The Grove(111)
“Aradin, we don’t know how long this Convocation will take. The ancient records spoke of it lasting up to a month! If I am gone more than a month, the whole festival would have to be postponed, and that’s not going to happen,” she reminded him. “Not here in Groveham, the town right next to the Sacred Grove.”
“Then as your assistant, simply appoint me to stand in your stead,” he offered. “Or better yet, ask that other Guardian, uhh . . . Dominor, if there’s a way to transmit a mirror-scrying of the Convocation on that mirror Guardian Kerric gave you, and we’ll make that the focal point of the festival. Or even a captured recording if you come back early, like what we’ve been viewing of the Netherhell invasions.”
Her brows rose. “That is actually a very good idea. I’ll talk with Guardian Dominor as soon as I can, since he has one of Kerric’s mirrors, too. He did say yesterday that he and Guar . . . er, ex-Guardian Serina had returned to Nightfall, now that the nun-lady, Mother Naima, was back in control of Koral-tai. Something about crafting spells to make it safe to move their newborn twins.”
Aradin nudged her hands, which had paused midway through donning her pink-edged white tunic. “Keep putting on your clothes, woman.”
Nodding, she continued donning them. He did as well, shrugging into a tunic and slipping his feet into a pair of house-sandals. Picking up the belt, which now held a leather scroll case filled with a list of Katan’s needs which Daranen had compiled for them, as well as the knife and the pouch added earlier, he helped buckle it around her waist while she adjusted the fit of her overvest. He handed her the backpack next, then helped swirl the cloak into place over it all.
“It’s a good thing my clothes are spell-stitched for comfort,” she muttered, “or I’d sweat to death before I even arrived.”
(I’m back,) Teral announced, returning to his Host’s Doorway. (Good, she’s ready—not that Witchcloak, the big one! The one they specially made for priest-transport.)
(Right, sorry,) Aradin shifted his hand from the robe that had the tan outer lining to a more voluminous, all-black robe. Shrugging into it, he turned to Saleria, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. Not a very long kiss, but a heartfelt one. Pulling back a little, he rested his forehead against hers. “Put your trust in Teral and the other Witches; we are all bound to help you in this trip. If you absolutely cannot return through the Dark a second time, it will be alright. You have the money for both ship passage and mirror-Gatings, once you reach the mainland. Just send word back through our fellow Witches to Teral, is all I ask.”
“Yes, Groveham does have a mirror-Gate station,” Saleria agreed, distracted with worry. “Should I get something to eat before I go? I don’t know if they’ll have food.”
“That’s what the travel cakes are for,” he reminded her. “But you should be fine. Besides, some people feel the urge to vomit after traveling through the Dark, so, ah, best if you don’t have anything in there.”
(Ready?) Teral asked both of them, since Aradin was still touching the Keeper.
They both nodded, and Aradin kissed Saleria one last, quick time before releasing her. Shrugging the hood of his cloak up over his head, he opened wide the deep black edges and swept them around her. “Grab my body with yours,” he directed, “and be ready to have it shift into Teral’s. The moment it does, he will pull you through my Doorway into the Dark. Do not be afraid . . . though you may feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m not afraid,” Saleria promised him—both of them. She wrapped her arms around his chest and Aradin wrapped the folds of his Witchcloak around them both, sealing out the light from the enchanted white globe resting in a bracket near the dressing room door. “I love you both.”
“Oh, sure, now you mention it,” Teral quipped dryly with both voice and mind, as much to distract her from the sudden shifting of the flesh under her arms as to simply comment about it. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her from the comfortable land of the living to the breathless, gloomy chill of the Dark. “Keep your thoughts firmly on me, if not on our destination.”
She wanted to say, Considering I have no clue where we’re going . . . , but she carefully blanked that out of her mind. She also wanted to breathe, but didn’t know how, in this horrible, uncanny place. Aradin and Teral hadn’t said so directly, but she had the feeling that thoughts became reality here in the Dark. So instead of dwelling on either fact, she visualized as strongly as any prayer that Teral would take them to exactly where they needed to be in just three easy steps—and sure enough, in just three steps, they were in a strange, dimly lit place by a tree.