Mercedes Lackey - Lamma's Night (anthology)

"And it is my honor to attend," I replied, uncertain of my voice. I looked at my hands and arms, found them to be close replicas of what I once was... but my body was dead and decaying in the ground somewhere. I was only a facsimile, and one which I doubted would last.

Ah, but likely last long enough to sire her child! I heard Demonheart call from behind me. He was deep in the shadows, kept out by the effective circle she had cast, but near.

At least, for the moment, I was free. Demonheart had no control over me here, within her circle. I must act quickly...

"I am not what I seem," I blurted out. "The evil I tried to defeat took my life while I sat at the very table at which you have dined many times, and he means to use me to conquer you! You must rework the spell! Send me on, I cannot live again. This," I said, holding my arms up, "this isn't real. I am not alive, really. I am flesh only for the moment."

No! You cannot do this... Demonheart howled, but he could do nothing.

"I see," she said, and I saw with relief that she really did. "I trust you. The evil could not have come from you."

"Please. Send me on." Demonheart was summoning his forces back in the shadows, and for a moment I doubted her circle would keep them all out. "For your own sake, rework the spell!"

I wanted to hold her, make love to her, amid the swirling leaves. Behind me Demonheart was encouraging me to do just that, and I knew that to give in to my wants would mean certain victory for him. And that could not be.

"Do it, now," I said. "For the sake of the folk of this village. It must be defeated."

"Yes," she said.

The relief I felt was tainted with the pain of knowing I would not, after all, hold her as a man would. So be it. I would win in the long run.

Demonheart's silence was ominous, and as the wizard worked essential points of her spell I looked back to see an army of wraiths ready to attack. Whether they would be successful or not, I did not know.

With a tear in her eye, the wizard said the final word.

" Go ."

The world collapsed around me. I felt pulled upwards, my body dissolving into nothingness. I became aware of a light, bright light.

With the force of a million storms, I was pulled into the light of the waning moon.

Jody Lynn Nye

Vinory dreamed again of the sunflower tall, yellow-fringed, with a strong, thick stalk bowing slightly under the weight of its heavy head. Everything about the dream flower seemed normal, except that instead of tracking the sun throughout the day, its face followed her,

There were plenty of sunflowers in the garden outside, but why would she dream about them instead of the roses or asters or herbs? All this place was new to her. She had come here only a few days ago. Glad for the promise of shelter against the coming winter, Vinory had not questioned too closely the circumstances under which the position of village wonder worker became vacant. Otherwise she might have shouldered her pack and pressed on farther down the road, regardless of the holes in her boots.

Now, those boots had fresh, entire soles, and winter receded to far away in the future. Moreover, there were whole woollen blankets on the feather bed, also blessedly hers, and free of vermin, thank all gods! The three-room cottage was not merely nice, but sound, well-proportioned, and well-built. It smelled of dry herbs and dust, but what of that? Half an hour's sweeping and dusting, and some of her own herbs scattered on the air or boiled for the scent had driven away the ghost of dead parsley and sage. The headman's wife had made her guesting gift of oats, tea, honey, salt, a new loaf, some dried meat, and a small crock of wine, with the promise of good food every day. Whatever she needed, they would give. Somewhere, they told her, there was a black and white cat for company, but he tended to go about his business as he chose. This could be a nice sinecure, all the benefits to stay with her, or go, as she chose, if only Vinory would at least stay through until spring. The people of Twin Streams had no one else to weave the spells to protect them from the storm or the spirits who rode it. Their last mage had died in the spring. Vinory was a gift to them from the gods, and they treated Her as such.

The dream symbol of the sunflower kept preying at her mind. This was no ordinary bloom. It had a distinctively masculine presence, teasing at her with a faint, fresh-washed scent and the insouciant flaunting of mature sexuality. Did a god's presence touch this house?

If such a visitation was troubling her, she wanted to see it off! Vinory needed a whole mind and a whole heart to take care of the villagers. Some of them had been saving up a list of spells and nostrums they needed, against the time that this cottage would house a mage again. Vinory would be busy from morning 'til night for weeks to come.

"Good morning, Mistress Vinory," the headman said, when she came to take care of his youngest daughter, who was suffering from night terrors. Bilisa also had a head cold and was breaking out in webbing between her toes and fingers from handling an enchanted frog, but those were quietish maladies, not calculated to make her scream in the dark and wake the house.

"Now, think of something bright," Vinory told the girl, a mite of six, with big dark eyes and long braids framing a pale, moon-shaped face. "Something that gleams. Keep it in your mind." Vinory spun a disk of metal between her fingers, gathering sunlight from the beams that came in the window to store in the girl's mind. "Think of yellow, like buttercups and primroses."

And sunflowers, a quiet voice said in the back of her mind.

When the girl's mind was eased and her other problems treated, Vinory returned to her cottage and hearth. She mustn't start thinking of the cottage as hers, she warned herself, as she started a pot of porridge to cook. The mage-born really belonged nowhere in this world. They were only loosely tied to physical existence. Love of possessions made it more difficult to travel across the Veil to accomplish their spells and curses. But how easily she could get used to earthly comforts! Her cup and bowl, spoon and knife looked very homey on the mantel beside the goods of the departed Master Samon. The reflection the mirror showed her had silver threads showing near the scalp in the black wings of her hair; and fine lines ran in patterns on her weathered skin beside her dark blue eyes and the corners of her mouth. Her body would one day grow old. Would this not be a nice place to stay until the time came when she abandoned it? Hastily, she put the thought aside.

Next to the hearth was a wooden chest that Vinory hadn't dared to open as yet. It was unlocked, and the hasp was flipped upward as if its owner had been about to open it when.... The villagers said that the last mage died unexpectedly. Could it have been poison, or was the latch made of a deadly metal? Vinory prayed to be shown the truth, whispering a few words to the void.

The wind howled outside suddenly, making her gasp with its ferocity. But she saw no black spots or shining, sickly greenness on or about the lock or the chest to suggest that it would do her harm. She reached for it again.

It seemed to her that a warm hand brushed hers when she pushed the heavy lid open. Cobwebs, Vinory told herself. You're imagining things.

To her delight the chest was full of books. That made sense. It was placed handily so one could reach for a book and read by firelight. Vinory hummed with pleasure as she took the clothbound volumes out one by one and laid them on the fleece that served as a hearth mat. There was a Geographicus Mundi , a handsome herbal in Latin, and several books of charms and spells. Some of the books were handwritten, all in the same strong, beautiful hand, and peppered with tiny illuminations. Among the goods on the wall shelves were pots of paint and brushes made of twigs and hair. Had these drawings been the work of Samon? Then he was a scholar and an artist! She was sorry now not to have met him. And now these lovely things were hers to use. Vinory felt an unexpected sensation of warmth, as if the house gave her its blessing.