Lamma's Night (anthology)

I found myself standing in her circle, very much flesh and blood. The wind had whipped up a frenzy of dried leaves, and I smelled rain, and the rich earth beneath me, so sharp were my senses now that they had been thrust upon me.

She regarded me with something like awe, or perhaps it was lust. For a moment I was taken by her beauty, the flow of her robe as the wind blew it about her. I wanted to touch her, to be with her again... but I knew it could not be.

'So you are the wizard Keighvin,' she whispered. 'How nice of you to attend.'

'And it is my honor to attend,' I replied, uncertain of my voice. I looked at my hands and arms, found them to be close replicas of what I once was... but my body was dead and decaying in the ground somewhere. I was only a facsimile, and one which I doubted would last.

Ah, but likely last long enough to sire her child! I heard Demonheart call from behind me. He was deep in the shadows, kept out by the effective circle she had cast, but near.

At least, for the moment, I was free. Demonheart had no control over me here, within her circle. I must act quickly...

'I am not what I seem,' I blurted out. 'The evil I tried to defeat took my life while I sat at the very table at which you have dined many times, and he means to use me to conquer you! You must rework the spell! Send me on, I cannot live again. This,' I said, holding my arms up, 'this isn't real. I am not alive, really. I am flesh only for the moment.'

No! You cannot do this... Demonheart howled, but he could do nothing.

'I see,' she said, and I saw with relief that she really did. 'I trust you. The evil could not have come from you.'

'Please. Send me on.' Demonheart was summoning his forces back in the shadows, and for a moment I doubted her circle would keep them all out. 'For your own sake, rework the spell!'

I wanted to hold her, make love to her, amid the swirling leaves. Behind me Demonheart was encouraging me to do just that, and I knew that to give in to my wants would mean certain victory for him. And that could not be.

'Do it, now,' I said. 'For the sake of the folk of this village. It must be defeated.'

'Yes,' she said.

The relief I felt was tainted with the pain of knowing I would not, after all, hold her as a man would. So be it. I would win in the long run.

Demonheart's silence was ominous, and as the wizard worked essential points of her spell I looked back to see an army of wraiths ready to attack. Whether they would be successful or not, I did not know.

With a tear in her eye, the wizard said the final word.

'Go.'

The world collapsed around me. I felt pulled upwards, my body dissolving into nothingness. I became aware of a light, bright light.

With the force of a million storms, I was pulled into the light of the waning moon.

Sunflower

Jody Lynn Nye

Vinory dreamed again of the sunflower tall, yellow-fringed, with a strong, thick stalk bowing slightly under the weight of its heavy head. Everything about the dream flower seemed normal, except that instead of tracking the sun throughout the day, its face followed her,

There were plenty of sunflowers in the garden outside, but why would she dream about them instead of the roses or asters or herbs? All this place was new to her. She had come here only a few days ago. Glad for the promise of shelter against the coming winter, Vinory had not questioned too closely the circumstances under which the position of village wonder worker became vacant. Otherwise she might have shouldered her pack and pressed on farther down the road, regardless of the holes in her boots.

Now, those boots had fresh, entire soles, and winter receded to far away in the future. Moreover, there were whole woollen blankets on the feather bed, also blessedly hers, and free of vermin, thank all gods! The three-room cottage was not merely nice, but sound, well-proportioned, and well-built. It smelled of dry herbs and dust, but what of that? Half an hour's sweeping and dusting, and some of her own herbs scattered on the air or boiled for the scent had driven away the ghost of dead parsley and sage. The headman's wife had made her guesting gift of oats, tea, honey, salt, a new loaf, some dried meat, and a small crock of wine, with the promise of good food every day. Whatever she needed, they would give. Somewhere, they told her, there was a black and white cat for company, but he tended to go about his business as he chose. This could be a nice sinecure, all the benefits to stay with her, or go, as she chose, if only Vinory would at least stay through until spring. The people of Twin Streams had no one else to weave the spells to protect them from the storm or the spirits who rode it. Their last mage had died in the spring. Vinory was a gift to them from the gods, and they treated Her as such.

The dream symbol of the sunflower kept preying at her mind. This was no ordinary bloom. It had a distinctively masculine presence, teasing at her with a faint, fresh-washed scent and the insouciant flaunting of mature sexuality. Did a god's presence touch this house?

If such a visitation was troubling her, she wanted to see it off! Vinory needed a whole mind and a whole heart to take care of the villagers. Some of them had been saving up a list of spells and nostrums they needed, against the time that this cottage would house a mage again. Vinory would be busy from morning 'til night for weeks to come.

'Good morning, Mistress Vinory,' the headman said, when she came to take care of his youngest daughter, who was suffering from night terrors. Bilisa also had a head cold and was breaking out in webbing between her toes and fingers from handling an enchanted frog, but those were quietish maladies, not calculated to make her scream in the dark and wake the house.