he placed on her abdomen.
“It cannot be averted. You know that, though I wish it were not true. The Magi have made demands of me and cannot be kept waiting. They will get their pound of fl esh even if I should decline. Do you not remember Rome?”
Rome had been the place where the Magi fi rst
contacted him. They had been touring the city, studying the ruins, and were in the Flavian Amphitheater, in the hot summer sun when Fergus suddenly dropped down on one knee, clasping his hands to his temples.
A strangled scream escaped him. The whites of his eyes turned red. His nose bled. Every blood vessel in his eyes and sinuses had been ruptured from the pressure building up inside his head.
“Dearest,” Odara said, afraid to touch him. “What’s wrong?”
“My head...the pain...” he said, then collapsed
unconscious on the amphitheater steps.
He had visions...not dreams. The Magi had made
efforts to contact him before, but he wouldn’t listen. Their signs had been too subtle, too easily dismissed as fancy and coincidence. But those signs had been too numerous to ignore.
57
The Necromancer
Spiritually, he was prepared to heed the signs and fulfi ll his obligation to those he had never met nor heard of before, but physically—mentally—he had trouble accepting those duties.
A voice clamored in his mind.
“We have watched you and your progress on the path of the righteous and the strong and the wise. Now the time is come. It is you who have been summoned by Us, the Magi of the Hidden Realm, to fulfi ll your magical endeavors. Are you prepared to receive the degree of Adeptus Minor, the fi rst of three degrees before you must cross the Abyss or forever become a Brother of Darkness?”
“I am,” Fergus responded automatically, without
thought.
“Then take up the Great Work and learn the Nature of your True Self and your Holy Guardian Angel. The ordeals will be many.
You must consider every event as a direct dealing between yourself and God. Do you understand the nature of these ordeals as they have been conveyed to you?”
“I do.”
“Then let the ordeals of the Great Work commence at once.
Fergus opened his eyes. They were healed. He still lay limply on the steps, his head resting in Odara’s lap as she brushed the hair back from his forehead.”
“How do you feel?” she asked.
His skin was clammy and pale. He still looked a bit disoriented, but was able to respond.
“Well,” he said. “I feel well.”
“Can you walk?”
“Yes,” he replied heavily, rising to his feet. “Yes. And I have much work to do.”
58
Odara
That was almost a decade ago, and now, as he lay next to Odara, he contemplated the initiation that would ultimately decide his fate as a magician. It had taken nearly ten years to attain the degree of Adeptus Exemptus—the last of the three degrees he had accepted from the Magi—and now he pondered the Abyss. He would have to cross it to be initiated as a Magister Templi, or be cast out of the Hidden Realm and be forever committed to the Brotherhood of Darkness.
The ordeals had been severe. He had suffered the hells of starvation, fever, loneliness, desolation. The Magi had tempered him well with toil and pain. His will was strong. However, he had not yet attained the Knowledge and Conversation of his Holy Guardian Angel—his higher self; his true will. But now Fergus had powers even the scriptures hadn’t intimated. All those years of solitary study and training, sometimes compelling him to be away from Odara for many months; all the abstinence and fasting; the hours of meditation; the long walks across deserts and countries had paid great dividends. But he regretted one thing: all the time he had to spend away from Odara, the woman he loved.
Odara had been a magician in her own right, but she was content with her magical development and didn’t have the drive or the need that Fergus did. After all, Fergus was the man and could provide for both of them. After
“It cannot be averted. You know that, though I wish it were not true. The Magi have made demands of me and cannot be kept waiting. They will get their pound of fl esh even if I should decline. Do you not remember Rome?”
Rome had been the place where the Magi fi rst
contacted him. They had been touring the city, studying the ruins, and were in the Flavian Amphitheater, in the hot summer sun when Fergus suddenly dropped down on one knee, clasping his hands to his temples.
A strangled scream escaped him. The whites of his eyes turned red. His nose bled. Every blood vessel in his eyes and sinuses had been ruptured from the pressure building up inside his head.
“Dearest,” Odara said, afraid to touch him. “What’s wrong?”
“My head...the pain...” he said, then collapsed
unconscious on the amphitheater steps.
He had visions...not dreams. The Magi had made
efforts to contact him before, but he wouldn’t listen. Their signs had been too subtle, too easily dismissed as fancy and coincidence. But those signs had been too numerous to ignore.
57
The Necromancer
Spiritually, he was prepared to heed the signs and fulfi ll his obligation to those he had never met nor heard of before, but physically—mentally—he had trouble accepting those duties.
A voice clamored in his mind.
“We have watched you and your progress on the path of the righteous and the strong and the wise. Now the time is come. It is you who have been summoned by Us, the Magi of the Hidden Realm, to fulfi ll your magical endeavors. Are you prepared to receive the degree of Adeptus Minor, the fi rst of three degrees before you must cross the Abyss or forever become a Brother of Darkness?”
“I am,” Fergus responded automatically, without
thought.
“Then take up the Great Work and learn the Nature of your True Self and your Holy Guardian Angel. The ordeals will be many.
You must consider every event as a direct dealing between yourself and God. Do you understand the nature of these ordeals as they have been conveyed to you?”
“I do.”
“Then let the ordeals of the Great Work commence at once.
Fergus opened his eyes. They were healed. He still lay limply on the steps, his head resting in Odara’s lap as she brushed the hair back from his forehead.”
“How do you feel?” she asked.
His skin was clammy and pale. He still looked a bit disoriented, but was able to respond.
“Well,” he said. “I feel well.”
“Can you walk?”
“Yes,” he replied heavily, rising to his feet. “Yes. And I have much work to do.”
58
Odara
That was almost a decade ago, and now, as he lay next to Odara, he contemplated the initiation that would ultimately decide his fate as a magician. It had taken nearly ten years to attain the degree of Adeptus Exemptus—the last of the three degrees he had accepted from the Magi—and now he pondered the Abyss. He would have to cross it to be initiated as a Magister Templi, or be cast out of the Hidden Realm and be forever committed to the Brotherhood of Darkness.
The ordeals had been severe. He had suffered the hells of starvation, fever, loneliness, desolation. The Magi had tempered him well with toil and pain. His will was strong. However, he had not yet attained the Knowledge and Conversation of his Holy Guardian Angel—his higher self; his true will. But now Fergus had powers even the scriptures hadn’t intimated. All those years of solitary study and training, sometimes compelling him to be away from Odara for many months; all the abstinence and fasting; the hours of meditation; the long walks across deserts and countries had paid great dividends. But he regretted one thing: all the time he had to spend away from Odara, the woman he loved.
Odara had been a magician in her own right, but she was content with her magical development and didn’t have the drive or the need that Fergus did. After all, Fergus was the man and could provide for both of them. After
Similar Books
