Warren L. Douglas The Sacred Pool

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.It wouldhopefully cause the soldier to see his wife not fat and blowsy, with missingteeth, but as when he first met her, when he burned with the heat of youthfuldesire before his humping had become no more memorable than using thechamberpot.* * *Later, Anselm complimented her."Your spell persists even now," he said.Pierrette was confused until she realized he was referring not to the minorenchantment of the soldier, but to her femininity."It's no spell, Master,"she replied, smiling happily, spinning around so her white skirt billowed."You see me as I am without benefit of sorcery or incantation.""Don't be so sure it's not magic," he said, "though I'm sure it's a mostnatural kind."* * *There was no word from the abbess, which meant Marie remained unchanged.Herabsence was an ache, a void Pierrette became aware of at odd moments when hersister's voice might otherwise have been heard, or when she returned homebrimming with things to say, and no one but Gilles to speak with.She felt useless, because she could do nothing to help."If ever I have achance," Pierrette vowed, "I will, no matter what the cost to myself."As spring wore into summer, Pierrette was content with her ongoing experiment.Anselm's confidence grew, and his tentative dabblings with genuine sorcerycaused no perceptible drain on his vitality.He worked only those spellsPierrette had studied and in some cases modified, fitting their ancientassumptions to the way she perceived the world to work today.The activities of Ligurian sprite and dark Celtic ghost multiplied in effectas folk attributed even the most natural of coincidences to them.ThosePage 103ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlattributions strengthened them, as she observed firsthand when she met withthem in the high forest south of the dragon's bones.* * *The campsite was unoccupied.She made fire with a grand flourish that causedbranches thick as her thumb to burst into flame without tinder.The leaves ofa feral olive close to the hearth rustled with the gust of the sudden fire.But no gust had moved her long, loose hair.She stepped back, eyeing the bush.The long, silvery leaves drooped, as if thefire's heat had wilted them.Two olives, green-gold, hung at the level of hereyes, about that distance apart."Guihen?" she whispered now afraid that what she saw was not the sprite, butsomething else, something with eyes that took their pale shine not fromfirelight, but from some less benign source.She backed away and was rewardedwith a jolly laugh."Ha! I did it!" Guihen exclaimed, dancing on one foot then the other."Ifooled you! Now tell me you did not see an olive tree.""I did," Pierrette admitted, smiling at his joy in his successful illusion,and from relief that he was, indeed, Guihen, and not some more sinisterpresence.The sprite stroked the fat white hen cradled in the crook of his arm."Nowwhat do you see?" he cried, his words suddenly echoing as if from within adolium, a grain vessel tall as a man.Pierrette saw.nothing.Rather, she saw a background of bushes and treesthat faded into night's darkness which was what Guihen desired her to see.Then, as suddenly as he had disappeared, he was back."I was invisible, wasn'tI?" he crowed."Truly invisible.""Indeed.I saw right through where you stood, as if you had faded entirelyaway.""Don't say that! It had nothing to do with fading away.The principle iswholly different.""I'm sorry." This confident Guihen needed to be reminded that his new successwas one small skirmish in a greater battle.Still, she chided herself forletting her fearful mood swing into momentary cruelty."I'm feeling guilty, Isuppose, because in your joy I saw myself.I've been thinking more of mysuccesses than of the evil in this world, which concentrates itself while Iplay."Guihen settled by the fire."I suppose we must speak of such things.""Let's wait until our dark accomplice arrives.Unless he is already here.""I would know!" Guihen shuddered."Don't you like Yan Oors?""Like? It has nothing to do with that.It's his staff! That great pole oftwisted iron.My bowels flux at the memory.""Is that old wive's tale true? Does iron really repel you?""If you had been there when I was a boy, when Celt horsemen came in theirfour-wheeled war carts, you wouldn't ask.Iron cuts bronze.and they cutus, who knew nothing of nsi, the black metal."Was that the origin of wood-folks' aversion to iron? Had the Celts' conquestof the Ligures who worked only bronze and copper become an aversion that grewuntil iron itself, not its bearers, was the enemy? More to the point, had thatbecome not just an observation but a postulate thus fixing the deadly natureof nsi into a reality more than historical? She must study certain old, fadedspells with that in mind."John of the Bears comes," Guihen said, tilting his head.Pierrette discerned a muffled, regular sound."His staff," Guihen said, againshivering."He swings it as he walks, so it strikes the ground every pace,Page 104ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlevery other step, just after his right foot lands."Pierrette eyed shadowy woods.Yan Oors.She did not need to look right andleft for the glow of green eyes to identify it: no faded ghost stepped forth,but a man.He wore a black leather shirt and a kilt cut in strips over his thighs likeRoman pteruges, and over the shirt a vest of linked mail.His gauntness engendered theepithet "Starved John," but he was not starved.Muscles flexed beneath the curly hair on his arms.His sandals, lacedGreek-fashion, exposed the tops of great, dirty feet.His thick fingers wereas knobby as his toes.His face held Pierrette's gaze.A ferocious face, aterrifying face but she was not afraid.Yan Oors smiled.Deep crevices fissured the corners of his mouth like slashwounds from nostril to chin.Crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes, in skin the texture and shade ofold leather.Big white teeth glittered with red firelight, matching thewhiteness around brown, warm eyes.His hair and bushy, pointed eyebrows werethe same brown.His nose dominated everything a great, crooked beak,asymmetrical from some old break.Wide, hairy nostrils flared when hebreathed."Welcome, John of the Iron Staff," Pierrette said in old Gallic."Please shareour fire."He pointedly rested his staff against the bole of an oak tree, nodded towardGuihen, and came forward."Thank you, pretty lady," he said in the same language [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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