Read Online Sorceress of Faith by Robin D. Owens - Free Book Online Page B

was
pitifully grateful that she didn’t have to take everything on faith, walking
into a fog without a clue as to the landscape around her. Alexa would help her.
Marian was not alone .
    Just
the thought of the other woman energized her.
    “I’ll
be right there,” she called out to Bossgond, a Sorcerer who would teach her
magic.
    She
stretched, feeling her muscles pull, feeling something inside her that had been
squashed and cramped, unfurl—a butterfly-breaking-open-her-cocoon feeling.
    She
would practice wonder , learn all she could of magic, in relation to
herself and to Andrew. He’d expect her to live life in the moment, wring
everything she could out of each experience, good or bad, not worry about being
in control or making mistakes.
    So
she put on the shoes and forced herself to admire the feel and look of them.
Then she marched to the toilet closet and took some tissue and blew her nose,
washed her face with water from a tap.
    Then
she went out her door to find out if “oeuf” meant egg.
    She
ascended the stairs to Bossgond’s quarters one floor above her own. When she
reached the door there was something like a harp hanging on it. She pondered
for a moment and decided it must be a doorbell or a knocker. Running her
thumbnail over the strings released a ripple of sound that echoed through the
tower and plucked a couple of strings inside her, too—excitement and
anticipation.
    Bossgond
opened the door, wearing a short tunic that showed his bony knees, a large
yellow bird embroidered on the front. The garment was cut so full that it hung
on his slight frame. He stood aside and Marian entered.
    His
space looked much like hers—windows letting in spring sunlight, shelves all
around the room, a desk, bathroom closet and a partition hiding the bedroom.
But it was as warm as a summer’s day—and the warmth felt more natural than the
central heating she was used to at home. Perhaps it was the humidity, or the
scents the air carried—fading spring blossoms and the start of summer.
    The
word oeuf meant omelette—a mild cheese omelette along with croissants
and hot chocolate with whipped cream. They ate at a table near his fireplace.
The fire flickered rainbow flames and Bossgond let her watch them, examine the
room and eat in peace.
    When
they finished, with a wave of his hand the dirty dishes disappeared. If she
were on Earth she could have marketed that for a fortune—but where did the
dishes go, and would they return? If they returned, would they be the same dishes, but clean? How clean would they be? Would bacteria still live—
    Bossgond
chuckled. “I see many questions in your eyes,” he said, enunciating each word.
    Marian
nodded and he nodded back. Apparently that was the same, too, nodding as
agreement.
    He
rose slowly and his joints popped. She frowned. He could make the dishes
disappear but had trouble rising? With motions and two or three attempts at
rephrasing the question, she made herself clear.
    “I
have great Power,” he said, rubbing his fingers together in a gesture like the
one that meant “money” back home. “And my will and the Power make magical tasks
easy, but my body is old and physical tasks are not easy.”
    Marian
wanted to know how old he was, but it was rude in her culture to ask and she
didn’t know the rules of this society. She just looked concerned and nodded
again.
    He
pointed to the center of the room where three thick oriental-looking rugs were
layered. Huge pillows lay atop them along with several small tables that held
objects: odd bottles—and were those wands?—and a couple of knives.
    Marian
hoped the knives were used ritually and practically, like in Wicca, and not for
bloodletting and sacrifice. From the corner of her eye she studied Bossgond.
She could take him in a physical fight, but if he used magic she was sure she
could be bound and gutted in the blink of an eye. She shuddered.
    The
old man chuckled again and went to lower himself to the rugs. He