To Spell the Awakening

By Ripp Black

Life is a circle. Within its turning resides Witches whose souls are capable of transmigration thereby making them all but immortal, ordinary humans called Tanai, and aliens, some of whom possess certain abilities with magic. Within the circle resides conflict. 

Life is a circle. Within its turning resides Witches whose so

• Language: English
• Publisher: Orions Media Agency
• Release date: Apr 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736851203

Book preview

Prologue

Something bad was coming. The foreboding pricked like tiny needles in the blackest corners of her mind—the corners her Aunt Sidra said might someday give rise to the Sight. Dust stirred from the dirt floor as Caer squirmed, shifting from her knees to her bottom and then back again with a heavy sigh. She didn’t want such an attribute as the Sight. Not unless it manifests as fully as it did for her aunt. Awareness of dark things to come without being able to name them... Caer’s lower lip shoved forward in a pout. Unless she saw the bad thing, she had no way to avoid it; no way to prepare if she couldn’t avoid. If the Sight was to be hers, she wanted to know the details, as Sidra did. Her pout settled to a frown. Sidra knew everything.

Rising, Caer turned enough to peer over the stone bench, her knees smudging the words scrawled on the floor. She afforded them a brief downward glance, one brow cocked. Incomplete--the words to the spell she was to memorize. They simply would not stay in her head. Not with the prickling unease chasing them out. Not with her focus persistently drawn to her aunt, who stood like a stone slab before the low fire in the pit at the room’s heart. Sidra saw what bad thing was coming. She refused to speak of it, though, other than to say there would be a disturbance in the village tonight. Trouble is what her aunt meant. A lot of trouble.

The room’s single electric light flickered, the distant grinding hum indicating the powering down of the massive generators located just outside of Lilleth II’s domed colony. Soon the light would go out altogether, the generators settling to their limited night-time task of scrubbing and circulating the air. For the colonists the night’s warmth came from the residual heat accumulated beneath the dome during the generators’ daytime functioning and from the small cooking fires inside their homes. Normally Caer liked this time of the evening. No eyes peering at them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. No whispers behind their backs. Evening was the time dedicated to Caer’s study of herbs, medicinal preparations, and minor healing spells, Sidra at her side encouraging and guiding her. It was also the time she and her aunt could share their meal along with their laughter over events of the day.

Caer sucked a slow breath, her fingers fidgeting with the delicate silver chain that served as a necklace. This evening was different. Dinner was not cooking. And her lesson was nothing more than a foolish enchantment to set the room’s shadows to dancing. What purpose was there in that, aside from being busy work to keep her out of her aunt’s way?

For several long minutes, she studied Sidra. Waited for her to move. The woman remained utterly motionless, staring into the embers of the smoldering fire. Her prolonged silence coupled with the severity of her expression troubled Caer; set her to twisting her necklace around a finger so tightly that it hurt. Wincing, she sagged back down to her haunches, glaring at the offended digit as if it were somehow responsible for the foreboding that nagged at her, somehow responsible for her aunt’s peculiar behavior. If Sidra would just stop whatever it was she was doing and say something. For the fleetest of moments, Caer thought to break the silence by calling out. Her mouth clamped shut against the urge. It was never wise to distract Sidra. Not when she worked with magic. Especially when the spell exuded such power.

Across the room, the electric light blinked out, leaving only the fire for illumination. Caer slipped from her knees, settling to one hip as she tried to focus on other matters. Picking up a fistful of dirt, she watched it sift between her fingers. It wasn’t like this on the massive perimeter ship where she’d lived with her parents. The ship had plenty of light. Plenty of warmth, too. Everything clean and shiny. Caer shivered, and not just from the growing nighttime chill. Truth was, as much as she loved her aunt, she missed the perimeter ship. Missed the people, including the aliens. Missed her parents most of all.

Venting a soul-deep whimper, she glanced back over her shoulder toward the pit. The fire remained low, allowing for deepening shadows around the circumference of the room. Sidra made no move to stoke it, despite the fact they had more than an ample supply of the imported pellets. Instead, the woman remained as she had been, as unmoving as the granite cliffs surrounding their dome, tension radiating from her. The feel of it, along with the charge of the building magic, reinforced Caer’s awareness of the prickling that troubled her mind, its dark brooding now raising fine bumps along her flesh. Once more she rose to her knees, this time scooting to the bench and propping her folded arms on it as she glowered at her aunt. Shadows played across Sidra’s slender, stooped frame, the glow from the sparking embers highlighting her aged and deeply tanned features and affording the white of her long pants and tunic a faintly yellow cast. The woman’s long sleeves and loose pant legs fluttered slightly in the air currents, wisps of smoke curling around her before lifting to disappear through the soot-stained opening in the center of their hut’s metal roof.

Gradually, the sound of Sidra’s whispered chant drifted out from the background hissing and crackle of the fire. Caer struggled to understand the words. Success raised an even greater chill. She knew this incantation. Well, she didn’t exactly know it. It was one of many in her aunt’s Book of Secrets. Not that Caer was supposed to be privy to that. Sidra rarely brought the book out, and then only to share some simple healing spell. Caer discovered its hiding place, though, when a stone at the base of the wall in their small sleeping room worked loose. Since then, she removed it whenever the opportunity presented itself. She loved pouring through the crisp pages, careful not to tear them, taking in the smell of the paper and ink, wondering when her aunt had time to write in it. So many spells, most so complex she couldn’t begin to guess their purpose. Naturally, she took exceeding care to replace the tome exactly as she’d found it before Sidra returned from her errand of the day.

Of all the book’s spells, charms, and enchantments, as well as its recipes for all manner of herbal remedies, the piece of magic Caer found most intriguing was the one Sidra now whispered, though it was among those whose purpose eluded her. Its tremendous power, however, did not. Merely reading the words caused Caer’s nerves to twitch and set every hair on her body to stand on end. Now, with the words softly murmured in the confines of their hut, the very air felt on the verge of igniting.

Licking a fingertip, Caer began tracing the opening words on the bench. Abred. Gwynfyd. Ceugant. These were common enough. Struggle. Purity. Infinity. They prefaced many magical endeavors, helping clear the mind, allowing greater focus. She continued her tracing. ‘May my summons find and fill you. Know my need as I call out to you. Hear me and... The damp letters suddenly shimmered, glowing thin and fiery. Caer jerked her hand from the bench, shoving it behind her back as she shot a nervous glance at her aunt in time to see the flames within the pit flare briefly, sparking from yellow to crimson and causing the room’s shadows to lurch.

Caer’s sense of foreboding redoubled, searing sharp stabs through her mind. Her tucked hand shot back to her necklace, grasping it in a white-knuckled clutch. It wasn’t that she was afraid. She repeated that thought. Repeated it again as the shadows lengthened and darkened, renewing the icy bite that ate along her bones. Not afraid of the spell. Not afraid of what was coming. Sidra wouldn’t let anything bad happen. Not here. Their hut was protected. Shielded by magic. Caer’s hands shifted to her pant legs, twisting them back and forth between her fingers, leaving smears of dust on the dark brown weaver’s cloth. Alright. Maybe she was a little scared.

The sudden crackle of charged air drew a small squeak from her, even as it shot the flames high once more, glowing angry bright and flooding the room with heat. Swallowing a more pronounced whimper, Caer stood and edged her way to the end of the bench; slipped around it; moved closer to her aunt. All the while, her hands gripped and released, gripped and released her pant legs. Again, the flames fell briefly back, only to erupt once more, their hungry tongues lapping near the ceiling. So great was their heat and brilliance that it staggered Caer backward, her pants snagging on the bench’s rough edges as she dropped onto it, her eyes snapping shut.

When she blinked them open again, she discovered her aunt’s stance was no longer stooped or rigid, though the woman maintained a tense vigilance as a form began to take shape within the dancing blaze. The quiet with which her aunt regarded the dark shape eased Caer’s fright a little, her frown giving way to a concentrated, brow-furrowing study of the emerging figure. In another blinding flash, Sidra’s spell discharged the last of its energy. And there he was, draped in a long black cloak, and standing smack in the middle of the once again smoldering fire pit, as solid and real as Sidra. He had to be a ‘he’ because he was positively the tallest person Caer had ever encountered. Pale, slender hands drew the hood of his cloak back, allowing fitful firelight to play across his features. Caer sucked in, gaping. Yellow-white hair framed the slight angularity of a strikingly chiseled and clean-shaven face, the whole of which was set off by the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

Sidra, the strange man acknowledged, stepping from the diminished flames. The toss of the front edges of his cloak back over his shoulders revealed the burnished bronze shirt and brown trousers, both of which shown with a faint metallic luster. Even his snug, knee-high boots held a gloss, despite the fine layer of ash across their toes.

You wish my assistance, he stated, his tone hard-edged as he offered a low bow.

Stoirm, Sidra replied with an equal edge, her posture now perfectly erect.

Caer chewed at her upper lip, a hand swiping a dirty smudge across her nose as she regarded their visitor. Should she dislike this man? She didn’t want to. Her heart said, friend. But here he was, manifesting from the fire just as some sort of trouble brewed within their village. Was he the cause of it, then? If so, Sidra would surely scold him severely and send him away.

The stranger cast her a brief glance, though in it Caer sensed a familiarity quite at odds with his question. This is the child?

You know it is, Sidra returned. You are aware of what is about to transpire, here?

I know you and the child are in grave danger. I am prepared to take you both from this place immediately.

If I wished to leave, I’d have done so of my own accord, already.

So you persist in saying whenever I offer you escape.

I stand by my oath, Sidra declared in a tone that suggested she’d repeated those words, as well. As firmly as you stand by yours. She hesitated for barely a heartbeat, her eyes skimming toward Caer. My only sorrow is that I shall not see her grown to womanhood.

Then it is the child I take.

Caer popped from the bench, stretching to stand as tall as she could. No one was taking her away. Not from the only person she had left in the whole of the universe. She was no ‘child’ to be carried off just because some trouble or other was about to disturb their village. Whatever was afoot, she was staying right where she was. Right where she belonged. With her aunt! Her lips parted to declare as much, her pronouncement abruptly stifled by Sidra’s piercing gray gaze and her telepathed warning for Caer to hold her tongue.

The man turned his scrutiny to Caer, his stern expression relaxing. You are quite brave, little one. But this is no place for you.

So captivating was the sudden gentleness of his words that Caer’s full attention was once more on this man with the striking features. Topaz, she decided. His eyes were the color of topaz. Most remarkable, though, were his ears. No human she had ever seen had ears that curled delicately into a point at their tops. A few aliens had such ears.

Her face wrinkled as she tried to remember the stories. There was a name for people like this man. The Alainn, she thought. Yes! That’s what her mother called them. The Alainn. It meant The Beautiful. Of course, Caer had never really believed the stories her mother told. Of all the alien races who’d peopled or visited the perimeter ship, none had ever resembled her mother’s description of the Alainn. Not the way this man did. In truth, few aliens looked anything like humans. Most had odd colors and textures to their skins and not the right number of arms or legs.

Sidra extended a hand, motioning Caer forward. Come, dear.

Stoirm cocked a brow at her as she approached. She is so young. Seven? Eight, perhaps? I seem to have lost my grasp of human years. I thought her older.

Family trait, Sidra huffed. You can’t have forgotten how small our firstborn females are.

Caer stopped part way to her aunt’s side, her arms folded as she stamped a foot. Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. I am nearly twelve. I’m old enough to be included.

Stoirm made no effort to hide his chuckle. Are you indeed? You are certainly old enough to speak your mind.

Sidra looked about to warn Caer to silence again. Stoirm waved her off. The girl is correct. This discussion concerns her. She should be included. Nodding toward the bench, he offered, Come sit with me for a moment, child.

My name is Caer! she rumbled back. And I will sit with you only if you introduce yourself.

Caer heard her aunt’s low moan. I have addressed him, already. You know his name.

Yes. But he hasn’t been properly introduced to me. I’m not to talk to strangers. You always tell me that.

Stoirm bowed low. My name is Stoirm. Storm, if you prefer. It means the same. He waited for Caer to move past and seat herself on the bench before he straightened.

Caer breathed out slowly, patting the bench to indicate that she granted him permission to join her. Storm. So, are you the cause of the trouble that’s coming? And why do you keep looking at me like you know me? And if you do know me, why did you ask if.... The next rolled off her tongue in the most distasteful manner possible. ...if I was ‘the child’?

Ah, Stoirm exhaled, his face serious, though his eyes glinted his amusement. Because I have made your acquaintance once before. You were scarcely toddling at the time. I’m not surprised you have no memory of the occasion. His amusement dissolved, seriousness now infecting his eyes as well as his face. Tell me, Caer. Have you learned of your family lineage?

Caer darted a questioning glance to her aunt. What does he mean?

She has been taught the family’s beginnings and understands how we differ from the Tanai. She also understands that our secret must be kept.

The beginning of the Witches. Yes. She knew the stories. In a past so distant Caer could scarcely imagine it, and from ordinary Tanai—humans who possessed no ability with magic—a family emerged with the first whisper of the gifts. Over time, their gifts grew in number and in strength. Witches, they were named. The Tanai, the ‘Shallow’ ones, feared them, hunting and murdering them for centuries. Now Witches kept their secrets so well-guarded that most Tanai no longer believed in such things.

Stoirm turned Caer’s face to his, and for several long seconds stared deep into her eyes, making her fidgety. It was like he was looking straight into her thoughts. She didn’t like such scrutiny. Her mother had done that often enough, as did Sidra. Her thoughts were hers. No one else had any right to them. Setting her jaw, she shoved her fists to her hips and glared back at the man, screwing her face to look every bit as severe. Maybe she could look into his thoughts. Stoirm, however, gave no sign that he noticed. Maddening how adults could leave her feeling so insignificant, and she couldn’t get back at them!

She will keep the secret, he said at last. There is a little more that she should know, though.

They were talking around her again. Caer gave a disgruntled growl, assuming an even sterner glower. Know what more?

Stoirm grinned. He thought her funny. The knowledge rankled her all the more, prompting another low rumble.

Leaning toward her conspiratorially, he whispered, I am your...distant, shall we say. Your distant uncle.

Caer drew back from him, her ire lost in the stunning revelation. You? Turning, she accosted her aunt with, What is a ‘distant’ uncle? I mean, he must live very far away, but.... Waggling an accusatory finger, she added, You never told me I had any uncles! Turning back, she stretched to reach for Stoirm’s nearest ear, running a finger up to its point. And I didn’t know I had any relatives with such...such wonderful ears! Are the stories true, then? Did my great, great, great.... She stopped long enough to count on her fingers, then shrugged and went on. ...grandmother really marry an Alainn? Do I have other relatives like you? Why don’t my ears look like yours?

Stoirm nodded. The stories are true, though it’s unlikely you shall ever meet others of your Alainn relatives. They distanced themselves from humans many an age ago. Rising, he gave her nearest ear a gentle flick. And these are perfect just as they are. His gaze shifted to Caer’s necklace, lingering but half a heartbeat. Offering his hand, he jerked his head in Sidra’s direction. Shall we?

Caer accepted his hand, the two of them returning to where her aunt stood.

Stoirm’s features again hardened, his scrutiny now set on Sidra. You realize what is at stake if you refuse to leave with me. You must be aware that Croi Breag is on the move, once more. She is searching. His head tilted ever so slightly toward Caer. She will stop at nothing until she has either captured and rejoined both pieces of the key or has found her sisters.

Sidra’s eyes narrowed. There has been no legitimate sighting of that one since...

Stoirm cut her off with a snarl. We have had sightings, and worse. Her violent tendencies have not lessened and her strength has grown. Surely you see the need for you and the child to come away from here. We can ill afford to lose either of you.

The discolored circles beneath Sidra’s eyes and the returned slump to her shoulders suggested the weight of her fatigue. I know all too well the ways of The Dark Heart. My gift, however, has shown me that I remain here.

Stoirm’s jaw twitched. Then I must content myself with taking the girl.

Caer jerked her hand free of Stoirm’s, her face drained of warmth, her eyes wide.

No! I am not going anywhere with you. Not unless Aunt Sidra comes, too.

There! Stoirm snorted. Will you not do as is necessary for her sake?

For a long moment, Sidra’s pained expression remained, her gaze fixed on Caer. At last, turning again to Stoirm, she sighed, I have given you my answer.

You will be lost to us forever. You know that.

There is a chance that I may survive.

The dire urgency of Caer’s persistent foreboding seared anew across her nerves, twisting her stomach. Grasping for her aunt’s age darkened and wrinkled hands, Caer clutched them desperately. She couldn’t lose Sidra. She wouldn’t! They did important things together, growing and harvesting herbs and preparing medicines for the people of Lillith II. The colonists would not allow anything to happen to them, despite their whisperings and odd stares. This ‘distant’ uncle of hers would see. Whatever trouble was coming, the colonists would protect them.

With a grating rumble, Stoirm dismissed Sidra and reached for Caer. She dodged him, slipping behind her aunt.

I don’t think you can pry her from me at this moment, Sidra moaned. She has a will of her own. Another family trait, I fear. And I have seen that she also remains.

Stoirm’s glare bore down on Sidra. So. If I’m not to take either of you from this foul place, just what is it that you wish of me?

Sidra squared her shoulders, meeting Stoirm’s frigid stare with hardened calm. She will agree to leave once tonight’s events are played out. Arrangements have been made for her to be taken immediately to Heshton. See to a guardian for her. I trust your judgment in this matter.

Caer opened her mouth to object. Her words, however, were lost to a sudden flood of vertigo as a vision of roiling smoke and flame erupted. In that briefest of moments, her first true brush with full Sight stilled her heart and froze her breath in her lungs. A glimpse only, but a glimpse of terror she wished she had never witnessed.

The spell is cast and calls me to sleep.

Hiding the secret the spell holds deep.

Those who remember yet do they weep,

For the loss of the hidden bound in my keep.

Chapter 1

Seven Years Later

Emptiness. Thick. Dark. Suffocating. Muffled words intruded; gradually clarified. Someone repeating her name. Shadowed light broke through. The impression of a face flicked briefly. Was clouded out. Reappeared.

Blinking, forehead knotting so tightly an ache crept along the creases, Caer at last willed the world into focus. Though the effort made her head ring, she managed to recognize Jenna Randon’s steady, brown-eyed gaze studying her from across the small table. Jenna’s quick smile highlighted the sweetly rounded face beneath the spiked blond hair. There you are. Welcome back.

Sounds and smells assaulted Caer--music and laughter, clanking glasses, and scuffling feet, the thick smoke from the too-sweet hybern leaf mingled with stale beer and strong liquor. For several moments, she struggled to recall where she was. Only when her fuzzy vision cleared did she recognize the interior of the High Fancies Club. Teetering from the jolt of vertigo brought on by her head movement, she grabbed the edges of the chair. She was sitting. Why was she sitting? She seemed to recall dancing.

You passed out, dear, Jenna provided.

I... Caer’s tongue made a brief foray across her lips. What?

Passed out. Jenna gestured toward the dance floor at the center of the club where a cluster of six humans and two humanoid, chameleon-skinned Zandaks were attempting to move in cadence with the music. The taller, thinner of the Zandaks, Lyrra, was flushing between dark gray and dark blue as she moved through the shadows cast by the cheap wall-mounted lights.

Caer sucked on her lower lip. Her fellow dancers appeared to be struggling with her newest offering of step sequences. Though the music had changed, the rhythm still carried in the medley of tunes sounding from the ceiling. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. One, two, three. One, two, three. She only realized she was staring at the dancers when the Lyrra smiled and waved. Caer’s face warmed as she turned her gaze to a quick scan of the rest of her surroundings. It must be evening, already. More people were crowding the club, now. The warmth of her face renewed as she wondered how many of them had witnessed her little fainting episode.

A dark russet-skinned Renthorian two tables down caught her eye. He was one of the largest Caer had ever seen. The broad triangular head and coarse, shaggy hair the same russet hue as his skin produced a particularly brutish look, even for his kind. Noting he had her attention, he gestured with two of his six arms. One swept toward the dancers, the other jerked a clawed hand toward his fleshy face, his yellow eyes squinting in a feigned swoon. The drinks he held in the two gesticulating hands slopped about, adding to his mirth as he burst into what she could only assume was raucous laughter, though it sounded more like the crushing of massive wooden barrels. Across the table from him, the smaller, brown, reptilian-skinned Caspian rocked back and forth, his narrow, oblong head swaying in sync with his short barking snorts.

Caer’s face flushed even hotter.

Don’t mind them, Jenna consoled. They’re drunk.

Caer scarcely heard her friend, the world clouding again as flashes of imagery gripped her. Flames. Dense, dark smoke. Something more. Something.... Cold terror brought a sharp inhalation.

Hey! Don’t you go blacking out on me again!

The vision promptly dissolved, leaving Caer to blink at her friend once more, her body trembling from the lingering sense of horror. Jenna’s smile was gone, her gaze penetrating. What’s happening inside that head of yours?

Before Caer could squeeze a response past her tightened throat, Brandon Jase’s gravelly, You wanted these? startled her so severely she nearly toppled from her chair. Hand pressed to her pounding chest, she shot a glare at him as he strode around her to thud a couple of glasses down in front of Jenna. You sure you want to drink two of these poisons?

Took your time, Jenna snipped, though she grabbed the front of Brandon’s shirt and tugged him down far enough to plant a serious kiss on his mouth. And these aren’t both for me, silly. Here. Scooting one of the drinks to Caer, she grinned, This should bring you back to life.

Or kill her, Brandon harrumphed, straightening. For a moment he remained standing, his silent study of Caer making her squirm. At last pulling a chair from a neighboring table, he plopped down between the two women, his arms folded across his thick chest. Sweaty brown hair fringed his forehead, accenting the scowl that seemed permanently affixed to his countenance. Wanna tell me what happened out there?

Caer managed a shrug, her hands trying to still her jittery knees. Fainted. Apparently.

You know our silly little marsh puff, Jenna put in. Spends way too much time working. Weeks on end locked away in her apartment or her office cubicle at the university, going through libraries of articles and research material, taking notes, fussing with this or that theory concerning some vague ancient Earth culture. Today she gets the urge to exercise. Can’t do anything simple, though, like taking a quiet walk around the campus. Oh no. Thinks she has to go dancing. Worse, she dives right into one of the most intricate dances in her repertoire. Little wonder the exertion got to her.

Even though she refused to meet them, Caer could feel Brandon’s dubious gray eyes watching her. I didn’t buy that line when you fed it to the others, Jen. I don’t buy it, now.

Jenna smiled and batted her eyes. Nonbeliever! Rocking forward, she pecked a kiss on his cheek. You picked up Caer’s latest step sequences pretty well. Can’t say the same for most of the others out there. Why don’t you go on back? I’m sure at least one of those ladies would appreciate your assistance.

Caer ventured a sideward glance in time to catch Brandon’s curled lip and had to swallow a tenuous chuckle. As much as Bran liked to dance, he wanted only Jen for a partner.

Oh, go on, Jen persisted. Be a sport. The other ladies don’t bite. We have some girl talk to do, here.

Girl talk! Brandon’s glance darted between Jen and Caer. Sharing secrets, more like. Pushing to his feet, he stalked away, muttering, Just make sure your ‘girl talk’ isn’t about me.

Jen waited for Brandon to make his way to the dance floor before gesturing to the glass in front of Caer. Drink up, dearie. You need it.

Caer responded with a reluctant shrug, downing the liquid in a single gulp. Instantly, she was bent over, sputtering and coughing. Part of the drink singed her nasal passages and throat while more ran down her chin. Fumbling a napkin from the sticky table, she wiped at the dribbles, choking, What the!

Cantorian gin. Couldn’t afford the real stuff from Earth. This is passable enough, though. So long as you don’t try to breathe it. At least you’re getting your color back.

Gasping, Caer wheezed, The color is...is from being...roasted from the inside out! That...wasn’t nice!

Jen leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. Neither was scaring us.

Caer tried to fix her friend through tearing eyes. Wiping them with the back of her sleeve, she strangled, Scaring you?

Out there. Jenna nodded toward the dancers again. You froze and went positively ashen. Looked like...like... I don’t know. Like you’d seen your own death or something. And then you crumpled to a lump on the floor. I don’t think anyone besides Bran and I noticed your expression, thank heavens. Otherwise, you might have caused a stampede of idiots running from the universe only knows what. Bran carried you back here. Leaning forward, Jen whispered, So, what did happen out there?

Caer’s hesitation gave way to another shrug. I had a dream. I think. Raising them from her lap, she thumped her forearms on the tabletop, leaning wearily against them. A dream. A vision. I must have fallen asleep.

Fallen asleep while dancing? So, you’ve gone narcoleptic? Getting no reply, Jen scooted around to the chair Brandon had vacated. Come on, dearie. Truth. It was the same dream that always haunts you, wasn’t it? All smoke and fire and such?

Annoyed, Caer waved off her friend’s questions with a curt. I don’t remember.

It was! So, what was burning? What keeps scaring the eternal twilight out you?

I told you before. I never recall anything more than flames and...and...

Stark terror, Jen finished for her. Leaning back, she sipped at her drink for several uncomfortably silent seconds. You know, she said at last. Bran thinks you possess some sort of psychic ability. Thinks you’re one of those...’individuals’ who can do weird stuff. Like seeing into the future.

The statement raised prickles along Caer’s flesh. Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing. What in the universe have you been telling him to give him such an idiotic notion?

Nothing, dearie. He based his conclusion solely on his own observations.

Observations? Caer glared across the room to where Brandon was patiently demonstrating the step sequence for a couple of the dancers. What’s he been doing? Following me?

More like trailing behind you when you cross the campus between classes. Says that sometimes you veer off from your usual route to take a more meandering path.

I like to vary the scenery.

Jen pursed her lips, staring into her drink. He says...

What? He says what?

Caer’s friend regarded her obliquely. Says every time you do, something ugly takes place somewhere along your usual route. Like when that group of drunken students gathered on the grounds right where you normally walk. You know the time. When the idiots confronted some off-worlders and stirred up quite the fight. That was when Bran inserted himself between the two groups to try and break them up and was stabbed several times for his efforts. You missed the whole business because only moments before, you abruptly back-stepped a pace or two and headed another direction. That’s what Bran said, anyway. And then there was the time he narrowly escaped the crash of one of the university’s utility vehicles when some fool tried to override its guidance system as a prank. You took a sudden turn off-path that time, too. The pod missed him because he paused to see which direction you were going. He thinks that...that somehow you know what’s about to happen and change course to avoid the trouble. He thinks you’re afraid others will figure out what you’re capable of, so you keep mostly to yourself.

Well, you can tell Brandon that he’s suffering from an over-sized imagination. Unexpected stuff happens. Sometimes people get hurt. My decision to take a scenic stroll a couple of times was nothing more than dumb luck.

Brandon? Overly imaginative? Jen snorted a short laugh. Hardly! Nor was it merely a couple of times, Caer. And that doesn’t even count that business in the library archives your first year here, when that sinkhole opened beneath the foundation, causing both a collapse and a gas explosion. Without your forewarning, you and Bran might have been blown apart...or fallen to your deaths...or...or been crushed in the rubble.

Caer rubbed her arms, the newly raised flesh running from her fingertips all the way up the back of her neck. We’ve been through this a hundred times. I apparently heard the cracking and reacted to that. I’m certainly not getting out less because I’m trying to hide some ridiculously insane ability. I need to finish my thesis. Simple as that. When my application to Sion finally goes through, I want to be able to leave here with my completed thesis in hand. Besides, if I had some ability to foretell the future, I’d be able to figure out why my transfer applications continually go missing, wouldn’t I?

So... We aren’t going to wake up tomorrow to find that something terrible happened at the university that would have wiped you out had you stayed on campus?

Caer tossed her hands up in exasperation. You are unbelievable! I told you when I called and asked you and Bran to meet me here this afternoon why I needed to get out. I simply couldn’t stand another minute of listening to those damned compu-lectures.

A grin played at the corners of Jen’s mouth. Couldn’t stand another minute in the offices without Dr. Jorn present, you mean. She took another moment to sip at her drink, obviously enjoying Caer’s red face. Fine, she chuckled. Have it your way. I can’t argue with the mind-dulling effect of those bloody computerized holographic lectures. And maybe you did pass out from exhaustion out there. Still. Her expression sobered. The look on your face, Caer, coupled with the dream you say you had. You saw something that terrified you. What if Bran is right? What if these visions are warnings?

They are nightmares. Nothing more, Caer muttered. Nightmares scare everyone.

Only this one hit you while you were awake and active.

Reaching irritably for her drink, Caer remembered that she’d emptied it. Furthermore, the table had quite the collection of drained glasses. Aiyee, she groaned. Tell me I didn’t finish off all those by myself.

Certainly not. Bran and I helped.

Doesn’t matter, Caer huffed, gesturing at the table. Here’s why I passed out. Way too many rum fizzies.

Actually, Jen giggled. There were a few brandy shots as well.

And you topped that off by trying to poison me with that last drink?

Like I said, Jen pouted. I was not trying to poison you. Not my fault you tried to inhale the gin. She paused for a moment, sipping at her drink again. Know what I think?

No. But I’m sure I’m about to find out.

I think this little fainting spell and all your scary dreams may be symptoms of your subconscious telling you how stupid it is for you to try and transfer to Earth. What you need is a long holiday so that you can contemplate just how good life is here. I’m sure if you told Dr. Jorn, he’d grant you some time off to reconsider.

Caer glowered at her friend. I am not telling Dr. Jorn anything of the sort.

Jenna straightened, her eyes glinting with mischief. I’ll tell him for you!

You will not! I’ll tell Brandon that you have a crush on the professor if you even look like you’re going to talk to him.

No news, there, dearie. Every female and a good quarter of the males on Ahira have a crush on Dr. Hugh Jorn. Bran thinks it’s ridiculous, of course. But then, I don’t suppose Dr. Jorn is his type.

But you think he’s yours, Caer accused.

Grin broadening, Jen needled, Just like you think he’s your type. I’ve seen the way you watch him when you think he’s not looking. I’m surprised you manage to work on your thesis at all when he’s around. As it is, you tend to go all dreamy-eyed and swoony every time you pass him in the halls.

Caer felt her face go hot once again and slapped her open palm to the table, droplets splatting out between her fingers. I do not!

Do too. Don’t worry, dearie. Dr. Jorn takes no more notice of you than he does any of the rest of us. Consider, though. There will be zero chance of you ever gaining his attention if you transfer.

Caer’s jaw jutted forward, her sticky hand swiping across her pant leg as she sought for some snappy comeback. None came to mind. Instead, the slight change in music drew her attention back to the dance floor. Same rhythm as before. Only the melody had changed again. Brandon and Lyrra had partnered and joined three other couples to make a square set, dancing one of the simpler jig-time pattern dances that Caer had previously taught them. Bran handled both the steps and the figures with reasonable ease. Sadly, the only thing Lyrra and at least two of the others were executing was any hope that their movements could be construed as a dance. Caer marveled at their seeming inability to find the rhythm. Especially with such a distinct beat to follow. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. One, two, three. One, two, three. So clear. So compelling. So...

Hey!

Caer jumped, banging her knees on the underside of the table.

Don’t you go fainting on me again. Not twice in the same day, Jenna commanded. Maybe you are narcoleptic. Wouldn’t surprise me, given the hours you keep. Time to send you home, I think. That way, should you decide to fall on your face unconscious again, you can jolly well do so into your own bed. Or at least on your own floor. Tugging her sleeve up, she tapped the communicator on her gold wristband. Send public pod to High Fancies Club at 231 NE, sector 7. Passenger is Caer DaDhrga. Destination is student housing complex, sector 4, quarters 109.

Pod 628 responding. Arrival at High Fancies Club in approximately five minutes, whined back at her.

Jenna tapped her communicator again, waving in Brandon’s direction and then pointing at the speakers. He nodded and disappeared from the dance floor. A few moments later, the music changed to something contemporary and annoyingly raucous. Reappearing, Bran strode across the room and flipped a small disc to the table. Your music chip. You leaving?

Yes, she is, Jenna confirmed, snatching the disc and tucking it into the breast pocket on Caer’s jumpsuit. She is going straight home and to bed. Isn’t that right?

Caer considered arguing but dismissed the effort as a waste of energy.

And stop thinking of going to Earth, Jen added. Maybe you can get through the night without incurring more bad dreams.

Earth is not the cause of my nightmares.

It would be if it were me looking to transfer. The very idea of venturing to that den of insanity is enough to scare any rational person right out of their shoes and cause their brains to puddle.

I’m not asking you to go with me.

Good thing, too. I love ya, honey, but not enough to follow you to that crazy place.

Well, Caer sniffed. Can you two at least agree to go with me to breakfast tomorrow?

Jen nodded. Just you and me, though.

Caer looked up at Brandon. Not you?

A frown darkened his features. I’m leaving in the morning. Going home for a visit.

Home? Caer exchanged a perplexed glance with Jen. Brandon rarely spoke of his home. When he did, he was quite emphatic about never going back.

Noting the exchange, Bran surrendered, I recently became an uncle. Sis wants me to come and meet the little guy. So...

Caer didn’t know how to react. The news should be exciting, but Bran’s continued frown indicated otherwise. Congratulations, she ventured. That’s fantastic news!

Brushing the matter off, Brandon extended a hand. Come on. We’ll walk you out. Want to make sure you at least get as far as the pod. After that, you’re on your own for the night.

Chapter 2

Caer slipped into the pod with a huff, grateful to be out of the vehicle’s backdraft, even more so to be away from her friends. Their escort to the landing pad was unnecessary despite the fuzziness of her brain. Moreover, it was embarrassing. She hated all the eyes that followed them as they left the club, Brandon on one side of her, Jen on the other. Shooting a glance back toward the edge of the lighted pad, she noted that both were still watching her. They’d better not decide to escort her all the way home! Thankfully, Jen merely waved and blew her a kiss, then took Bran’s hand and led him back inside the club.

The weight of Caer’s relieved sigh blended with the mild grating sound of the pod door as it closed. A minor ache in her knees and ankles provided forewarning that her joints were beginning to stiffen. Slumping back against the cracked upholstery of the seat, she muttered at her discomfort. Too much dancing on the heels of too many days of sitting on her backside stewing over her thesis. She’d be lucky if she could pry herself out of the pod by the time she got home. Maybe she could just have it tip on its side and let her roll out.

Is the passenger ready?

Oh. Yes, of course. Turning her gaze upward, she stared into the silver-blue retinal scanner mounted on a small protruding arm just above the door.

Identity verified for passenger Caer DaDhrga, the pod intoned. Destination student housing, sector 4, unit 109.

Correct.

Departing.

A vague wash of unease prompted Caer’s glance from the window as the pod jerked into its gradual ascent. Within the darkness beyond the lighted landing, three deeper shadows moved. Two slunk toward the alley between the club and its neighboring building, the other stalked predator-like toward the light. Aliens, all, judging from their shape and size. Caer guessed one of the twosome to be Renthorian--possibly the one who’d laughed at her earlier. The second she couldn’t begin to determine. Its greater mass and hunched lope matched nothing she knew.

The third, solitary figure, hesitated at the edge of the lesser shadows that bordered the well-lit pad. Only when it lumbered out did Caer recognize the creature as human. The features were barely discernable--fleshy face, eyes either lost in the folds or squinting against the dust. Even so, she had little doubt of the gender. Standing with his feet braced, his face upturned, the man seemed to sniff the air as he watched her lifting transport. Caer marveled at his stupidity, trundling forward to stand in the hot backdraft that swirled more dust and debris around him. Not that he was likely to be blown off his feet. A fusion bomb might do nothing more than simply rock a person of such monumental girth.

The needling unease grew as she continued to stare down at him. Perhaps this was supposed to have been his ride, too. The thought sent prickles along her arms. The polite thing to do, of course, would be to direct the pod to return for him. Her mouth opened, the raised hair at the back of her neck cutting her short. No. She was already on her way. The man would just have to wait for another vehicle. His fault for not meeting the pod at the scheduled time. Still, she could not take her eyes from him until distance, at last, obscured him. Rubbing her arms, Caer attempted to settle again, closing her eyes against the subtle mix of foreboding, the growing ache in her joints, a creeping headache, and the occasional flash of lights from other passing vehicles. Too much dancing. Too much alcohol. Too little sleep.

Message for Caer DaDhrga.

Her brow knotted, though her eyes remained closed. Who would be trying to contact her, now? For that matter, who, besides Jen and Bran, even knew where to find her? Deliver.

Dr. Hugh Jorn requests a meeting with you.

One eyebrow edged up a tick. Dr. Jorn is off world and not expected back until the middle of next week. Tell Jenna Randon that I’m not in the mood for any of her pranks. She insisted I go straight home, and that’s precisely what I intend to do.

No Jenna Randon associated with the message.

Caer straightened, her eyes opening with a renewed cock of her brow. Even assuming that Dr. Jorn had returned, why would he want to meet with her at this hour? And why would he not send his message via her communicator? A glance at the thin silver band on her wrist brought a grimace. She’d turned her communicator off when she left the university campus earlier in the day. A tap of it produced a double beep as Dr. Jorn’s name scrolled across its tiny face. The first day in ages that she took some time away from her studies, and he had to catch her at it. Worse... Her gaze dropped to her wrinkled, sweaty, and liquor splotched jumpsuit as her hands reached to her hair, poking at the strands that had worked loose from the bun on top of her head. She was a mess.

Why does he want to meet?

No purpose stated.

Lips pinched, Caer considered. She could send back that she was unavailable. Could request a delay until morning. She hesitated. Jorn rarely asked to meet with her. Aside from a few group sessions that he periodically arranged for students, it was hers to determine when she needed his counsel and to establish a time to sit down with him to discuss her course work or her progress with her thesis. Maybe she’d failed to complete some critical assignment. Her weary mind, however, could think of nothing she’d overlooked.

The destination? she asked at last.

Coordinates are for the office of Dr. Hugh Jorn.

Not the student offices. A private meeting, then. Caer’s mind churned in her continued attempt to sort out what she might have missed or done wrong. Another scan of the state of her attire added to her growing dismay. Is there time for me to go home and freshen up?

Message requests to meet at 2100.

Time now?

2043.

For another long moment, Caer grappled with the question of which was the greater sin--putting off the one individual in whose good graces she needed to remain, or accepting his request and arriving as is. A subtle urge to agree to the meeting brought a huffed, Fine. May as well face whatever is on his mind now and get it over with. I assume you have the destination coordinates keyed.

Destination request accepted?

Yes. Accepted.

Acceptance forwarded.

Slouching back in her seat once more, Caer scowled at the darkness outside, feeling more than seeing the pod’s shift in the angle of forward motion. Breathing in her anxiety, she let it out in a long, soft moan, closing her eyes once more. She should never have taken the afternoon off.

The smell of fresh damp earth rich with overtones of vegetation. A swirl of green in the darkness. Drumming. Footfalls striking out a familiar rhythm. The closeness of others. Flickering warmth upon her face. Warmth turns to heat. Heat erupts in fiery tendrils dancing skyward. Within them emerges a face, the features contorted in agony, eyes full of terror as they fix on her. I did not know! Not this way! Child! You must away! Shadowy images ring a great fire. As one and with rhythmic stride, they dance, advancing and retreating from the flames, warmth waxing and waning with the motion. Still comes the drumming. The circle moves round. Flames explode!

Cold brushed Caer’s cheek as she jerked awake. Blinking, she pushed away from the window frame and glanced around, impressions of torrid heat clinging to her foggy mind, despite the chill lurking on her face and deep in her soul. Dreams. Always the dreams.

Bolting upright, she swore, Hell and damnation! How long have I been asleep? A check of her wrist communicator indicated the time as 2059, while a glance at the lights rolling by below told her that she had not yet reached the university grounds.

How much longer to Dr. Jorn’s office?

Seven minutes fourteen seconds.

Caer’s stomach knotted. Bad enough that she’d been out of touch all day. Bad enough that she reeked of the club and looked like…like…she could only imagine! Worse, she was going to be late. Nervously, her fingers jabbed strands of hair at her everloosening bun. Why was it that the one man she wanted most in the universe to impress seemed always to be the one for whom she always fell so miserably short?

Chapter 3

Jorn thudded onto his chair with an irritated grunt, comforted only slightly by the dense shadows shrouding his office. What he wouldn’t give for a good century of complete solitude. No students. No travel. No Family. Rocking forward, he set his elbows on his desktop and lowered his head to his hands, his palms pressed against his eyes. The stuff of nightmares, the Family. A mere handful of days confined in a conference room with two of the most annoying of the clan would sour a saint’s disposition. And he was no damned saint. Nor had the delay at Ahira’s docking station upon his return improved his foul disposition. The authorities might at least have the good grace to offer some explanation regarding their two-hour lockdown. Characteristically, security lacked such grace.

Lights up four, he grumbled, massaging his temples as he straightened.

The gradual brightening triggered a query from the room com. Messages received. Do you wish to hear them?

Anything urgent in nature?

Social calls only.

Jorn groaned. I’ll deal with them later. Please hold all further calls until tomorrow.

Holding calls.

Leaning back, he swiveled the chair around to gaze out the expansive wall of windows serving as a backdrop to the room. The university buildings on this side of the campus were, for the most part, empty and darkened at this hour. In the distance, the lights from the student housing complex appeared as a yellow glow that reflected off the high ceiling of Ahira’s dome. Only the lights from the two security towers marking the eastern perimeter of the university grounds shown more brightly. Caer would be arriving through that point. Quite a challenge, tracking her down. He should have expected as much. No doubt, she took the day to celebrate the news.

His jaw tensed, his snarl rumbling through the silence as his features screwed into a scowl. Pulling a tiny computer chip from his shirt pocket, Jorn flipped it end over end between his fingers several times before tossing it to his desk. The chip contained documentation of Caer’s records along with the completed and signed transfer papers she so greatly desired. Earth. No sane person should set foot on that fucked up rock, least of all Caer. In signing her transfer papers, he had consigned a Tanai to the wolves.

The creases of his scowl deepened. Tanai. Such were the initial indications. The notion had thrilled him, as it seemed to provide proof of his long-held theory. Witches arose from ordinary humans. If it happened once, all those ages ago, it could certainly happen again. Naturally, he brought the girl to the attention of Gwynlyn Berring and Aifa Eliz. That’s what he did for Family--assess for the strength of their magic each young Witch, or in this case, suspected Tanai, who arrived at Ahira. In return, the Family left him alone.

Jorn’s assessment of Caer’s magic agitated and intrigued both Gwynlyn Berring and Aifa Eliz. Such strength made the girl either a tremendous threat or a prized asset. No surprise that Eliz wanted Caer under her supervision, intent on learning everything possible of the girl’s background and potential gifts in order to turn them to ‘the cause’.

Jorn’s slow, deep breath exhaled in a huff. For all her attributes, Eliz would have no more success digging around in Caer’s past than he. The girl’s sketchy background records revealed very little. Born on a Perimeter Ship, lived for a time with an aunt on some remote colony, started secondary schooling on Heshton, transferred from Heshton to Ahira four years ago. No names were given for her parents or her aunt. No suggestion as to her family lineage. For Witches, lineage was a most crucial factor. Genealogical information always accompanied the packet of documentation that preceded every young Uair Amhain’s arrival at Ahira. The documentation also included a list of any of the student’s gifts as witnessed by a reputable Family member. Caer came with no such documentation. Nothing to identify her as Witch. Even the meticulously kept Family genealogical archives failed to list her. Moreover, she appeared to be oblivious of her magic. Tanai seemed the only explanation.

Jorn shook his head. Yet, so much power emanated from her. The very feel of it, humming in tremendous and undisciplined bursts along his nerves, at once familiar and unknown, confounded him when he first encountered it those four years ago. He sensed it even before Caer walked into the campus commons for the meet and greet of new students. Its source was easy enough to locate. The nearer he got to Caer, the more his flesh and his mind buzzed with the magnitude of her magic. Still, their introductory handshake proved quite the shock. Even now, his arm jerked at the memory. Not only did the contact nearly jolt him senseless, it staggered Caer back several paces, her expression both startled and curious. A quickly enhanced and maintained shielding spell had thus far prevented any further such jolts.

Rubbing at his right arm, Jorn considered for the thousandth time the improbability of so much potential contained in a Tanai. None but Witches