“First, we must understand the magic she used, the exact spell she triggered. Did one of you help her to find it?”
The memmers fidgeted uncomfortably in their memorization room. Franklin said, “She hoped one of us might recall something that we had committed to memory, but there were so many possibilities, none of them clear. She wanted to help the valley grow back faster.”
Nicci’s voice was sharp. “I can tell when you are lying.” They feared she was using some rare truth-sensing magic, but she did not need that. She could see their nervous twitches, their averted eyes, the sweat sparkling on their skin. She raised her voice into loud command. “Which spell did Victoria use? Tell me what blood magic she invoked to trigger that wild growth.”
Gloria flinched. “It was an ancient fecundity spell, one that could awaken the earth. It was in an obscure language we didn’t exactly know how to pronounce or interpret.”
Nicci straightened her back. “So she unleashed such a terrible spell without recalling how to say the words?”
“She knew,” Franklin said defensively. “We all knew. Memmers remember perfectly from generation to generation.”
Nicci pressed harder. “You are saying that what we saw out there in the Scar, that explosive deadly growth, was exactly what Victoria intended?”
The memmers were embarrassed. Franklin finally gathered the courage to answer. “We do remember some fertility spells, but we don’t know how to counteract them. Very few ancient wizards ever wanted to stop life, growth, and prosperity.”
“There were some reciprocal spells,” Gloria admitted, “but they are dim in our minds, relegated to minutiae. The details were not considered useful, and our ancestors already had so much to remember and preserve.”
“Write down whatever you remember, and I will study the information,” Nicci said.
Gloria went to a podium in their memorization room, on which an open tome rested on display. During their daily lessons, the acolytes often listened to a speaker, committing line by line to memory. Instead of reading aloud now, Gloria picked up a quill pen, dipped the sharpened end into an inkpot, and began to scratch out words on a scrap of paper. She paused, closed her eyes to summon the details, then wrote more words. She kept her hand on the paper. “This is the spell that Victoria used. I think.”
Franklin came forward to study Gloria’s letters, corrected one piece of punctuation, altered one word. The memmers gathered around, nodding as they proofread. Once they all agreed on the precise formula and the arcane words, they handed the paper to Nicci.
As she scanned the spell, most of the words were mere gibberish to her. “Nathan might be better informed than I.” She tucked the paper into the fold pocket of her dress, then extended a finger, scolding the memmers. “Ransack all the knowledge inside you. Find some way that we can fix the damage Victoria has caused.”
*
From the window alcove on the outer side of the plateau wall, Nicci gazed across the tortured valley, where a crimson sunset deepened like the blood of the sacrifices Victoria had shed. She had given the written spell to Nathan, who read with great eagerness, then deep concern.
“This is every bit as bad as I anticipated. Perhaps worse. The power invoked comes from a language even older than High D’Haran. It will be difficult for us to find a magic powerful enough to overturn it.”
“Richard did not send us out to solve simple problems,” Nicci pointed out.
“Of course. I just wanted you to appreciate the magnitude of the challenge.”
As the red-gold rays of dusk fell over the broad valley, she concentrated on the swarming forest at its core, the primeval jungle that glowed an unhealthy green.
Drawn by the view as well, Bannon joined her, gazing out with a forlorn expression. “First, all life was draining away in the world, and now there’s an unstoppable flood of life. How do we fight it?”
“We will find a way,” Nicci said. “And then I myself will destroy the woman who calls herself Life’s Mistress.”
“I want to do something, too,” Bannon said. “You and Nathan can study all the books to look for a solution. You both understand the magic and can read mysterious languages, but I’m just waiting here, feeling useless. Like I was when we waited for a weapon against the Lifedrinker.” He sighed in obvious frustration. “You admitted that I can be useful, Sorceress. Isn’t there something I could do?”
“Help the farmers harvest crops. Tend the flocks, work the orchards,” Nicci suggested. “Learn a skill, perhaps as a carpenter.”
Anger flashed across his face. “That’s not what I mean! There’s got to be some way to save Audrey, Laurel, and Sage.” His face was wrenched with helplessness. “I love them.”
“And they are hungry for you. Remember what they did to Simon.”
His expression grew steely. “We need to understand what is happening out there, Sorceress. You know I can handle myself. I’m going to go on a scout, and I’ll come back and tell you what I see.”
“That’s a foolish risk,” Nicci said.
“You’ve called me a fool before! I want to do this. Don’t try to stop me.”
“I cannot stop you, Bannon Farmer, but if you are going to expose yourself to such great and unnecessary danger, at least make certain you return with valuable information.”
He lifted his chin, relieved that she didn’t argue with him further. “I will.”
Looking long and hard at him, Nicci added in a softer voice, “And be careful.”
CHAPTER 63
Being surrounded by so many books and so much knowledge usually exhilarated Nathan. The secrets and stories contained in those soft, well-worn volumes had made his centuries of captivity a little more tolerable in the Palace of the Prophets. The Sisters’ huge library held countless tomes describing magic that Nathan could never use, thanks to the wards, webs, and shields woven throughout the palace architecture, not to mention the iron collar of his Rada’Han. Still, reading the legends, histories, even folktales had brought joy to his tedious existence.
When Lord Rahl’s star shift had made all books on prophecy useless and irrelevant, he had offered to let Nathan keep one small library for his own entertainment, perhaps even out of nostalgia, but the wizard soon decided that what he really wanted was not to bury himself in old archives but to go out and live his life, to write his own story. And that was exactly what he did.
He patted the mysterious leather-bound life book the witch woman had given him. Now he had other reading to do. Vital reading.
He let out a weary sigh as dutiful Mia brought him a new stack of volumes. “I have no idea what these contain, Wizard Rahl, but they look interesting.” Mia got directly to work, showing him a tome at random. Many of these new books looked waterlogged, scuffed, or tattered. “Somewhere in our archive we’ll find a way to stop Victoria. Cliffwall has every answer, if only we can find it.”