The sorceress snuffed out the flame. “You try. Concentrate on your purpose and speak a command.”
Gabria gazed at the candle. She tried to picture a flame in her mind, then she said, “Light, candle.” A tiny flame puffed and died out.
“Concentrate!” the sorceress ordered. “Focus your will on that candle.”
The girl tried again. She dosed her eyes and demanded, “Light, candle.” This time the candle’s wick flickered once and lit in a gentle, yellow flame. Gabria opened her eyes and smiled.
“Good,” stated the sorceress. “You are beginning to understand. You must know exactly what you are trying to do or the magic will go awry. That is why we use spells.” She snapped another strange word and the candle’s flame went out. “Now,” the woman continued. “It is possible to do almost anything you desire with magic. But it is vital to know exactly what you want to do before you begin.”
Gabria nodded, fascinated by the old woman’s teaching. “What are some things you cannot do with magic?”
“You cannot create something out of empty space. You have to use something that is already there. See.” With a brief word, the sorceress changed the candle to an apple. “You can alter form or change an appearance, but you cannot create.”
“But what about the Trymian Force?”
“The Trymian Force, like a protective shield or any kind of visible force, is formed from the magic within you. That is why it is important to know your limits; you must not weaken yourself so much that you cannot control your spells. Remember that if you duel Medb.”
The old sorceress brought other small items to the table and had Gabria practice basic spells: changing the object’s form and altering its image, even moving it around the chamber.
As Gabria’s confidence grew, her skill developed in leaps and bounds. She learned how to form the intent of a spell into the words that would trigger the magic and how to dismantle a spell before it went awry.
The sorceress, surprised by Gabria’s rapid progress, taught her other spells of healing and shape-changing, and the rituals for the arcane duels. She also taught the girl the best spells to control the Trymian Force, call it at will, and most important, to defend herself against it with protective shields.
At last, the old woman nodded in satisfaction, and her wrinkled face creased in a smile. “You have learned all that I can teach you. Now you must teach yourself. Practice what I have told you, learn your limits and your strengths. Remember the dangers if you lose control of the magic.” She went to an old battered chest by the wall, pulled out a small silk bag, and brought it to Gabria. “Go back to the clans. When you are ready, open this bag. Inside is the last item you need to become a full sorceress. The item will help intensify your powers and mark you as a true magic-wielder.”
The old sorceress sank into her chair and was silent. Gabria leaned back feeling numb. The girl looked about her, amazed, for the time with the sorceress seemed so unreal. She wondered how long they had been in the chamber.
Gabria began to stand up, but immediately her exhaustion caught up with her. Her body sagged, and she caught the chair to keep from falling. She took a weak step toward the stairs that led up to the entrance. What day was it? How long had she been there?
“I must go,” she mumbled.
The sorceress raised her hand and a spell caught the girl before she fell. Gently, she laid Gabria down on the floor. The girl was already asleep. For a moment, the woman stared down at her with glee in her heart. Never had she known an ability so strong.
This girl had strength, will, and talent, and if she did not lose her wits, she had a good chance of defeating Medb. The old woman rubbed her hands together and cackled with pleasure.
Once Medb was dead, Gabria could return to the marsh and pay her price, a price the girl did not need to know about. The sorceress’s hands moved over the girl and she muttered a spell, one of the few complex incantations she still remembered.
She was stunned when the spell failed. She knew that her powers were weak, but the girl’s natural defenses were not that strong. There had to be something else. The woman quickly searched Gabria’s clothes until she found the small stone ward.
Her eyes flew wide when she recognized it, for she thought all those wards had been destroyed. She shrugged, pocketed it, and recreated the spell; this time it worked perfectly. Chuckling to herself, she went to rest. It had taken the last remnants of her strength to force the spell on the girl, but it would ensure the payment was made if Gabria had to crawl from the edge of the grave to deliver it.
Gabria came awake and sat up in confusion. She was lying on a pallet in the chamber beneath the mangrove and there was no sign of the sorceress. Daylight glimmered through the hatch that led up to the tree trunk.
“Oh, gods,” she whispered. “What day is it?” She jumped up in frantic haste and gathered her belongings. Her cloak and food bag were lying nearby, already replenished, and her water bag was full.
Something scratched at the wood outside, and the otter peered down through the hatch. It chirped when it saw Gabria was already awake.
Gabria flung her cloak over her shoulders. “I have to go,” she muttered to herself. “I have been here too long.” She climbed the steps, crawled through the hatch into the tree trunk, and peered through the crack in the tree. She remembered that it had been sunny when she arrived at the mangrove, and now the rain was falling in sheets and the clouds were low and heavy above the trees.
Gabria grasped her bag and followed the otter down the tangled roots to the small boat that bobbed on the tugging tide. The wind whirled past her head and yanked at her cloak, but she ignored it just as she ignored the rain. Only one thought prayed on her mind: How long had she been gone?
The journey back through the marshes was long and tedious. Gabria poled the boat with quiet desperation while the otter led her through the labyrinth of reeds and channels. Unerringly the animal found the river’s main current and followed it laboriously upstream. The rain fell incessantly; the clouds moved sluggishly inland, pushing the tide ahead.
Fortunately, the otter had taken a shorter route through the marshes to find solid ground. Gabria had approached the marshes from the north, where the delta encroached farther inland. By following one of the main channels west, the otter cut off many miles of their journey.
A few hours after sunset, the rain stopped, and, for the first time, Gabria saw an end to the rushes and marsh grass. The river had swung away from her to the north in a great loop that eventually turned west again. Not far from Gabria, the marshes ended abruptly in a bold scarp of arid hills that were the last bastion before the great plains.
Gabria poled the boat ashore near the fringes of the reeds. The channels had dried to shallow pools and stagnant meres, making it difficult to travel by boat. The girl tugged the craft up onto the bank and stood gratefully on solid ground.
The otter glided to her feet and sat up, its round eyes glistening. It chirped and waved a paw at her. Then, with a flick of its tail, it dove into the water and was gone.
“Wait!” Gabria lunged after it, but the otter had vanished. The girl slid to a stop before she fell in the water and looked dolefully at the marsh. She had hoped the sorceress’s guide would lead her back to Nara.
Water dripped into Gabria’s eyes as she scanned the marshes to find her bearings. Although the rain had stopped, the impenetrably inky clouds were a solid, sinking roof. She was cold, wet, and miserable. Gabria knew vaguely where she was, for the hills that began near her feet stopped the southern encroachment of the delta. However, she had to go north. Nara waited for her on the northern edge of the marshes; now, between them, lay the silt-laden Goldrine River.