Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(89)

The sound echoed against the walls. Amyu swallowed hard, and reached for the first bowl. “Earth, element of the Plains,” she called out, holding up the bowl and crumbling clean soil into it. “I beg your presence, as witness to my plea.” She trembled inside but kept her voice steady. “Find me worthy of aid.”

She replaced the bowl and reached for the next.

“Water, element of the Plains,” she intoned as she drizzled water into the bowl. “I beg your presence, as witness to my plea. Find me worthy of aid.”

The next bowl held crushed green leaves she dropped onto a live coal. A small tendril of smoke arose as she invoked the element of air. Then the bowl where she placed fresh tinder on the coals, and a tiny flame sprang up, dancing in the bowl. Each time she invoked the element. Each time, she asked to be found worthy.

And last, the very last, she dared to break all tradition.

She held up the bowl and breathed the words. “Magic,” she announced, and her words seemed to echo off the stone walls. “Element of the Plains. I beg your presence, as witness to my plea. Find me worthy of aid.”

She gathered sparkles of power at her finger tips, and shook them into the bowl. The sparkles fell lightly, rolling around below the rim. This bowl, she placed at the top of the pattern, at the point farthest from herself.

The sword lay in the center, still shattered.

Amyu put on the Ring of Xy, and held her hands out, facing the sword. She took a deep breath, and then started the familiar chant. “Fire, water, earth, air,” she paused, then again broke every tradition she knew. “Magic. Hear my plea.”

The air around her crackled, and the hairs on her arms rose.

“Water, earth, air, magic, fire,” she said. “Hear my plea.” She continued, moving each element through the chant, honoring each in turn, weaving magic into her words. She’d honestly thought she’d be struck down by now for her daring, but it hadn’t happened.

Yet.

The air around her seemed charged with excitement that might have just been her imagination. Only one way to find out.

“Death of earth, birth of water,” she started then paused. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The bowl of magic was brighter, and the bowl of water held a vibration that had not been there.

Amyu continued, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Death of water, birth of air.”

The golden sparkles swelled, and the column of smoke trembled. Something was happening.

Her voice rose, and her words spilled out faster and faster. “Death of air, birth of fire,” she gulped.

It wasn’t her imagination. The magic was growing within the bowl, and the other elements were responding. Her heart started to beat a wild rhythm.

“Death of fire, birth of earth.” She cried out in her excitement.

The ritual words were completed, but everything seemed to hang in the air, suspended, waiting. Waiting for her to invoke— Amyu cried out what was in her heart, without thought. “Magic,” she cried, putting everything she dreamed in the words. “Weave a new pattern!”

The magic responded. A shaft of golden light shot out from its bowl to the bowl of fire. The flame within shot higher and brighter.

The magic shot out again, striking the bowl of water with a ringing sound. The water swirled, and rose, a pillar to match the flame.

The magic hit the bowl of earth with a deep ringing sound. It shook her bones.

A roaring sound filled Amyu’s ears. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, her arms outstretched in her plea.

Air now, and the bowl rocked as the smoke swirled like a twisting wind storm, surrounding the sword. The light crackled with energy.

“Elements, all, hear my plea,” Amyu cried out. “Restore that which has been shattered.”

The magic shot out, a glorious stream of golden light, and struck her full in the chest. The power flowed into her. Amyu breathed deep, trying to hold it in, trying to bear the pressure in and under her skin. She feared she wouldn’t be able to hold it, but then her eyes dropped to the shattered sword at her feet, and she knew…

She brought her hands together, and threw the magic at the sword.

A burst of heat and gold and light filled the cave, overwhelming and blinding.




Hanstau jerked in his saddle, catching himself before he fell. His horse snorted tossed its head.

Reness was instantly on alert, scanning the herd around them for a threat. “What?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Hanstau said, staring off in the direction of the sound. “Didn’t you hear it?”

“No,” Reness said. “The herd is not reacting,” she pointed out.

“It was—” Hanstau shook his head. “Remember how I said that using the power seemed noisy? I think someone just—” he stared off in the direction the sound had come from. “Someone just used power. A lot of power.”

“That way?” Reness asked.

Hanstau nodded. “What lies there?” he asked.

Reness snorted in amusement. “City-dweller,” she teased. “That way is north.”

“Xy?” Hanstau asked. They’d been wandering within the safety of the herd for so long, he’d lost all sense of direction. He flushed a bit. All sense of direction, of time, of propriety, “Xy,” Reness confirmed. “I’ve enjoyed our wandering, Hanstau. But now I think we must move with a purpose.”