Mary Herbert - Lightning's Daughter

The sorceress bowed her head. She did not know a formal spell for summoning a being from the realm of the immortals, so she would have to create one of her own. Nara’s suggestion sounded as plausible as any idea she might decide upon. She straightened and turned to face the flat stone altar on the eastern side of the temple.

The hostages watched her in growing amazement. The clanspeople on the riverbanks who could see her muttered among themselves, wondering what was happening.

The sorceress studied the stones still standing around her. Legends said that Valorian dwelled with the gods, beyond the realm of the dead. What better place from which to summon him than a sacred temple? If there was any place on the Dark Horse Plains where the world of man touched the unseen realm of the gods, the Tir Samod was it.

“Amara, give me strength,” Gabria prayed.

Reverently, she held the golden mask up to the sky. As the sunlight sparkled on the enigmatic face, the mask tingled in her hands.

Gabria closed her eyes. One by one, she focused on the sounds around her—the curses of the gorthling as it struggled to break through their defenses, the murmur of the hostages behind her, the click of the horses’ hooves on stone, the ripple of the rivers-and one by one, she shut them out of her mind until there was only a vast silence.

Into the silence she sent her plea to Valorian. She bent her will into the magic of the mask and called him with every fiber of her being. The world around her seemed to recede until she was floating in a limitless, lightless, ethereal realm beyond the bounds of her earthly senses. She went without fear into the darkness and continued to call Valorian with her heart, mind, and soul.

Time passed, although Gabria did not feel it. Her mind was wrapped around the image of a tall, dark-haired warrior with a cleft chin and the look of eagles in his face. She had to find him. The safety of his people depended upon it.

Her summons went on without pause until, far ahead in the horizonless distance, she saw a light appear like sunlight through a crack. Gabria moved instinctively toward it, staring at the brilliant, shimmering golden radiance until its power filled her being and tested the measure of her spirit. A warm sense of comfort and familiarity enveloped her.

The mask shifted in her hands. The light vanished, and the sounds of the world rushed back. Around the island the Hunnuli horses neighed a trumpeting welcome. Gabria was so surprised she opened her eyes and looked at the mask.

The most vivid pair of blue eyes she had ever seen looked back at her.

The death mask twitched, stretched, and the mouth suddenly lifted into a smile. “I have come, Daughter. As you have asked.” The golden face spoke in a voice both powerful and kind. Its words rang out over the island and were heard as far away as the riverbanks.

Gabria nearly dropped the mask in astonishment. She had not known what to expect when she tried to summon Valorian. She had only used the mask as a focal point for her spell. She raised the mask up again.

A question formed in her mind, but she could not bring herself to ask if this truly was the Hero-Warrior from the clans’ distant past.

The mask glowed with a pure radiance, the same light Gabria realized she had seen in her mind. “I am he whom you have called. I am the essence of the man once named Valorian.”

For a moment, Gabria was overcome with joy and awe and an overwhelming desire to cry and laugh at the same time. “I can’t believe you have come,” she said, trying to calm her’ shaking hands.

“Your power is strong, my daughter. Your need must be great.”

“Forgive me, Lord. I have to ask you something that only you can tell me.”

“I will listen. But ask your question quickly. I cannot stay long in this world.”

Gabria shot a glance at the three magic-wielders. Sayyed, already weary and injured, was concentrating fiercely on the spell, and it was obvious to her that he was tiring fast. Tam was ashen, and even Athlone was beginning to look strained. The shield was a difficult spell to maintain, even without the added strains brought on by the gorthling’s constant barrage of destructive magic.

Quickly she turned back to the death mask and looked boldly into the eternal blue eyes. “My lord, one of the Geldring men has summoned a gorthling.”

The mask frowned. “How?”

“With a spell from the Book of Matrah .”

“Those spells should be stricken from all human knowledge. There are some things best left alone by man. Where is this gorthling now?”

“Here. It possessed the man’s body and came to our clan gathering. My lord Valorian, I am the only magic-wielder with any training to speak of, but I don’t know how to destroy it.”

Valorian gazed at her with compassion. “No human, no matter how skilled, has enough power to force a gorthling back through the portal between the world of mortals and the eternal world.”

Gabria turned cold. “It has to be done,” she cried. “How do we get rid of him?”

“Only one thing in your world has the power to open a passage and force the creature back through.”

“What?”

The mask lifted its eyes to the sky. “The power of the lightning,” he said simply.

Gabria’s mouth dropped open. She was aghast. “Lightning? But no one can withstand the fury of the gods’ thunderbolts.”

“You are a magic-wielder, a daughter of my blood. Do you travel with a Hunnuli?”

She nodded.

“Astride a Hunnuli, you will be protected. They bear the mark of the lightning for good reason. Their sire, my stallion, was transformed by the lightning into the first of that noble breed of horses.”

“Lord Valorian,” Gabria said, trying to stay calm, “I cannot create a storm. Where do I find lightning on a clear day?”

“If there are more than one Hunnuli with you, they can summon a storm and its lightning.”

The golden light began to fade from the mask, and the blue eyes dimmed. Valorian’s expression relaxed, then stiffened into the one the mask had worn when Gabria found it.

“Valorian, my lord,” Gabria begged desperately. “What do I do with the power of the lightning?”

“I must go, Daughter,” Valorian said sadly. “Use the lightning to send. . . it . . . back.”

A faint echo followed the final words, as if they had been spoken across a great and hollow distance. Then the mask was still and lifeless once more. Gabria stared at the golden face and willed it to speak again, but it was too late. Valorian was gone, beyond her reach.

“How do I wield lightning?” she called in despair to the voiceless stones. There was no answer here, she knew, and now there was no more time. The gorthling was using a fierce blue barrage against the shield protecting the little group. Already the force field was beginning to waver. Sayyed looked ready to pass out, and Athlone’s teeth were clenched as he concentrated.

“Hold on!” Gabria cried to her friends. “Nara,” she yelled over the noise of the gorthling’s attack. “Call the King Stallion. Tell him to summon a storm.”

Beyond the island, the King Stallion replied with a strident neigh. We have not called the lightning in generations of our kind. We will try.

The ring of black horses abruptly lifted their muzzles to the sky. The Hunnuli on the island, even the colt and the wounded Afer, joined their silent communion with the air. Only Nara and Eurus did not include themselves in the call, deciding instead to keep alert in case their riders needed their aid.

To the Hunnuli’s advantage, the afternoon was perfect for a storm. The day’s heat and a humid wind had already formed billowing clouds in the blue sky, and several little rain squalls patterned the far horizons. As the Hunnuli herd concentrated their power, darker clouds began to gather overhead; the rain squalls moved closer. The horses strained, but the ability they had inherited from their sires served them well.