She dressed, ate a quick meal, and then took up her backpack. She made the climb back up to the cave, and then stood on the ledge looking out. The moment was here, and she was quivering with what she hoped was excitement.
But it could well be fear.
The stone floor remained clear. She’d worried to death about the positioning of the bowls, finally deciding on a circular pattern for the five bowls, each an equal distance from the other, the sword in the center.
She set out everything she would need off to the side, and then pulled the leather bag from the pack. The shards clinked together as she pulled the hilt from the bag. She oriented everything to the looming wall at the end of the tunnel, treating that as north. The hilt she set down so that the handle pointed west, and then spilled the shards out.
It took her longer than she expected to piece the blade together as Ismari had done. The stone floor was cold and hard under her knees. It was almost the nooning before she finished. Sunlight was starting to creep in to the mouth of the cave, dispelling the darkness.
Amyu settled back on her heels, and studied the arrangement. It was as good as she could make it.
She thought about returning to camp, to rest and eat, but her nerves wouldn’t let her. She’d done all she could, planned all she could, and she’d wait not a moment longer.
She raised her hands in supplication. “Elements,” she cried out. “Hear my plea.”
The sound echoed against the walls. Amyu swallowed hard, and reached for the first bowl. “Earth, element of the Plains,” she called out, holding up the bowl and crumbling clean soil into it. “I beg your presence, as witness to my plea.” She trembled inside but kept her voice steady. “Find me worthy of aid.”
She replaced the bowl and reached for the next.
“Water, element of the Plains,” she intoned as she drizzled water into the bowl. “I beg your presence, as witness to my plea. Find me worthy of aid.”
The next bowl held crushed green leaves she dropped onto a live coal. A small tendril of smoke arose as she invoked the element of air. Then the bowl where she placed fresh tinder on the coals, and a tiny flame sprang up, dancing in the bowl. Each time she invoked the element. Each time, she asked to be found worthy.
And last, the very last, she dared to break all tradition.
She held up the bowl and breathed the words. “Magic,” she announced, and her words seemed to echo off the stone walls. “Element of the Plains. I beg your presence, as witness to my plea. Find me worthy of aid.”
She gathered sparkles of power at her finger tips, and shook them into the bowl. The sparkles fell lightly, rolling around below the rim. This bowl, she placed at the top of the pattern, at the point farthest from herself.
The sword lay in the center, still shattered.
Amyu put on the Ring of Xy, and held her hands out, facing the sword. She took a deep breath, and then started the familiar chant. “Fire, water, earth, air,” she paused, then again broke every tradition she knew. “Magic. Hear my plea.”
The air around her crackled, and the hairs on her arms rose.
“Water, earth, air, magic, fire,” she said. “Hear my plea.” She continued, moving each element through the chant, honoring each in turn, weaving magic into her words. She’d honestly thought she’d be struck down by now for her daring, but it hadn’t happened.
Yet.
The air around her seemed charged with excitement that might have just been her imagination. Only one way to find out.
“Death of earth, birth of water,” she started then paused. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The bowl of magic was brighter, and the bowl of water held a vibration that had not been there.
Amyu continued, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Death of water, birth of air.”
The golden sparkles swelled, and the column of smoke trembled. Something was happening.
Her voice rose, and her words spilled out faster and faster. “Death of air, birth of fire,” she gulped.
It wasn’t her imagination. The magic was growing within the bowl, and the other elements were responding. Her heart started to beat a wild rhythm.
“Death of fire, birth of earth.” She cried out in her excitement.
The ritual words were completed, but everything seemed to hang in the air, suspended, waiting. Waiting for her to invoke—
Amyu cried out what was in her heart, without thought. “Magic,” she cried, putting everything she dreamed in the words. “Weave a new pattern!”
The magic responded. A shaft of golden light shot out from its bowl to the bowl of fire. The flame within shot higher and brighter.
