle bound; by blood and fire captive.”