Sorceress of Faith by Robin D. Owens Page A

in the ground, too close to
the rocky edge of the island to be altogether stable. The circle of flat stones
was barely visible, but Power still radiated, drawing her.
    Bossgond
stood back and watched, but she strode to the hidden keystone with confidence.
This one didn’t vibrate quite right, either, but it felt better than either of
the others.
    Bossgond
shook his head. “You are not of Amee, so no previous keystone will tune to you
easily. Perhaps you will find a better place than this as you range the
islands. For now, let us do the grounding here.”
    To
Marian’s embarrassment, she found herself lying on her stomach, arms angled
down a few feet to the keystone. When she curled her hands around the
pyramid-shaped rock, Power shot through her, erasing any exhaustion, starting a
tingle racing in her veins.
    Bossgond
sat cross-legged beside her and placed a hand on her back, rubbed it. It felt
nice, gentle, avuncular. She closed her eyes and let her mind sink into a quiet
pool, only feeling—the warmth of the ground beneath her, the small breeze
around her. And with three hummed notes, Bossgond sent her into a deep trance.
    Distantly
she heard his voice instructing her. Under his spell, she sang to the stone and
it reverberated one note, two, three back to her, and she felt a small tether
to Amee.
    With
a soothing chant, Bossgond lifted her from her trance, brought her into
clear-headed wakefulness. Again she felt energized. She laughed in delight at
the connection with a world-song again, though this particular planet-melody
was heart-wrenchingly sad.
    She
stood and stretched, limbering up after her time lying so still on the ground.
    Bossgond
looked at her, then at the circle of grass and stones. Then he gazed out to the
sea, his face impassive. “If we do well together and you do not want another
island or a manor on the mainland, I will grant you the right to raise another
tower on the island.” The corners of his lips curved slightly upward. He
gestured. “You may choose where you please, as long as it is outside my
protective ring around my tower.”
    The
forcefield they’d crossed. She nodded.
    His
expression turned grim and he raised a finger. “ If we do well together.”
    His
tone was that of a man who’d been crotchety for decades.
    When
they returned to the Tower, Bossgond led her back upstairs for lunch. She sat
at the table and he set a plate and silverware for them both. Then he put a few
empty platters between them. He went to a cupboard and came back with a box.
    Taking
a crumb of bread, he put it on one platter, then added a bit of dried fruit, a
few strings of jerky. As Marian stared, Bossgond passed his hands over the
dishes and sang a long Songspell. The breadcrumb turned into a large loaf of
bread dusted with flour, the jerky became four thick slices of roast beef, the
fruit plumped into apples.
    Under
Marian’s fixed gaze, Bossgond cut a piece of each and put it back into the
magical box, then returned the box to the cupboard.
    When
he returned, he sang a little blessing, then made a sandwich and dug into his
reconstituted meal.
    Hesitantly,
Marian sliced a piece of bread—wishing there was some Dijon mustard—and put a
slice of roast beef on it. She took a bite, chewed and swallowed.
    The
food was plentiful but tasteless. The victuals had to be nutritious because
Bossgond was still alive and he’d probably been eating this way for years. No
wonder he was so scrawny.
    After
finishing off an apple and half her sandwich, Marian said, “Don’t you cook?”
    Sandwich
at his open mouth, Bossgond’s eyes widened. He put down the bread and meat.
    “Do
you?” His voice was hoarse, his gaze gleamed with hope.
    “Of
course.”
    He
stood up so fast that his chair rocked. “Come with me!”
    Nearly
running to keep up with him, Marian followed him out the door, down the stairs
past her own suite and to the level below her room.
    Bossgond
threw open the door. A gleaming kitchen took up most of