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The Sister at her head held the twisted cloth over the hooded face. "Open your mouth, and bite down on this." She put the cloth between the woman's teeth. "Now, open your legs. You must keep them open. If you try to close them, it will be a rejection of what you are being offered, and you will lose the chance. Forever."
The naked woman stared fixedly up at nothing. She panted with fear, her breast heaving. Slowly, she spread her legs.
The beast stirred, giving a low grunt.
Margaret put a hand on Jedidiah's forearm, her fingers digging into him.
The beast sniffed the air. As it slowly unfolded itself, Margaret saw that it was larger than it had looked when it was all hunched over. It was powerfully built, looking mostly like a man. Flickers of candle light reflected off sweat slicked, knotted muscles of its arms and chest. Downy hair started at the narrow hips, growing coarser further down the legs, until at the ankles, where it was the longest, thickest. But the head was something other than a man. It was a horror of anger and fangs.
A long, thin tongue flicked out, tasting the air. The eyes glowed orange in the dim light, orange with the power of the gift it had absorbed from the quillion.
As it stretched out on its hands and knees toward the naked woman, Margaret almost gasped aloud; she recognized the beast. She had seen a drawing of it in an old book. The same book in which she had seen drawings of some parts of the spells before her. She wanted to scream.
It was a namble. One of the Nameless One's minions.
Oh dear Creator, she prayed fervently, please protect us.
Growling in a low rumble, its powerful muscles flexing, its haunted eyes glowing orange, the namble edged like a huge cat toward the woman on the ground. Head low, it crawled between her legs. In a state of ragged fear, the woman still stared up at nothing.
The namble sniffed at her crotch. Its long tongue flicked out, running over her. She flinched, making a small jerk of a sound against the cloth in her teeth, but she kept her legs open. Her eyes did not move. She did not look at the namble. The Sisters in the circle began a soft chant. The namble licked her again, slower, grunting this time as it did so. She squealed against the rag. Beads of sweat shimmered on her flesh. She kept her legs wide apart.
Rising up on its knees, the beast gave a throaty roar to the black sky. Its, pointed, barbed, erect phallus stood out, plainly silhouetted against the candles beyond. Muscles bulged in knotted cords along its arms and shoulders as the namble bent forward, putting a fist to each side of the woman. Its tongue licked out around her throat as it gave a vibrating rumble of a growl, and then it lowered itself, covering her with its massive form.
Its hips hunched forward. The woman's eyes winced shut as she screamed against the cloth in her teeth. The namble gave a quick, powerful thrust and her eyes snapped open in a panic of pain. Even with the cloth clenched in her teeth, her screams could be heard over the chanting each time the beast knocked the wind from her, adding more force to the shrieks.
Margaret had to force herself to take a breath as she watched. She hated these women; they had given themselves over to something unspeakably evil. Still, they were her Sisters, and she could hardly bear to watch one being hurt. She realized she was shaking. She clenched the gold flower at her neck in one fist, and Jedidiah's arm with her other as tears streamed down her face.
The beast thrashed at the Sister on the ground as the three Sisters held her. Her muffled screams of torment ripped at Margaret's heart.
The Sister holding the cloth finally spoke. "If you want the gift, you must encourage him to give it to you. He will not surrender it unless you overcome his control—unless you take it from him. You must win it from him. Do you understand?"
Crying, her eyes shut tight, the woman nodded.
The Sister pulled the cloth away. "Then he is yours now. Take the gift, if you will."
The other two released her arms and the three of them returned to their places in the circle, taking up the chanting with the others. The woman let out a wail that turned Margaret's blood to ice. It made her ears hurt.
The woman flung her arms and legs around the namble, clutching herself to it, moving with it, moving with the chanting. Her screams died away as she panted with the effort.
Margaret could watch no longer. She closed her eyes and swallowed back a wail of her own that tried to force itself from her throat. But even with her eyes closed, it was no better. She could still hear it. Please, dear Creator, she begged in her mind, let it end. Please let it end.
And then, with a husky grunt, it did. Margaret opened her eyes to see the namble still, its back hunched. It shuddered, and then slowly went limp. The woman struggled to breathe under its weight.
With strength that seemed impossible, she at last pushed the namble off her. Chest heaving, it rolled to its hands and knees and slunk back to its place in the circle, folding itself into a dark bundle. The chanting had stopped. The woman lay on the ground for a time, panting, recovering. She was covered with a glistening sheen of sweat that reflected the yellow light of the candle flames.
Taking one, last, deep breath, the woman came smoothly to her feet. A dark stain of blood ran down her legs. With a calm awareness that sent a chill up Margaret's spine and caught her breath short, the woman turned to face her, pulling off her hood.
The menacing orange glow in her eyes faded, and they returned to the pale blue with dark violet flecks that Margaret knew so well.
"Sister Margaret." Her tone was as mocking as the smile on her thin lips. "Did you enjoy watching? I thought you might."
Wide-eyed, Margaret rose slowly to her feet. Across the circle the Sister who had held the cloth also rose, and pulled off her hood. "Margaret dear, how nice of you to show such interest in our little group. I didn't know you were that stupid. Did you think I let you see the quillion in my office by accident? That I wasn't aware someone was interested? I had to know who was skulking about, looking into things that were none of their concern. I let you see it. I wasn't sure though, until you followed us." Her smile froze Margaret's breathing. "Think we are fools? I saw the pool of Han you cast for us to step in. I obliged you. Such a shame. For you."
Margaret's hand was clutched tightly around the gold flower at her neck, her fingernails digging into her palm. How could they have seen the pool of her Han? She had underestimated them, that was how. Underestimated what they could do with the gift. It was going to cost her her life.
But only her. Only her. Please, dear Creator, only her. She could sense Jedidiah close at her side.
"Jedidiah..." she whispered, "run. I'll try to hold them off while you escape. Run, my love. Run for your life."
His powerful hand came up and gripped her upper arm. "I don't think so, 'my love'." Her eyes were captured by his cruelly empty expression. "I tried to save you, Margaret. I tried to get you to turn back. But you wouldn't listen." He glanced to the Sister across the clearing. "If I got her oath, couldn't we just..." The Sister glared back. He sighed. "No, I suppose we couldn't."
He gave her a strong shove into the clearing. She came to a stumbling stop at the edge of the candles. She had gone numb. Her mind refused to work. Her voice refused to work.
The Sister across the circle clasped her hands together, looking to Jedidiah. "Has she told anyone else?"
"No. Just me. She was looking for proof before she went to anyone else for help." His eyes returned to her. "Isn't that right, my love?" He shook his head again, the smirk of a smile touching his lips. Lips she had kissed. She felt sick. She felt like the biggest fool the Creator had ever seen. "Such a shame."
"You have done well, Jedidiah. You will be rewarded. And as for you, Margaret... well, tomorrow Jedidiah will report that after trying to avoid the insistent affections of an older woman, he finally and firmly rejected you for good, and you ran away in shame and humiliation. If they come here and find your bones, it will confirm their fears that you chose to end your life because you felt unworthy to live any longer as a Sister
of the light."
The dark flecked eyes glided back to Margaret. "Let me have her. Let me test my new gift. Let me taste it."
Those eyes kept Margaret frozen, her hand still clutching the gold flower at her neck. She could hardly breathe through the numbing agony of knowing Jedidiah had betrayed her.
She had prayed to the Creator to give Jedidiah strength, strength to help others. She had had no idea who those others would be. The Creator had answered her prayers, foolish as they had been.
When the Sister consented, the thin lips widened in a greedy grin. Margaret felt naked, helpless, in the penetrating gaze of those flecked eyes.
At last, Margaret made her mind work. Her thoughts sprang to a terrified groping for a way of escape. She could only think of one thing to do, before it was too late. With panicked abandon, she let her Han explode through every fiber of herself, and brought forth a shield; the most powerful shield she knew—a shield of air. She made it hard as steel. Impenetrable. She poured her hurt and hate into it.
The thin smile never left. The flecked eyes didn't move. "Air, is it then? With the gift, I can see it now. Shall I show you what I can do with air? What the gift can do with it?"
"The Creator's power will protect me," Margaret managed.
The thin smile turned to a sneer. "You think so? Let me show you the Creator's impotence."
Her hand came up. Margaret expected a ball of Wizard's Fire. It wasn't; it was a ball of air so dense she could see it, see it coming. It was so dense it distorted what was seen through it. Margaret could hear the whoosh of its approach, the wail of its power. It went through her shield like flaming pitch through paper.
It shouldn't have been able to do that; her shield was air. Air should not have been able to break a shield of air, not a shield as strong as she had made. But this was air made not by a mere Sister, but one with the gift. A wizard's gift.
