Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [62]
Larajin dropped to her knees, lowering her face almost to the surface of the water. The result was as she'd hoped-one of the rats loomed larger. Now that she could peer at it closely, she saw that its front legs were hairless and pink, and ended in tiny human hands.
"I recognize that creature!" she cried. "It's a rat from the sewers under the Hunting Gardens. Leifander must be in the Hulorn's dungeon."
Rylith's face paled.
Larajin stared in horror at the pond. She reached out for Leifander, but as her fingers touched the surface of the pool his image rippled, then was lost among the pebbles at the bottom of the pond. All that remained was the speckled red petal, bobbing amid sparkling reflections of the sun.
A different voice, equally melodic, but pitched in a different key, said, Go to him.
This time, Larajin didn't look around. She knew where the voice was coming from. It was Sune this time. Scooping the petal from the pond, she turned to the druid.
"That spell you used-the one that brought us here. Can you use it to send me back to Selgaunt?"
"I could, if I had visited Selgaunt, but I have never been to that city. The spell can only deliver me to somewhere I can recall well-to a place I can visualize as clearly as the palm of my own hand."
"What if I was the one who visualized where we were going? Would the spell work then?"
Rylith shook her head. "It would have to be a place of refuge, a place in which you felt utterly safe, and you would have to be the one to cast the spell."
"I see." Larajin scooped the petal from the stream. "Teach me."
Rylith shook her head. "Impossible! Only a druid of the inner circle can cast that spell." "Could a cleric do it?"
"One who had studied for many years, certainly." "I don't have years," Larajin gritted. "Tell me what to do."
"You will never succeed."
"I've got to at least try."
Rylith opened her mouth to protest, then set her lips in a grim line. "Yes, I suppose you do." She took a deep breath. "First, you'll need something sacred to your goddess."
"Which one?"
"Whichever favors you more."
Larajin considered, uncertain of the answer. Would it be Sune or Hanali Celanil? Both had blessed her in the past. Should she use Sune's red scarf or the locket that symbolized Hanali Celanil? Then she realized that she didn't need to choose. There was one thing sacred to both goddesses. She held up the red petal.
"That will do. Now use it to draw a circle."
Larajin frowned. How was she supposed to do that? With several dozen petals, she might construct a circle on the ground, as Rylith had done with her powder. With a lump of coal or a stick of chalk, she might draw a circle on the stone on which she squatted, but this petal was neither.
Then she realized the answer. Carefully, she lowered the petal to the pond, and dropped it so the eddying current would catch it. As before, the petal began to drift in a circle.
Larajin looked up. "What comes next?"
"Visualize a place of refuge-a place where you feel secure and safe. A place you know intimately. Close your eyes, if that helps."
Larajin did. She could only think of one place, in all of Selgaunt, that fit the description: her bedroom in Stormweather Towers. She concentrated on it, fixing every detail of the room in her mind. The narrow bed, the table her adoptive father had made her, the three-legged stool near the window, the simple trunk that held her clothes, and the shelf on the wall that held her collection of treasures-snail shells, pretty stones, an eagle's feather, and a jar of perfume given to her by her friend Kremlar-all came to her mind's eye.
The sounds of the stream and the forest boughs creaking faded, until all Larajin heard was Rylith's voice.
"Now, if you knew how to cast the spell, you would speak the word that activates it and step into the circle."
Larajin's concentration faltered. "What word?"
"Therein lies the problem.