brazier and called in a strong voice, “Omnia in terra tradita sunt in manus nostros; all things on earth are given into our hands.” In a single, smooth motion, he dropped the tablet into the brazier and leaned back to pick up the bowl of wine.
The flames in the brazier flickered and seemed to die, then suddenly shot upward in a long, ruddy tongue. “Hic est verus ordo orbis terrarum,” Kelly said, holding up his own tablet. “This is the proper order of the world.”
A second tongue of flame reached up from the brazier as Kelly dropped the square of wax onto the coals. Dee lifted the silver bowl. “Animae aetheriae invocamus vos ipsos,” he said.
“Invocamus vos ipsos perferre volutatem nostrum,” said Kelly. “We summon ye to work our will.” He dipped his fingers in the wine and scattered droplets into the coals below, being careful to let none of the liquid fall outside the brazier’s rim. There was a hissing noise as the wine vaporized, and a puff of steam rose from the fire. It did not dissipate, but hovered above the heads of the two men, a barely visible clump of mist. Kelly repeated his action. The mist thickened, and there was a brief, bright gleam from the silver bowl.
Dee handed the bowl to Kelly and picked up the knife. “Sanguinem et vinum donamus vobis,” he said. “Blood and wine we give ye.” He pulled back one of his sleeves and made a sudden, swift slash with the knife. Blood welled from the cut in his arm and dripped onto the coals. Black smoke rose from the brazier to mingle with the hovering mist.
“Sanguinem et vinum donamus,” Kelly repeated, baring his own arm. The knife made another swift movement, and the brazier smoked again.
“Fiat,” said Dee, and again Kelly echoed him. Dee turned and picked up the dish of crushed herbs. Lifting it high above the brazier, he cried, “Ferrte et coercete vim ex faeriae in vasem preparatum sibi; bring and bind the power out of Faerie into the vessel that is prepared for it.” With a final flourish, he poured the herbs into the fire.
Golden, glowing smoke billowed out of the brazier, briefly hiding the two sorcerers who stood beside it. The air filled with a pungent aroma. The glow touched the small, dark cloud of mist and black smoke that still hung above the brazier, and it began to coalesce. Soon a small, pulsing globe no larger than a man’s fist floated above the brazier like a giant will-o‘-the-wisp. The air was clear of smoke, and the fire in the brazier had gone out.
Dee looked up. “Ite!” he commanded, and the globe vanished. He sighed heavily, looking suddenly very tired and old, and turned to his companion. “Now we wait.”
“How long?” Kelly demanded.
“I know not,” Dee replied, staring into the shadows where the border of Faerie lay. “But till the bringer returns, do not leave this protected ground.” He waved at the square of red silk on which they stood. Kelly nodded absently, and the two men lapsed into silence.
Beneath the bushes at the edge of the clearing, Blanche nudged Rosamund and pointed urgently back the way they had come. Rosamund shook her head, her mouth set in a determined line. Blanche gestured again, and again Rosamund mutely refused. Unable to argue lest the sorcerers overhear their whispering, Blanche breathed a sigh, and thought dark thoughts, and stayed where she was.
The glowing spell-globe flickered through the lands of Faerie. It was neither alive nor intelligent, though Dee would have argued otherwise; the “spirits of air” on whom he had called were far too canny to be so easily entrapped. The spell-globe was simply that: a spell, formed of power and skill and deep desire, shaped and directed by the wishes of the men who had made it. Compared with the might of even the least of the Faerie folk, the globe was a feeble thing, for the skills of the two sorcerers were not as great as they believed. So, for a relatively long time as such things go, the spell-globe found
The flames in the brazier flickered and seemed to die, then suddenly shot upward in a long, ruddy tongue. “Hic est verus ordo orbis terrarum,” Kelly said, holding up his own tablet. “This is the proper order of the world.”
A second tongue of flame reached up from the brazier as Kelly dropped the square of wax onto the coals. Dee lifted the silver bowl. “Animae aetheriae invocamus vos ipsos,” he said.
“Invocamus vos ipsos perferre volutatem nostrum,” said Kelly. “We summon ye to work our will.” He dipped his fingers in the wine and scattered droplets into the coals below, being careful to let none of the liquid fall outside the brazier’s rim. There was a hissing noise as the wine vaporized, and a puff of steam rose from the fire. It did not dissipate, but hovered above the heads of the two men, a barely visible clump of mist. Kelly repeated his action. The mist thickened, and there was a brief, bright gleam from the silver bowl.
Dee handed the bowl to Kelly and picked up the knife. “Sanguinem et vinum donamus vobis,” he said. “Blood and wine we give ye.” He pulled back one of his sleeves and made a sudden, swift slash with the knife. Blood welled from the cut in his arm and dripped onto the coals. Black smoke rose from the brazier to mingle with the hovering mist.
“Sanguinem et vinum donamus,” Kelly repeated, baring his own arm. The knife made another swift movement, and the brazier smoked again.
“Fiat,” said Dee, and again Kelly echoed him. Dee turned and picked up the dish of crushed herbs. Lifting it high above the brazier, he cried, “Ferrte et coercete vim ex faeriae in vasem preparatum sibi; bring and bind the power out of Faerie into the vessel that is prepared for it.” With a final flourish, he poured the herbs into the fire.
Golden, glowing smoke billowed out of the brazier, briefly hiding the two sorcerers who stood beside it. The air filled with a pungent aroma. The glow touched the small, dark cloud of mist and black smoke that still hung above the brazier, and it began to coalesce. Soon a small, pulsing globe no larger than a man’s fist floated above the brazier like a giant will-o‘-the-wisp. The air was clear of smoke, and the fire in the brazier had gone out.
Dee looked up. “Ite!” he commanded, and the globe vanished. He sighed heavily, looking suddenly very tired and old, and turned to his companion. “Now we wait.”
“How long?” Kelly demanded.
“I know not,” Dee replied, staring into the shadows where the border of Faerie lay. “But till the bringer returns, do not leave this protected ground.” He waved at the square of red silk on which they stood. Kelly nodded absently, and the two men lapsed into silence.
Beneath the bushes at the edge of the clearing, Blanche nudged Rosamund and pointed urgently back the way they had come. Rosamund shook her head, her mouth set in a determined line. Blanche gestured again, and again Rosamund mutely refused. Unable to argue lest the sorcerers overhear their whispering, Blanche breathed a sigh, and thought dark thoughts, and stayed where she was.
The glowing spell-globe flickered through the lands of Faerie. It was neither alive nor intelligent, though Dee would have argued otherwise; the “spirits of air” on whom he had called were far too canny to be so easily entrapped. The spell-globe was simply that: a spell, formed of power and skill and deep desire, shaped and directed by the wishes of the men who had made it. Compared with the might of even the least of the Faerie folk, the globe was a feeble thing, for the skills of the two sorcerers were not as great as they believed. So, for a relatively long time as such things go, the spell-globe found
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