this last ordeal was performed, Fergus would never have to leave her again.
*****
The next day, Odara followed Fergus to the door
of their cottage and out back to Dreng, the black and white stallion which Fergus had already fed, watered, and saddled-up with all the supplies he would need to make the journey.
It was a chilly October morning. A thick, brooding fog had rolled in from the Firth of Forth so dense that one could see nothing beyond arms’ length but an opaque white fi eld.
59
The Necromancer
The weather wasn’t promising, and he wasn’t as well-equipped for the journey as he would have liked to be, but the Magi had always made his labors arduous and insisted he travel lightly in the most extreme conditions.
“It will be a diffi cult journey,” Odara commented.
“I expect nothing less.”
“Godspeed, love.”
Their lips touched and they became immersed in a deep and longing kiss. Both of them trembled slightly. It may have been the cold, but both felt a gloomy sense that this would be the last time they would be together again. They had experienced such desperation on the other occasions Fergus had gone away, but somehow this seemed stronger, more fi nal.
They broke apart, Fergus sliding his hands up her arms. He squeezed them fi rmly above the elbows as they stared into each other’s eyes sadly. A moment later, he released her.
“I love you,” he said, mounting his horse. “And I shall always be with you, even in my absence.”
“And I with you,” she replied.
“I shall return as soon as I am able.”
Dreng pranced around in a circle then stopped as Fergus tugged on the reins.
“Be well, and take care. You are caring for two now.”
Odara smiled weakly, and Fergus turned the horse around and rode away, vanishing into the fog like a ghost.
*****
It had been three weeks, and still no word from
Fergus. Usually, by now he would have visited her in his subtle body if for no other reason than to let her know that he was 60
Odara
alive. She had attempted to take to the astral plane in an effort to visit him and see if he was all right, but her pregnancy interfered with her ability to project. Now she was concerned.
She knew how hard these retreats could be on her husband.
The last one almost succeeded in killing him. He had come back from North Africa after well over six months of starving himself and baking in the Sahara Desert, and he looked as if he were only steps from the grave. He had aged. His gaunt, haggard appearance frightened her because, when he fi rst appeared in the doorway, she hadn’t recognized him. Only after the second week of the forty-day Ritual of Regeneration did he begin to resemble the man she had married.
Odara couldn’t tolerate it anymore. She was desperate.
Despite Fergus’s warnings, she donned her robes and ventured into the woods behind their house with her sword and a censer.
She cast a circle on the marshy fl oor of woods in a clearing where the moon and the stars were visible. Outside that she described a triangle and placed the censer within. After a time, she managed to get the incense smoking.
It was November now, and the night was cold and
windy, but clear. Odara had decided a few days ago that she would perform the conjuration, but the weather hadn’t been good. Thunderstorms and downpours had been continuous for almost a week, causing fl oods and confi ning her to the cottage.
Only when it was absolutely necessary did she dare send one of her servants outside to collect water or journey into town for food and supplies.
She stepped inside the circle and commenced the
conjuration. She would hail Aingealag, a spirit Fergus had summoned on many occasions and which had proved its loyalty and dependability with consistency.
After performing a brief incantation, she plunged the sword into the soil of the circle and raised her arms toward the 61
The Necromancer
sky. The wind whipped her hair behind her and billowed her robes.
“I
*****
The next day, Odara followed Fergus to the door
of their cottage and out back to Dreng, the black and white stallion which Fergus had already fed, watered, and saddled-up with all the supplies he would need to make the journey.
It was a chilly October morning. A thick, brooding fog had rolled in from the Firth of Forth so dense that one could see nothing beyond arms’ length but an opaque white fi eld.
59
The Necromancer
The weather wasn’t promising, and he wasn’t as well-equipped for the journey as he would have liked to be, but the Magi had always made his labors arduous and insisted he travel lightly in the most extreme conditions.
“It will be a diffi cult journey,” Odara commented.
“I expect nothing less.”
“Godspeed, love.”
Their lips touched and they became immersed in a deep and longing kiss. Both of them trembled slightly. It may have been the cold, but both felt a gloomy sense that this would be the last time they would be together again. They had experienced such desperation on the other occasions Fergus had gone away, but somehow this seemed stronger, more fi nal.
They broke apart, Fergus sliding his hands up her arms. He squeezed them fi rmly above the elbows as they stared into each other’s eyes sadly. A moment later, he released her.
“I love you,” he said, mounting his horse. “And I shall always be with you, even in my absence.”
“And I with you,” she replied.
“I shall return as soon as I am able.”
Dreng pranced around in a circle then stopped as Fergus tugged on the reins.
“Be well, and take care. You are caring for two now.”
Odara smiled weakly, and Fergus turned the horse around and rode away, vanishing into the fog like a ghost.
*****
It had been three weeks, and still no word from
Fergus. Usually, by now he would have visited her in his subtle body if for no other reason than to let her know that he was 60
Odara
alive. She had attempted to take to the astral plane in an effort to visit him and see if he was all right, but her pregnancy interfered with her ability to project. Now she was concerned.
She knew how hard these retreats could be on her husband.
The last one almost succeeded in killing him. He had come back from North Africa after well over six months of starving himself and baking in the Sahara Desert, and he looked as if he were only steps from the grave. He had aged. His gaunt, haggard appearance frightened her because, when he fi rst appeared in the doorway, she hadn’t recognized him. Only after the second week of the forty-day Ritual of Regeneration did he begin to resemble the man she had married.
Odara couldn’t tolerate it anymore. She was desperate.
Despite Fergus’s warnings, she donned her robes and ventured into the woods behind their house with her sword and a censer.
She cast a circle on the marshy fl oor of woods in a clearing where the moon and the stars were visible. Outside that she described a triangle and placed the censer within. After a time, she managed to get the incense smoking.
It was November now, and the night was cold and
windy, but clear. Odara had decided a few days ago that she would perform the conjuration, but the weather hadn’t been good. Thunderstorms and downpours had been continuous for almost a week, causing fl oods and confi ning her to the cottage.
Only when it was absolutely necessary did she dare send one of her servants outside to collect water or journey into town for food and supplies.
She stepped inside the circle and commenced the
conjuration. She would hail Aingealag, a spirit Fergus had summoned on many occasions and which had proved its loyalty and dependability with consistency.
After performing a brief incantation, she plunged the sword into the soil of the circle and raised her arms toward the 61
The Necromancer
sky. The wind whipped her hair behind her and billowed her robes.
“I
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