Free Sorceress of Faith by Robin D. Owens Page B

perhaps it is good that you are an adult. I have little patience.”
    He’d
been fine with her so far, but she sensed she was a novelty to him.
    The
meaning of his words sank in. “From your observations? You can see into my
world?”
    “Indeed,”
he said, and waved to something that looked like an enormous set of binoculars
on a stand, aimed at a series of mirrors that reflected infinitely. She
couldn’t figure out how the device worked, didn’t know if she dared to ask to
see her old world.
    She
yearned to know that Andrew was all right.
    Bossgond
came and took the empty mug from her, offered his hand to help her up. As she
took it, the song between them uncurled again. He nodded.
    “We
have a small bond, which will grow. It is good.”
    After
she was on her feet, he released her. “Come, we must remedy your lack of a link
with Amee as soon as possible.” He held out his hand and a walking stick flew
into it.
    Marian
gulped.
    Nodding
to the table holding the wooden wands, he said, “Choose a walking stick.”
    His
words made her uneasy, but she walked to the table and picked up each in turn.
The dark red one felt the best, as if it were an extension of her arm. She
repressed the urge to wave it and say “abracadabra” or “kalamazam.” Instead she
handed it to Bossgond.
    He
grinned in satisfaction and said, “Staff!”
    The
wand grew into a walking stick as high as her head—looking like a rod or wand
from a tarot deck.
    Bossgond
handed it to her, and when she grasped it this time, a low note sounded and the
thing vibrated. Small twigs appeared, then sprouted greenery, then ivy twined
up the staff, spreading silver and gold leaves. She stared at it open-mouthed,
and again her memory was prodded—by the vision Bossgond had shown her in his
crystal ball when they’d first met. She’d had a staff just like this. No wonder
he smiled—either he’d foreseen this, or he had deduced her Power correctly.
What else wasn’t he telling her?
    Many
things, she thought. The old sorcerer wasn’t revealing anything he didn’t want
her to know, and he probably thought she knew more than she did. Her ignorance
would impede them both.
    He
took her hand and led her to the stairs, and they wound their way down the
tower to arched, double wooden doors. Marian watched intently as he slid the
bar on the door to the side and into iron brackets attached to the stone wall.
She’d be getting more than magic lessons, more than the sociology of a new
culture—she’d learn more about architecture, too. So much to learn! It excited
her.
    Bossgond
shoved open the door and they walked out into a small area paved with large
gray flagstones, then into springy green grass. The wind whisked their garments
around them, tugged at Marian’s hair. He set a hand on her head and said,
“Alam,” and her hair settled around her head. Neat trick, but she rather missed
the fingers of the breeze caressing her scalp.
    The
sunlight was yellow, clouds wispy white against a sky not quite as blue as a
Colorado spring sky. Marian shifted her shoulders as she saw forested hills
rolling to the horizon. She was used to a view of the Flatirons and Rocky
Mountains. She was accustomed to a campus full of buildings, professors and
students, not a lonely island tower with one brilliant Sorcerer.
    Bossgond
pulled on her hand and they circled the great tower, over bony rock, slippery
moss and sweetly scented grass, until they were almost halfway around. He
stilled, closed his eyes, cocked his head, then opened his lids and nodded
once. “No one watches.”
    That
was good to know—another trick Marian would like to learn. A person couldn’t
depend on atavistic itching between the shoulder blades. Bossgond squatted,
gestured to her to do the same, then indicated the top of a stone at the bottom
of the tower wall that looked well buried. He licked his finger and wiped off
some dirt, and Marian saw a tiny outline of a bird. Bossgond’s heraldic
bird—she’d